They said it in the nineties, said it in the aughts, and say it again today: Art criticism is in crisis!
They say it because full-time art criticism jobs in legacy media have become scarce; negative reviews are harder to come by; and nobody reads reviews anymore, now that the internet has turned every Jack, Jill, and Joe into a casual critic.
Countless think pieces and books have pronounced art criticism a near-extinct genre. They call it a practice that has “run its course,” kept alive mainly to “smooth new art into the market” while serving a readership in “terminal decline.” They claim it’s a dying art form. A useless profession. A sinking ship. A well run dry.
As an art critic and editor, I forthrightly disagree.
Art criticism is thriving. It’s taking on new forms, shedding old skin, and adapting to novel venues. It’s as alive and relevant as ever, still generating conversation and controversy. Instead of fizzling out, it’s being embraced by new generations of critics, whether in these pages or on Substack, Instagram, YouTube, and TikTok (no matter the platform, it always comes down to writing). It’s a buzzing genre that attracts readers of all ages, from septum-pierced college students to cigar-puffing art collectors.
Yes, gone are the days when an insular clique of critics had the ability to make or break artists’ careers — and good riddance. That was more power than anybody deserves. The quality of a critic’s work now carries more weight than their cult of personality. That’s not a bad thing. Insightful, incisive, and inventive writing will always have a future and an audience. So long as there’s art, there will be art criticism.
Art criticism is not in crisis. Good art criticism is the crisis.
Good art criticism airs buried truths, challenges tastemakers, questions our beliefs. It links the art on the wall to the world outside, and gets to the bottom of how and by whom it’s marketed, bought, and sold. At the very least, it motivates readers to go out and see the work to make their own judgment. At best, reading criticism can be as transformative as viewing a great piece of art.
The real problem with art criticism today is the profusion of bad-faith actors, useful idiots, vapid scenesters, pitiful star-fuckers, press-release recyclers, dull theorists, hopeless graphomaniacs, paid influencers, cheap provocateurs, and apolitical, nihilist hacks.
But even the abundance of those in our field is a sign of a thriving ecosystem. Every forest has its predators, parasites, and dead weeds.
Art criticism is only in crisis if you stick to old definitions of what it is and who can practice it. Those who wish to Make Art Criticism Great Again, like so many of the zeitgeist’s nostalgics, seem to be yearning for a mid-century yesteryear, when critics were mostly White, male, and disdainful of anything that wasn’t abstraction. As the old gatekeepers lose relevance, new life comes in. You might not like the 40-second hot takes of today’s TikTokers, but what would you call what they do if not art criticism?
None would benefit more from the death of art criticism than the dealer-collector-curator class, which promotes and sponsors uncritical, facile art writing. Large galleries like Hauser & Wirth and Gagosian publish their own glossy, PR-driven art magazines, as do auction houses like Sotheby’s. The market preys on this self-perpetuating crisis, eager to co-opt writers with above-market-level pay for dutiful press releases and catalog essays, lavish trips, and access to their VIP circuit. This troubling “dealer-critic” system is as old as the Paris salons of the mid-19th century, as scholars Harrison and Cynthia White observed back in 1965.
It’s always been tough to make a living from art writing, or writing of any kind. Just ask Kafka, Orwell, or any graduate of an MFA writing program. And yet, many stick with it for the love of the craft, and resist pressure to write market-friendly fluff pieces. While others wring their hands over the “crisis in art criticism,” they’re busy writing.