Fan Mail

#601

We’d like to have a friendly chat about your most recent review…

This week I’m running the piece on the Emily Kame Kngwarreye exhibition published in The Australian last Saturday. The article has had a range of responses, some of them rather startling. Almost invariably when I’ve written critically of something or someone, the only reply is stony silence. Nobody wants to draw attention to themselves, debate the facts of a case, or launch a counterattack that makes them look like a bad sport. They’ve also learned that if you say nothing, today’s media will rapidly let the story fizzle, believing their readers aren’t interested in some “arty” gripe. This is the standard institutional response to even the most outspoken piece of writing.

It came as a surprise then, to receive an aggressive email from a curator who wrote to tell me how personally offended they were. As they also wrote: PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL across the top, I’ll respect that banner and not quote the actual words. (If I use the inelegant “they”, rather than a more precise pronoun, it’s only for the sake of privacy. No-one mentioned here is non-binary!). In a nutshell, I was informed that the article was full of inaccuracies, and a full unfiltered response was on the way. I only wish they had provided a list of these “inaccuracies”, as I would be happy to assess and correct anything not factually true. I look forward to reading the response.

The curator was especially peeved that I had criticised linguist, Jenny Green, for insisting on a new spelling of the artist’s name. But I still don’t understand how this could be justified when there is a record of Emily herself saying that she wanted the spelling to remain as it was. At the end there was a slightly unprofessional descent into what the newspapers quaintly call “profanity”, but hey, I’m not the frail and sensitive type.

While marvelling that, after posting roughly 120 pieces since last October, I’d finally got a bite, the miracles continued. This time it was an art dealer, who texted to ask who had “funded” my trip to London. The art dealer wanted to know “Who paid for the article?”, “Who paid for the hotel?” and so on. It was a bit like having a text exchange with the Grand Inquisitor. I had little inclination to respond to these relentless enquiries, which my interlocutor seemed to think perfectly acceptable. As it went on, the word “harrassment” was running through my mind.

The art dealer kept telling me that I should consult the “Journalism Ethics Code”, which, it was implied, I had breached in some heinous way. Like the curator, the dealer was concerned about “inaccuracies”. I asked if I could be sent a list so I could, if necessary, make corrections. I’m still waiting.

The greater implication of this line of interrogation was that I was in the pay of some nefarious enemy of the art dealer who flew me over to London to do a hit job on the show at Tate Modern. Anybody who knows me would laugh at this, but I found it quite disturbing in that it represents a view of the world, or at least, the artworld, in which opinions and reviews are bought and sold – in which the only conceivable reason I might have been critical of the Tate show was because I was being paid to do so.

This is not only false and insulting it says more about the art dealer than about me. Perhaps they missed the very public memo that I am no longer employed by a major media organisation - largely because I wouldn’t tailor my opinions to suit the new ethic of being ever-so-nice to all major institutions and taking press releases as dogma. Neither have I ever been a “journalist” per se, working almost exclusively as critic, commentator, and occasional feature writer. The Australian may run the odd article on a one-off basis, but I’m not on the payroll. When I asked the editor if he’d like a piece on Emily I’d already made and paid for my travel arrangements.

Nowadays, this Substack site with the customised domain name everythingthe.com is the major outlet for my work, and my major source of income. The Substack platform provides a structure for writers to monetize their content via paid subscriptions. The ‘Founding Member’ option allows subscribers to contribute a minimum of $150 and an unlimited maximum amount. Hypothetically, a benevolent subscriber could put in millions if they liked – with the option to repeat this amount annually as a tailored subscription – although that doesn’t seem very likely. It is, however, a transparently integrated structure of the Substack platform itself. To quote the site: "The founding member option allows readers to pay more than the listed price.”

Feel free to test this yourself by going to the Founding Member option and entering any amount you like – just don’t finalise it unless you mean it!

Who paid for my trip to London? Well, the people who pay a mostly modest (though much appreciated) amount to receive the art and cinema columns. This group, along with those who simply choose to receive the editorial for free, are those with a dedicated interest in art: artists, writers, gallerists, collectors, curators, bureaucrats, politicians, lawyers, business types, etc. All are united by their passion for art. It’s highly likely they own some art. No-one has ever tried to dictate what I write or suggest that I have been compromised in some way. I doubt that most readers would always agree with my views, but they respect my right to hold them and understand it is a tacit part of my role as a critic. I have exchanges almost every week along those lines.

It's understood that beyond covering my immediate living costs I use readers’ contributions to fund my writing as a critic. Unsurprisingly, this involves actually going to see the artworks and exhibitions in person.

Any money I receive does not come from a single source, and nobody tells me what to write. It’s unthinkable that I would write anything as per instructions or put my name to anything I did not genuinely believe. As my comments on the Emily show were very similar to what I wrote about the first version held at the NGA in December 2023, I feel I’ve been perfectly consistent in this regard. Notably, nobody, including my current antagonists, raised any objections to that first review.

So why the kerfuffle about Emily at Tate Modern? One suspects the stakes were much higher when the exhibition was being held in London rather than Canberra (no offence, Canberrans!). As Emily’s reputation has risen over the past couple of years, the prices of her work have steepled, creating significant competition between dealers. There has been a roaring trade in selling Emily’s paintings to high-profile collectors, and no-one who is making money wants to see a piece of writing that inadvertently casts a shadow on this market orgy. Having said that, I don’t think I wrote anything of the kind.

Turning to the art dealer’s interrogation-by-text, I find it quite incredible that anyone should expect me to answer questions as if I were strapped to a chair with a bright light in my eyes. What was this about? Bullying. Harrassment. Attempted intimidation. Vague legal threats… Whatever it was, it doesn’t have any place in civilised discourse, suggesting someone who has watched too many gangster movies. I’d be interested to hear from anyone who has had similar experiences with an art dealer or been subjected to the same heavy-handed tactics, as it felt like a well-practised approach.

I mention it because I think it’s important that such hostile behaviour be exposed to the light of public scrutiny. Anyone who fondly imagines that art dealing is a genteel profession should spend an hour exchanging texts with this lout. I’ve met plenty of art dealers who were aggressive in their sales pitch, but never one who acted as if they wanted to pull out your fingernails unless you immediately answered their questions.

None of this sits well with all those heartfelt commitments that have been made to the people of Utopia, who were told they’d be flown to London for Emily’s show, then informed there was no money in the budget. Nobody seems to have thought to ask Creative Australia or DFAT if a special purpose grant might have been made available. I’ve often written about the profligate way Dr. Nick at the NGA has spent millions on artworks of dubious distinction, but it seems there was nothing left in the piggy bank for a few extra airfares. Neither did the Tate opt to invest in a little good will. By all accounts they were reluctant to pay for the drinks and didn’t do a celebratory dinner. Some believe the museum may not have taken the show were it not for a $400,000 donation from Wesfarmers.

What were they thinking? “Did we need to bring over Emily’s relatives as well? I mean, we’ve agreed to host this show. Isn’t that enough? Shouldn’t you be suitably grateful?”

If you watch the documentary, I Am Kam, directed by Kelli Cole’s sister, Danielle MacLean, who also made the very good doco from last year, Like My Brother, there is endless footage of the ladies from Utopia wandering around on country. They are repeatedly shown dancing bare-breasted – even at the official opening at the NGA, surrounded by guests in suits and smart frocks. The impressionistic emphasis on ceremony, community and closeness to nature takes precedence over any attempt to relate the details of Emily’s career. Having committed so wholeheartedly to the women of the community during the NGA events, it was surprising that the organisers of the show seemed to consider them surplus-to-requirements when the show arrived at Tate Modern.

To return to this week’s unpleasant correspondence, as we’re talking about a public art museum taking a show from another public art museum, is it best practice for any curator to respond petulantly to criticism of an exhibition with a note garnished by foul language? Is it standard procedure for an art dealer to take up cudgels on behalf of the institution, issuing threats that could potentially drag the museums into damaging legal proceedings? Were my antagonist to act on these threats it’s entirely likely the curators of the show and even the museum directors who signed off on the exhibition, would have to front up in court. It would be a bonanza of negative, salacious publicity in an attempt to prove some nebulous wrongdoing for which there is no foundation. I don’t believe “Sour Grapes” features on the statute books.

Is this what the NGA and Tate Modern want? It would be the ultimate symbol of the death of art criticism today, exposing the museum’s belief that everything they do is above and beyond question. Any annoying insect that questions their choices and procedures needs to be crushed. I doubt that such authoritarian, intolerant gestures would go down well with the public.

It could be argued that the art dealer’s aggro texts reveal the problems of getting too close and personal with the commercial sector. My criticisms of a public show have been taken in a highly personal way, as if the art dealer were taking ownership of this event. Without going into too many details, let’s assume the show contains a good number of works the art dealer has sold to private clients. We’ll say this is coincidence and those pieces are of sufficient quality to justify inclusion. Other art dealers might argue they have not had the same consideration, being treated as persona non grata for unstated reasons. Among notable, inexplicable omissions the most prominent is Emily’s largest and best-known painting, Earth’s Creation (1994).

I’m also reliably informed that an art dealer organised the shipping of works to London - which may have been convenient for the Tate but gives the appearance of simply handing over responsibility for a necessary task they would normally handle themselves. Many would argue this is something museums should always do for themselves. At the very least, it might be best to keep the shipping procedures between public institutions to avoid the appearance of passing on collectors’ personal information to private sources or showing favouritism to one commercial outlet over another.

Maybe museums are doing the right thing by never responding to criticism. The only reason I’ve written this piece is because of the nature of the responses I’ve had from two errrr… arts professionals. I get letters every week that invite dispute or further discussion, but I’m not accustomed to interrogations. It’s a worrying development because we are crossing a line from accepted standards of behaviour, whereby people can argue their corner in a lively manner, to a new norm whereby it’s fine to browbeat and heavy critics in an attempt to discredit them. It’s very contemporary, very Trumpian. Don’t enter into tricky discussions, just threaten a lawsuit in an effort to enforce silence and submission.

If this is the face of public museums today, I’m not sure they could call themselves “safe” spaces, no matter how politically-correct their exhibitions and procedures. The growing closeness between public and private interests is raising questions, sitting awkwardly with the new institutional emphasis on inclusiveness and social justice. Even with an artist such as Emily, who spent her life on a small patch of country in the centre of Australia and gave away almost everything she earned to family and community, the commercial angle has become an ever-increasing talking point. When paintings by a deceased artist start to sell for millions of dollars, it requires cast-iron scholarship and integrity to select works on the basis of aesthetic merit, regardless of all the other pressures. It’s obvious that money has a corrosive effect on morality, but it’s also true that a huge price tag or a celebrity owner create their own special aura.

As inclusion in a major retrospective can add considerably to the value of a work the competition for places is intense. Omission is just as much an issue because Earth’s Creation would have grown in value through inclusion in this show and may suffer accordingly from being left out. This value-adding is a mechanism of public museum exhibitions that can’t be avoided. The difficult task for curators is to keep away from obvious compromises with market forces, and to provide excellent reasons as to why individual pieces have been included or excluded. Airy, generalised, paternalistic statements won’t suffice, nor sweeping professions of love for the Indigenous people of the world. The works those Indigenous people are making, often for reasons of religion or culture, rather than commerce, acquire a price tag when they enter the marketplace. As a piece is bought and sold, perhaps several times, it’s not the artist who gets rich.