Before you touch your brush and clay again, stop. Prepare:
- Artist statement.
- Biography.
- Website.
- Portfolio with descriptions of your works or series, a catalogue if relevant.
- Social media.
This is the core of your art career. It shouldn’t be a revelation. Most artists have encountered this list many times before, and yet, these things are often surprisingly difficult to find. Preparing and maintaining them is not easy, of course. In fact, they are often among the most difficult parts of being an artist. But without these few things, you simply do not exist. Unless you are among the one percent of artists who were picked up early in their careers or already have extensive contacts.
From the perspective of a curator who is constantly looking for artists to collaborate with, these basics matter more than is often realised. Missing even one of them can make an artist significantly harder to engage with. I can say honestly that there have been many occasions when I did not invite an artist to a show simply because I could not find basic information about them or their work. And I know I am not the only one who experiences this. This is why I always start with these foundations when I begin working with an artist as their manager. Not because they are exciting, but because they are necessary.
When selecting artists through open calls, or when encountering work in exhibitions and wanting to learn more about the artist, I repeatedly run into the same issue. Artists often do not share their work in a way that makes it discoverable. Sometimes there is no website. Sometimes there are no descriptions of the works. Artist statements, if they exist at all, often remain living only in the artist’s head. Without these tools, it becomes difficult to understand the work, place it in context, or remember the artist afterwards. And without that, connection rarely happens.
Much of my writing addresses institutions, markets, and systems that fail artists. Here, I am turning toward artists themselves. With care, but also with honesty. Preparation does not end with documentation and a few short texts. Promotion is an essential part of sustaining a practice.
Artists who actively promote a show, bring their community to the opening, and support one another often feel let down by peers who disappear after installation, as if hoping someone else will do the job for them. The curator. The gallery. The universe.
Fair enough, a gallery exists to present and sell your work, but you are also the face of that gallery. It also means that bringing people who support you, and who may have bought your work in the past, into the exhibition can change what happens in that room.
Many shows reach me only through documentation shared months later. Marketing is not the curator’s primary responsibility. Artists also have networks. If you want people to come, you have to let them know.
You already have contacts, even if you do not think of them that way. Fellow students. Artists you met at openings. Former lecturers. People who follow your work online. Even your mum. This is your network. Invite them, even with a simple message or a DM. If they do not respond or cannot attend, nothing is lost.
Your career will not end because you sent an invitation. If doing this yourself feels uncomfortable, ask the curator if they are happy to help. Many are.
When there are multiple artists in a show, collective effort matters. Ten artists inviting their communities means ten times more people hearing about the exhibition. It is not magic. It is simply part of the work.
If you feel unsure where to start, ask the curator you are working with for help. Ask if they could review your statement or your website before the exhibition. Let them know you want to be prepared, professional, and contribute to how the show is perceived. Curators want to work with artists who care about how their work is seen.
Professional does not mean corporate. Often, it simply means having the basics in place.
Curators and gallery owners are often less visible than artists. Their work rarely happens in the spotlight. Securing a venue, writing texts, organising production, printing materials, coordinating marketing, and preparing an opening all happen long before artworks are installed. Often, installing the work is the last thing they do, and sometimes the least important part of the job. Acknowledging this labour matters. These are the people who create opportunities for you.
There is also a common misconception worth addressing. Gallery owners who run spaces five days a week rarely attend as many exhibitions as people assume. They also do not have a complete overview of what is happening elsewhere unless they are closely connected. Even when they attend openings, meaningful conversations are rare. This is also why curators often rely on recommendations from trusted colleagues. A single forwarded post can make your work visible. It is unlikely that anyone will spend twenty minutes searching online to piece together basic information about your practice.
Many people dislike social media. I do too. The pressure to post, engage, and polish everything is exhausting. And yet, for many creatives, it remains the only ways to be visible. I work full-time as a curator and artist manager, yet I still only visit exhibitions occasionally. Not because I do not care, but because time is limited.
So imagine those who have normal jobs. Posting even simple photos taken with your phone signals that you exist, that you are working, that you are present. There is no philosophy required. Post once every two weeks, or even once a month. It is enough.
As I said at the beginning, these “basic” elements are not easy. Writing about your own work is hard. Structuring your practice is hard. Knowing where to begin is hard. If you need support with this process, this is exactly the space I work in. You are welcome to reach out.
Preparation is not about self-promotion for its own sake. It is about making your work accessible, understood, and remembered. It is about respecting your own practice and the people who want to support it.