Help! I Hate... My Curator

Every week, The Art Journal’s resident artworld Agony Aunt Charlotte Jansen answers your questions about access, gatekeeping and sticky social problems.

Have a burning question for her? Get in touch anonymously here.

I recently invited a curator I admire to visit my studio. It took me a while to pin them down, but eventually I did. I thought the visit went well, and they said my work was “interesting”. But since then, they’ve aired me – I sent an email to thank them for the visit, but got no response. Was “interesting” code for “please never contact me again?” or am I being paranoid? How much follow up is too much? How do I know when to let it go and move on?

‘Interesting.’ Possibly the most overly-analysed word in contemporary art.

Many of us lie awake at 3am turning the word over in our mind, trying to determine whether it actually meant ‘potentially significant’ or ‘I hate this.’

I have recently been working on a long essay and I had a similar experience. My anonymous peer reviewer described it an ‘ambitious’ which, reading between the lines, means it is a failure. I asked an academic friend if this was the case, and he said most likely my interpretation was right.

People imagine curators possess a secret language or code in which every adjective is a carefully-crafted final verdict. But in reality, they are just human – they’re trying to get through their day and manage whatever private-life crisis they're dealing with. Like the rest of us, their focus is on surviving the week. ‘Interesting’ is often less a coded form of rejection than you might think. 

But they have also ghosted you. That is, I imagine, both disappointing and a little hurtful, given how much you admire and appreciate this curator’s work and how much effort it took to get them to your studio in the first place. You probably prepared, you had expectations – and now you don’t know if the engagement is going to go anywhere. Worse, the curator simply doesn’t feel your work has anything to offer at the moment. 

Try not to catastrophise, though. (I say this as someone who catastrophises constantly and has no idea how not to do it, only that we shouldn’t.) The artworld is such a curious and overly complicated place, one that often runs somewhere between intense seriousness and administrative chaos. Just this week, I was scolded – in quite a shocking manner, I must say – by a PR for neglecting to respond to her email invitation to an event she was overseeing. In terms of politeness and etiquette, she was right: it is rude not to reply, and we can all make excuses. Still, I did not ignore the email on purpose. I simply answered in my head while facing down the maelstrom of my personal life.

Entire exhibitions can materialise from conversations that went cold for months on end. That’s how the artworld is. People also say, ‘let’s definitely do something together’ and then vanish forever. The thing is to try and not take it personally. 

Sending another follow-up email a week or two after the visit is completely reasonable. Gently check in to see if they got your email, refer to something you discussed, include a link if appropriate, and then release it into the wild. If nothing comes back, another email a month or two later – particularly if you have a show, publication or new body of work – is fair game. If they have still not responded after that, it’s time to stop.

Not because you have become annoying, but because no third email has ever unlocked a hidden level of unmitigated enthusiasm. If someone wants to work with you, they don't need six reminders that you exist. If they don't want to work with you, six reminders won't change their mind.

I feel awful when this happens to me. But, from time to time, it does. I might have a portfolio review or agree to meet with someone to discuss their work. If it goes well, I might try to advise or give some helpful pointers. But sometimes the person then continues to hammer me with texts, follow ups, links to works, heavy and long PDF files. Being chased in such a way can sometimes have a negative effect on how I see the work. There is a point when it becomes too much.

Remember that not every interaction or contact is potentially career-defining. This is an occupational hazard. We mistake passing comments for prophecies. We replay conversations as though they were CIA intercepts. Did they linger by that painting? Did they smile at the sculpture? Did they write something down? Were they making a note about the work – or just reminded themselves to buy some oat milk?

I am sure the word ‘interesting’ has been used to describe J. M. W. Turner, Tracey Emin, a ceramic ashtray, an artist's manifesto and someone's neighbour's unusually-shaped courgette. The word is simply doing too much work. I’m a writer, for goodness sake, and I use it all the time. 

The curator has almost certainly forgotten the exact wording of the conversation because they have spent the following week writing funding applications, installing an exhibition, missing trains, apologising for missed emails and promising six different people on WhatsApp that they will "circle back soon." Somewhere in their inbox are 143 unopened messages, three exhibition budgets that no longer add up and multiple drafts that begin, "Apologies for the delay..."

This isn't an excuse. The artworld could stand to become dramatically better at closing loops. "Thanks, but this isn't for me" is a vastly kinder sentence than radio silence. The same can be said of the dating world, as many of us will know. 

But, unfortunately, cultural etiquette has developed a peculiar allergy to definitive answers. We fear disappointing people so much that we sentence them to months of interpretive waiting instead. Filling in silences can be so much more painful than the reality. It doesn't help that the artworld has elevated ambiguity into an aesthetic principle. We admire work that resists fixed interpretation, then expect human communication to do the same. Somewhere along the line, "keeping the conversation open" became preferable to simply saying yes or no.

Remember, though, that careers are rarely built on deciphering individual encounters. They are built on accumulation: making work, showing up, meeting people repeatedly, becoming a familiar presence rather than a hopeful interruption. Today's unanswered email has an uncanny habit of becoming next year's invitation, usually just after you've stopped checking your inbox every six minutes.

So by all means, follow up. Then carry on with your day. Make another piece, invite another curator, apply for another residency. Don’t be held hostage by this one adjective. If someone tells you your work is "interesting", try and take them at their word – at least until you know otherwise.