Art is the central organizing force of my life
“Get the Picture” is a new book that’s being touted as a takedown of the Art World and sure there’s a little of that in this funny, well-researched book. The accuracy of Bosker’s astute observations about a world that seems designed to keep most of us out is delicious and a little validating. I, too, once threw myself into this world with a naive enthusiasm that was met with some derision. I almost didn’t even read the book because I thought it would be too triggering. So why does art continue to be the central organizing factor in every aspect of my life?
Until my mid 30’s, I had no experience with the Art World beyond taking a few art history courses in college and regularly visiting art museums. I grew up in middle class suburbia. My father was a proud member of the Teamsters Union and my mother was an immigrant entrepreneur. I did not know that people like me could be art collectors. I was already collecting art from an early age, though, just not the kind of art that the Art World would have deemed acceptable. I decorated my walls with enlargements of photographs I’d taken or prints I picked up at art festivals in parks or even at yard sales I frequented on the weekends when I was a broke grad student.
Much of the art I bought came from places I’d visited around the world, souvenirs that were a step above the tchotchkes I’d collected as a child. I bought a painting of a white hibiscus flower from a backpacker cafe in Costa Rica for $200, which was a lot of money for a recent law school grad earning a non-profit salary while my ex-husband was finishing dental school. I still have that painting, along with a colorful, indigenous terracotta mask from Venezuela (probably fake but still beautiful) and an intricate folk art ink drawing I purchased from a hawker on the beach in Acapulco. Framing those pieces cost more than the original prices I paid for each one.
Those souvenirs were an expression of an identity I treasured in myself, someone who explored and searched for beauty in the world, someone who wished to bring that beauty home and surround herself with it. Eventually, I began to collect “real” art, and replaced those travel tokens with paintings and photographs purchased at “fine” art galleries. At first, a friend who’d grown up with art collecting parents guided me around the Art World and steered me toward the minimalist aesthetic she preferred. As I gained confidence and developed my own Eye, I began to buy “fine” art that reflected my own taste.
The acquisition of those “real” works of art also coincided with an increase in income as my ex and I pursued more lucrative professional careers, which also allowed us to buy a little access to the Art World. We quickly learned the rules. For instance, when a friend who was a rising star in the Art World had a solo exhibit at an important gallery in Los Angeles, I flew out to the opening to support her. I tried to buy one of the paintings, but the gallerist would not sell it to me. The game was that gallerists increased the monetary value of an artist’s work by “placing” it in prestigious collections, which meant selling to wealthy collectors who might donate the work to a museum some day, which would further increase the prices on future sales. Our collection was not worthy. I finally figured out who eventually bought that painting when I later saw it hanging in a group show at the National Museum of Women in the Arts.
Collecting art became an addiction. Collecting art became my identity. Collecting art gave me a sense of purpose and belonging.
I never cared about collecting art as an investment, though. I knew I was not in that league. I always cared more about collecting art that reflected the way I experienced the world and that represented the things I cared about. But for a while, I cared about how collecting art made me a part of the Art World. I felt like I was a member of an elite club, albeit a peripheral member.
I’d burrowed in enough to be invited to occasional VIP events, but there was always something more exclusive to which I’d never be invited and other things from which I didn’t even know I was being excluded. Trying to keep up in a world that I would never be rich enough or compliant enough to fully access was exhausting and sometimes a little unpleasant. Keeping up became impossible after I simultaneously left my legal career and my marriage, both of which provided the resources to maintain any kind of status in the Art World.
What I discovered was that there was a whole world of art beyond the Art World, even when you don’t have money or pedigree. Some of the most formative and altering experiences that I had with art came not from the Art World, but from letting go of my need for approval from the gatekeepers and from gaining confidence in the art experiences that I chose to enjoy on my own terms. I surrounded myself with the things I thought were beautiful and that brought me joy. I prioritized experiences over objects. I looked for deep connections with fellow humans through art.
Bosker embedded herself in the Art World’s various component parts — a gallery, an artist studio, an art fair, a major museum, with art collectors — over several years and ultimately discovered a more expansive vision of what art and beauty could be. She set out to infiltrate the Art World with a journalist’s eye and ended up with an “Eye” and a passion for art. Reading about her experience reminded me about the ways art changed me, too. And reminded me why and how art became the central organizing force of my life.
