Can You Pay for an Art Review?

Strictly speaking, no. A review is only worth reading if its writer was free to evaluate the work as she saw fit, and paying for a verdict takes that freedom away. What an artist or institution can do is fund independent criticism — commission the writing, give up control over what it says, and disclose the arrangement to readers. The difference between buying a verdict and funding one you cannot touch is the entire question.

Why can't you just pay for a review?

"Can you pay for an art review?" is something of a trick question, because it contains a logical fallacy. When we say "art review," we assume something like independent criticism of a show or exhibition, published by a writer who is free to evaluate the work as she sees fit. "Free" here means free of any conflict of interest or soft coercion that would induce the writer to consider how her evaluation — her critique — will be received, and how that reception might benefit or damage her prospects for doing exactly this kind of work in the future.

If you pay for a review — whether you're an artist or a gallerist or someone else with an interest in a writer saying something of note about what you're presenting — you place a burden on those prospects. A writer cannot help but consider that burden when she sits down to write. So no, strictly speaking, you can't pay for an art review.

What's the difference between a review, sponsored content, and an advertorial?

That distinction is the whole point of "sponsored content" and "advertorial" — formats familiar to us precisely because they carry no pretense of independence. In them, the opinions and observations, even the facts (which are presented, which are left out), are motivated. This is why publications interested in maintaining a reputation for discourse that is, if not wholly "objective," at least free of conflicts of interest — or transparent about the ones that can't be avoided — call those formats out as such. It's why media companies like The New York Times keep famously strict ethics policies, even for their art critics, who may accept nothing "in kind" from the galleries or museums whose shows they cover, not even an invitation to the vaunted gallery dinner, lest their opinion be swayed to advantage their subjects.

Isn't that what PR firms are for?

And yet the media apparatus of the art industry — the websites and magazines and YouTube channels and Instagram accounts and TikTokers — is driven today by exactly such "in kind" offerings, many of them generated by the public relations and strategic communications firms that have grown in both size and prominence over the past 25 years. These firms do many things for their clients, who pay them thousands of dollars a month in retainer fees. Much of it is relationship work with editors, writers, and, increasingly, influencers: inviting them to openings and events, getting them passes for exhibitions and fairs, helping to arrange interviews and meetings and (often paid) travel to see shows that might otherwise go unseen, sending preprint books and catalogues, and so on.

The whole point of PR, for many of its clients, is to generate "earned" media — as opposed to the "paid" media of advertising and advertorials — and the way that media is earned is through all of the in-kind offerings PR firms provide to writers and editors in lieu of paying them. Many a PR worker will say the job is matchmaking: between stories — their clients and those clients' presumably good works — and the writers who will write about them and the outlets that will publish them. The best operatives do just that. But the machinery of matchmaking is well lubricated by what in other contexts is called soft power and access, and by the perks that follow in tow: Just follow me past these ropes. Would you like another chocolate croissant, glass of champagne, bump in the bathroom stall? Why yes, yes I would — thank you.

All of which ensures that when, at the far end of this chain of access, the writer finally sits down to type out her copy, that show was not very good turns into now what can I say about this work that won't offend?

Why has so much art writing become so nice?

That chain of access is one reason — perhaps the reason — why so much writing about art has become so very "nice," which is to say uncritical, unoffensive, something other than negative. The other reason is scarcity: opportunities to write reviews of art exhibitions and get paid for them are few. A freelancer might see 10–20% of her pitches greenlit, so it makes sense to pitch (1) shows she believes will get picked up — often the shows a magazine or site can use to drive advertising — and (2) shows she is already enthusiastic about. It is much easier for a writer to express a genuine, negative opinion about an exhibition or a performance when she has been assigned to it; if she's pitching, chances are she has already found something interesting to say.

Where does honest criticism live now?

Genuinely negative reviews can still be found on the sites and in the magazine pages, but they are few. Where one finds them is on writers' self-published platforms — increasingly on Substack and in the journals and reviews spawned there — because in self-publishing, writers are free, or at least freer, of the burdens that come with the art media's legacy publishing game.

If a writer is paid to write something in that space, it is essential that she reveal it to her readers, just as reputable news organizations are up front when they have a commercial relationship with a subject they cover: they write it into the piece. Art critics need to do, and should do, the same. A readership should be apprised of potential conflicts, and respected enough to judge for itself the integrity of the writer's judgments on the page.

So is there a legitimate way to pay for criticism?

There are legitimate ways to pay for access to criticism, yes. One of those ways is expensive, and it entails either buying advertising from a publisher in the hope (in some cases) and expectation (in others) that your ad buy will get you coverage, or paying for PR, as above. The other way is what Artlance calls commissioned independence: galleries, museums, and artists fund commissions; vetted, independent critics choose which commissions to claim; and the finished piece is published by the writer, on the writer's own platform. The commissioner isn't paying for a review. The commissioner is paying for access to the best pool of writers who can claim a commission and write criticism unencumbered by the soft coercions that otherwise burden writers in the regular system.

With commissioned independence:

• A commissioner specifies the subject, the word count, and the deadline — nothing else.
• The commissioner has no visibility into the writing before publication and no approval over it.
• Commissioners pay Artlance for access to writers; Artlance pays writers for completing commissions.
• Writers are paid a good rate ($1.00/word) whether the piece is positive or negative or something in between. As long as the piece meets Artlance's Standards of Engagement, the writer gets paid.
• Writers cannot claim commissions where a material conflict of interest exists, including from any commissioner that has paid the writer for other work within the past three months.
• Commissioned work is published without a paywall and can't be published against advertising.
• Every piece carries the same standardized disclosure: "Commissioned writing, independent opinion, facilitated by Artlance."

Sources & further reading

• The New York Times: Ethical Journalism — the staff handbook behind the "nothing in kind" rule referenced above
• The Artlance Charter — the non-interference, disclosure, and payment rules in full
• Standards of Engagement — how commissioned pieces are editorially evaluated
• Frequently asked questions — including "Is this pay-to-play?" and how negative reviews are handled

If you run a gallery, or comms for a museum or arts organization, and you want serious, independent writing about what you present, then commission through Artlance. Right now it's really the only option.