Art Curators as Art Critics: Responsibility and Standards

In this scenario, the artist would be the client selecting the flooring, and I would be the technician merely installing it. The implication being that I shouldn’t concern myself with the quality of the “materials” I’m working with—just do the job, take the money, and move on.

This is where art curation fundamentally diverges from home renovation.

Here’s the thing about being an art curator or critic—we don’t have some international rubric with checkboxes that determines quality. There’s no ISO standard for “good art” (though I’m sure someone in Switzerland is working on one). We don’t have a Universal Art Quality Calculator™ where we can input variables and get a definitive answer.

What we do have is ourselves: our education, our experience, our judgment, and, most importantly, our integrity.

When I write about an artist’s work, I’m not just describing what I see. I’m placing that work within cultural contexts, historical lineages, and contemporary discourses. I’m lending my professional reputation to that work. I’m saying, essentially: “I believe this deserves attention and critical engagement.”

And that’s not something I can do for work I don’t believe in, no matter how earnestly someone might wave a checkbook at me.

The Curator-Critic Tango

The line between curator and critic has always been blurrier than a Gerhard Richter painting. Consider figures like Harald Szeemann, who transformed independent curation into a creative practice while writing extensively about his exhibitions. Or Lucy Lippard, whose critical writings and curatorial projects for conceptual artists were so intertwined that they formed a singular intellectual project.

These weren’t people who wrote fancy words for anyone with a checkbook.

When Clement Greenberg wrote about Jackson Pollock, he wasn’t just describing drip paintings—he was articulating a framework that helped viewers understand why those seemingly chaotic canvases mattered. His critical voice helped elevate Pollock’s practice, yes, but it came from genuine intellectual conviction, not a financial transaction.

The Responsibility We Carry

Every time I write a curatorial text, I’m not just describing art—I’m participating in the process that determines what we collectively value. I’m contributing to the narrative of what gets remembered, studied, and preserved.

That’s not something I take lightly. Nor should any curator or critic.

When we write about mediocre work as though it were groundbreaking, we’re not just being dishonest—we’re actively damaging the ecosystem that sustains meaningful artistic practice. We’re creating noise that drowns out signal. We’re making it harder for truly innovative work to be recognized.

Plot twist: That’s bad for everyone, including artists.

Quality Over Quantity: A Radical Concept

“But who are you to judge what’s good?” my husband asked, sipping his fourth coffee of the day without having touched a single glass of water (a move that itself showed questionable judgment).

It’s a fair question. Who am I? I’m someone who has dedicated years to studying art history, theory, and criticism. Someone who has spent countless hours in galleries, museums, and studios. Someone who has developed—through this immersion—a capacity for discernment that allows me to contextualize and evaluate artistic practice.

That doesn’t make my judgment infallible. It doesn’t make my taste universal. But it does mean I have a responsibility to exercise that judgment honestly.

If I can’t genuinely engage with and advocate for a body of work, I shouldn’t be writing about it. Full stop.

The Standard Is the Standard

To return to my husband’s flooring analogy: the crucial difference is that when I write about art, my name—my professional reputation—becomes part of the finished product. Unlike the flooring installer who completes the job and leaves, my words permanently attach my professional judgment to that artwork.

A better comparison might be if the flooring installer’s name was prominently displayed in the middle of the living room floor, along with their certification and professional endorsement of the materials used. Suddenly, that installer might become much more selective about which jobs they accept.

“But Isn’t That Just Elitism?”

My husband seems to believe that maintaining standards is a form of elitism—that what I’m doing is creating arbitrary barriers rather than simply providing a service to those who need it.

I fundamentally disagree. The art world isn’t just a marketplace of services; it’s an ecosystem of ideas, practices, and conversations that collectively shape our cultural understanding. As curators and critics, we aren’t just service providers—we’re active participants in determining what work gets seen, discussed, and remembered.

This isn’t about some ivory tower notion of “high art” versus “low art.” It’s about intellectual honesty. It’s about ensuring that when I write about an artist’s work, I’m doing so because I genuinely believe it contributes something meaningful to our cultural conversation—not because someone paid me to pretend I do.

Maintaining standards isn’t elitism; it’s stewardship. It’s the recognition that cultural writing carries weight and consequence beyond a simple business transaction.

Here’s what I wish more people understood: maintaining standards in cultural writing isn’t elitism—it’s care. Care for art as a practice. Care for audiences who trust curatorial voices. Care for the artists who are doing meaningful work.

When curators and critics refuse to compromise on quality, we’re not being snobs. We’re doing our jobs. We’re saying that art matters enough to deserve honest engagement.

And sometimes, that means saying no to projects—even paid ones—that don’t align with our professional integrity.

The Path Forward

So what’s the solution? For curators and critics, it’s about being transparent about our criteria and consistent in applying them. It’s about nurturing emerging artists through honest feedback rather than empty praise. It’s about using our platforms to elevate work we genuinely believe in.

For artists, it’s about seeking critical engagement rather than just validation. It’s about understanding that a thoughtful rejection might be more valuable than superficial praise.

And for my husband (who will almost certainly read this)—it’s about understanding that some professional ethics don’t have clean edges. Sometimes, the right thing isn’t the easy thing, the profitable thing, or the thing that makes everyone happy during our afternoon coffee breaks.

Quality matters. Standards matter. And yes, words matter—they’re never “just words” when they shape our cultural landscape.

If this resonated with you and you’re an artist seeking thoughtful engagement with your work (rather than just empty words), or a budding curator looking to develop your critical voice, we have two programs designed to elevate artistic practice through honest dialogue:

Crits – Our group program where artists (and art world professionals) can receive and provide constructive feedback in a supportive environment. These facilitated critique sessions help you understand how your work is perceived, identify blind spots, and refine your artistic vision through diverse perspectives.

The Critical Muse – Our tiered one-on-one program exclusively for artists who want personalized guidance.

Both programs are built on the belief that honest, informed criticism is the foundation of artistic growth—because we value your work enough to engage with it truthfully.