Marina Abramović is one of those artists who has never stopped giving the art world something to talk about, from the early provocative performances that pushed the limits of endurance and transformed visceral traumatic catharsis into art to her later shift toward more spiritual and energetic rituals aimed at collective healing and reconnection. Over the decades, she has continued to reinvent the possibilities of performance, turning the body, her own and the audience’s, into a site of vulnerability, transformation and shared experience, in the process becoming both an icon of contemporary art and, in many ways, a shamanic healer for a troubled collectivity. In 2026, Abramović will make history as the first woman to receive a major exhibition at the Galleria dell’Accademia in Venice, which opens at the height of the art calendar during the 61st Venice Biennale. Marking the artist’s 80th birthday, “Marina Abramović: Transforming Energy” will stage a resonant dialogue between her pioneering performance practice and the Renaissance masterpieces that have shaped Venice’s cultural identity. Iconic works such as Imponderabilia (1977), Rhythm 0 (1974), Light/Dark (1977), Balkan Baroque (1997) and Carrying the Skeleton (2008) will appear alongside projections of early performances. One of the central highlights will be Abramović and Ulay’s Pietà (1983) shown in direct dialogue with Titian’s final unfinished Pietà (c. 1575-76), an unprecedented historic pairing that reframes Renaissance themes of grief, transcendence and redemption through a contemporary lens while underscoring the body’s enduring role as a site of suffering and spiritual elevation. Curated by Shai Baitel, artistic director of the Modern Art Museum (MAM) Shanghai, in close collaboration with the artist, the exhibition will unfold across both the museum’s permanent collection galleries and its temporary exhibition spaces, a first in the institution’s history, embedding Abramović’s work deep within the city’s artistic patrimony. At its core, “Transforming Energy” is an encounter between past and present, material and immaterial, body and spirit, revealing how Abramović’s lifelong exploration of endurance, presence and transformation resonates powerfully within Venice’s centuries-old visual language.
When it comes to gifts for art lovers, wrapping original art is the ultimate power move. But here’s the catch: collectors pour their hearts—and usually their bank accounts—into curating deeply personal collections. If you know your giftee very, very well, a piece of art can be a very, very good gift. You could also treat the collector in your life to a gallery outing or surprise them with a session with an art advisor. But if adding to their collection feels too ambitious, there are plenty of artsy presents for everyone on your list, from the absolute obsessive to the casually cultured. Whether you’re working with a shoestring budget or aiming for extravagance, there’s no shortage of options that are thoughtful, stylish and primed to impress. Enjoy our guide to the gifts guaranteed to thrill any art enthusiast.
In 2013, Marseille was appointed Capitale Européenne de la Culture—a program intended to strengthen European locales through the prism of the arts. Since then, the city has increasingly drawn interest from within (and even without) France. That interest reached an inflection point after COVID, as people in Paris were drawn to the idea of living adjacent to the sea after being agonizingly shut in during lockdown. This southward movement has spurred territorial tensions and accusations of gentrification, with an article this spring in French newspaper Libération fueling the controversy (“Les Parisiens qui débarquent à Marseille prennent leurs clics et une claque”) about whether this mass shift was denaturing the “caractère” of the city.
Whether Marseille is accepting of this draw from other regions or not, the city has been trying to gain a foothold in the arts. Although it is the second-largest city in France, Marseille’s arts scene does not match its scale. Art-o-rama, a contemporary art fair that recently closed its nineteenth edition, is trying to rally participation locally, although only three galleries from Marseille brought work to this edition (just one independently), which featured fourteen countries. The fair is an outgrowth of the loose invitational salon started by local gallerist Roger Pailhas in the 1990s; today, it’s a three-day fair held in late August that partners with regional players, such as Carré d’Art in Nîmes, Villa Carmignac in Porquerolles, Fondation Luma in Arles and Villa Noailles in Hyères. The press notes point out that eight of the nineteen galleries selected for this year’s Art Basel Statements section previously participated in Art-o-rama.
Jérôme Pantalacci, director of Art-o-rama, said the fair’s signature is that the scenography of the stands is left quite open and that a lot of new work is produced specifically for it. As for Marseille as a backdrop, he noted the acceleration of the arts scene within less than a decade. “There’s a form of effervescence,” he told Observer. The city is notoriously less polished than Paris: “Marseille is disorganized—it’s a bit sauvage. It’s something that people used to not like, but now it’s sought-after. There’s a kind of freedom. It’s not neat, so there are, of course, inconveniences in terms of organization; it’s sometimes chaotic. But that’s also its charm.” The makeup of the city is also different, with a huge community from North Africa. Moreover, there are no banlieues: “the quartiers populaires are in the city, not outside of it,” he said of the socio-economic realities. Asked if the city tends to be misperceived, he admitted that “it’s considered a city that has a lot of crime and is dirty. The contemporary art public and collectors will more easily go to Monaco. But the image of Marseille has changed due to the quality of life, with the sun and the sea and being close to Italy.”
Art-o-rama is hosted in La Friche, a sprawling former tobacco factory turned cultural center in the Belle de Mai neighborhood behind the train station. Upon arrival, one encounters a basketball court and a skate park; its vast floors contain artist studios, exhibition spaces and a large rooftop, linked by heavily graffitied stairwells (“no to war,” “lesbians everywhere”).
Giovanni’s Room, a Los Angeles gallery existent for over three years, exhibited this year for the first time. Gallerist Jeremy Maldonado, however, attends fairs as a visitor in New York, London, Paris and Miami “year-round, seasonally, as it’s crucial as an American business.” He was encouraged to join Art-o-rama by his friends at Parisian gallery Sans Titre, which also brought work to the fair. Maldonado was showing Los Angeles-born New York-based artist Jackie Klein (whose work ranged from $1,000-2,500). “It’s a wonderful atmosphere,” Maldonado told Observer. “Being in Europe and having those dialogues with European art patrons, art dealers, artists… Business comes second. And I feel like the business comes from that integrity. I’m not thinking of selling anything; I’m thinking of presenting a really effective body of work, and that alone should be the focus.” He wagered that he would participate again at Art-o-rama next year.
DS Galerie, a Parisian space in the Marais, was participating in its fourth edition. Gallery representative Ulysse Feuvrier said that Marseille is “an ecosystem that’s growing more and more,” yet the size of the fair was manageable. “It doesn’t bring an overdose in its format, which means there’s more time to see everything and to exchange… It’s a different way to start the year than Frieze Seoul.” The first year DS Galerie participated, they showed sculpture duo Xolo Cuintle, which, based on a meeting at the fair, led to their first solo show in France. This year, Antoine Conde’s drawings were the star, culled from a bank of images of erotica, porn and pop culture and priced from €900-1600.
Galeria Sabot is a longstanding participant, capping their sixth edition, partly anchored by the “friendly organization.” The Romanian gallery has previously participated in Liste, Artissima, NADA Miami and Paris Internationale, but during the pandemic began “rethinking the ways we should survive,” founder Daria Dumitrescu told Observer. The gallery was showing three artists: young painter Daniel Moldoveanu, conceptual artist and critical abstractionist Pepo Salazar and drawings by Alexandra Zuckerman inspired by fabrics, with work ranging from €1,300-12,000. Dumitrescu’s experience was that the sales did not come immediately but that the gallery “built a collector base in France.” The gallery, she noted, “works with very young artists and we grow together—it’s more difficult. You have to create the need in the market, then things happen. Some are older now and more well-known, and things are a bit easier.”
Longtermhandstand from Budapest enjoyed its second outing at the fair. Last year, the gallery showed five artists and “got some really nice opportunities for our artists institutionally,” gallery representative Peter Bencze told Observer. “We also made some sales, but Art-o-rama is not Basel or Frieze—if you know this, you can enjoy it very much. We like vibrancy and also the philosophy of the fair. Nowadays, all artwork is really pushed by the market. Of course, you can sell here as well, but the main thing you realize is that it really helps your artists.” This year, the gallery mounted a themed booth inspired by the correspondence between Marcel Duchamp and Constantin Brâncuși, specifically focused on the latter’s U.S. career. The fourteen artists were selected in a curatorial nod to this reference, although the works were not created purposefully with this in mind. Among those shown were Hungarian artist Áron Lőrincz, French artist Julie Béna and Hungarian artist Omara Mara Oláh, whose work was the most expensive on the stand at €20,000.
MICKEY, a Chicago gallery, returned for the second time to Art-o-rama; gallerist Mickey Pomfrey had been advised to participate on the recommendation of fellow American gallery Good Weather (also at the fair). “What we liked about it was the vibe: there’s a lot of license that they give galleries to be able to exhibit in a different way than a lot of other fairs do. The crowd seemed very engaged. And of course, Marseille is just the most lovely place to be at this time of the year,” Pomfrey said. He further remarked, admiringly, that in Marseille, “the post-internet aesthetic never died like it did in America—they didn’t get hit by the same culture shift experience.” Last year, the stand was dedicated to gouache-on-cardboard paintings by Ryan Nault; this year, Michael Madrigali’s works—made from wood, fiberglass, foam, plastic and paint to resemble renderings—were inspired by a trip to a Mexican artifact museum and exhibited akin to a woman’s shoe display. Pieces were priced at €2,000.
Anchoring the local presence, Marseille gallery sissi club was at the art fair for the fourth time; the gallery was founded in 2019, and the founders initially attended Art-o-rama as visitors. “Art-o-rama is very important because an art scene is formed around it, an international one,” said Anne Vimeux, who spearheaded the gallery alongside Elise Poitevin. During their first year, the booth was dedicated to Inès di Folco Jemni, who they brought back for Liste in Basel this spring. This year, they featured two artists at different points in their careers: photos by Marion Ellena (€800-1,500) and a batik by Amalia Laurent, who just finished a year at Villa Medicis (€10,000). “There are few galleries in the Marseille ecosystem, so when we go elsewhere we represent the scene,” Vimeux said of participating internationally at Material in Mexico City, ARCO in Madrid and Paris Internationale. “Choosing a fair is choosing a scene—that’s how we think about it.”
With both founders being from Marseille, they’ve been happy to see the ongoing growth of curatorial projects and ateliers accompanying artist practices. “What we hope for is that the scene will become more structured around institutions. That’s how we’ll be able to anchor it,” Vimeux said. “We’ve experienced the off-peak moments, but a new generation is bringing a new dynamic.”
One of the absolute highlights of the second edition of Tokyo’s art week was the Alexander Calder show, “Calder: Un effet du Japonais,” now on view through September 6 at Azubudai Hills Art Gallery in collaboration with Pace Gallery. The exhibition celebrates Pace’s new Japanese outpost, which had its soft opening and preview timed to coincide with Tokyo Gendai. The ambitious show marks the first extensive presentation of the artist’s work in the city, following a series of institutional shows in other parts of Japan. “It took us twenty years to do a Calder show in Tokyo,” Calder Foundation president and curator of the exhibition, Alexander S. C. Rower told Observer. We had the pleasure of walking through the exhibition with Rower (whom many might know as Sandy Rower, Calder’s grandson). “This is really a gift to Japan,” he said. “He could have had a big party, but Marc [Glimcher] decided on this multimillion-dollar show instead.”
Despite Calder never actually traveling to the country and never openly claiming any direct connection with Japanese culture, the show sheds new light on how much of his art had absorbed and inventively interpreted an approach to form and space typical of the Japanese aesthetic. As Rower explained, this was probably the result of Calder’s parents collecting many Japanese tools and prints that then surrounded the artist during his youth.
Featuring around 100 works from the Calder Foundation’s collection spanning the 1920s to the 1970s, the exhibition was not conceived as a retrospective but aims instead to explore the relationship Calder’s art had with Japan and how the country’s aesthetic influenced and nourished his endless inventiveness in poetically reimagining sculptural forms. According to Rower, it’s about looking at Calder’s work with fresh eyes. The line, of course, appears as a leading element throughout Alexander Calder’s career, shaping a formal journey into the rhythm of nature and natural circles. As masters of Japanese ink painting would do, Calder was able to suggest form, space, energy and movement with nothing more than a black line.
The exhibition, which is the artist’s first solo show in Tokyo in almost thirty-five years, draws its title from the enigmatic piece positioned right at the entrance of the show, Effect Japonaise, which mirrors the beauty of a tree’s floating leaves moving with the wind and the beauty of a star suspended in the sky, also recalling the dancing movement of the fans during the traditional Kabuki dance, which can be adjusted to evoke the wind, the water, the snow and other natural phenomena.
Calder’s oeuvre is deeply imbued with the Japanese “aesthetics of emptiness,” based on a necessary dialectic relation between emptiness and presence that allows a dynamic space of transformation—a place where processes can still flow and find a balance. His sculptures appear to translate the philosophical and construction concept of “MA,” namely the interchangeable relation that needs to exist between place, space and void. Yet his use of the line on canvas often follows the lesson of Japanese traditional ink paintings, and the haboku technique in particular, where a few very rapid monochrome ink strokes can suggest a landscape not explicitly identified and, more importantly, the air circulating in between the subjects, translating a simultaneous both sensory and spiritual engagement with the scene.
The first epiphany related to these crucial aspects of Calder’s practice comes with the first artworks we encounter in the exhibition: sketches of animals hanging on the first wall, just a few single linear traits quickly drawn on white paper to describe creatures and the dynamics between them. These works remind one of the Cirque Calder, one of his early works. Calder, in the 20s, was working as a toy designer, and in 1926 he made mechanical toys that led to the creation of his Circus, now on permanent view at the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York. However, the Azubudai Hills Art Gallery show purposely avoids presenting his wire sculptures, focusing instead on what Calder was sharing with the Japanese traditional aesthetic and philosophical approach to the line as space: “drawing in space,” as critics describe the artist’s practice.
On the first wall, we are also invited to examine two large paintings, which are very much not what Calder fans might regard as his most significant. They’re there, Rower explained, because they were the first two works by Calder shown in Japan in 1965 as part of an extensive show of Western art in, of all places, a department store. In one, we see a view of Calder’s studio in 1955.
As we move to the second cluster of works in this survey, a series of early abstract paintings from the ’30s show how Calder was absorbing and elaborating in a very personal way the lessons of the avant-garde and the sensibility of surrealism. The burgeoning surrealist movement naturally influenced Calder, and some of its most prominent voices, including Joan Miró, André Breton and Jean Arp, became his friends. Some of Calder’s abstract paintings show his closeness with Mirò, as they shared an interest in establishing rhythmic and dialectic relations between organic forms and flattened picture planes drawn together with sharp and interlacing lines into new “constellations.”
A significant contribution in translating this formal and narrative rhythm into the space in this extensive show is provided by thoughtful exhibition design conceived of by Japanese architect Stephanie Goto, a longtime Calder Foundation collaborator. Rooted in the proportion of the geometry of a 3:4:5 triangle, the design plays with traditional Japanese materials such as cherry wood and the mysterious blackboard black paper, which create a framework where Calder’s sculptures can differently emerge or be camouflaged to create a new tension between the elements and offer new suggestive allusions to their parallels in nature. The black paper background, in particular, allows for an entirely different experience of Calder’s use of color. The three red spheres suspended in space become the protagonists; there’s the structure, but like a trunk, it serves to elevate and connect with these suspended celestial presences.
In our walkthrough with Rower, we stopped to contemplate a curious story connected with one of the works on view that showcased the inventiveness of the American Modernist sculptor: one of the sculptures is kept together with both permanent rivets and removable screws, which let the sculpture to come apart and be reassembled. The piece is from 1945, right after the war, and Rower explained that at the time, due to the limited resources, Calder was repurposing everything he could find in the studio. Duchamp once visited him and, fascinated by the recent evolution of Calder’s work, now all made from scraps, he wanted to organize a show in Paris, suggesting they could send the sculptures by airmail. “Calder made demountable sculptures that could fit in a small package that could be in Paris the next day, where the work would be reassembled,” said Rower. “As with a teleport, you could collapse a work of art down and then send it, and then it reappears the same as what it was, which has something extremely pioneering both on a technical and conceptual level at the time.”
As we proceeded through the exhibition, we encountered the sculptures depicted in the two paintings at the entrance. One of those, in particular, seemed quite explicative of the idea of “drawing in space.” It stands in the extreme synthesis of its thin, linear sculptural body thanks to the specific inclination and angle that allows it to stand, counterbalancing the busy top part. Above, there is a strange mobile with a more symbolic appearance floating in space, reminding us of the iconography of the dragon in some ancient Asian mythology. Rower explained that this is the only piece that didn’t come directly from the Calder Foundation. In the corner, a towering black stabile is a meditation on the shape of the triangle; between compression, expansion and elevation, it eventually recalls a Pagoda, as its title suggests.
To the other side, the exhibition’s second section presents much more of what one expects to see in a show of Calder’s work, with some beautiful examples of his stabiles and gouaches carefully selected for their resonances with Japanese aesthetics and sensibility. And in between, Rower opted to include a video by John Cage filming a selection of Calder’s sculptures from different perspectives with an accompanying score of dedicated music that enhances the rhythmicity in their perception. It’s almost hypnotic and does a fine job of translating on video the actual experience of Calder’s sculptures, as they dance in a sort of ritual, moving organically like leaves on a tree.
This video and certain other works in the exhibition particularly exemplify how Calder’s idea of sculpture is all about staging constellations of forms in space, often with the ambition to replicate broader cosmic orders and processes. As in the traditional Japanese ink paintings, Calder uses empty space as the climax of action: in the dialectic between complete and void, the free space allows the void to circulate between subjects, distinguishing them, amplifying and enhancing their action bringing to fruition the height of the representation/presentation. Viewers are drawn into these endless dynamics between the form and the space, in a similar dialectic tension that characterizes all the interrelational exchanges with the outside world. Calder’s sculptures invite us to experience art from multiple perspectives, drawing visual lines in the tridimensional space—something that anticipated the research of Minimalist artists just a few years later.
A group of paintings and gouaches toward the end of “Calder: Un effet du Japonais” highlights how his use of circular lines and forms resonates with “ensō,” another key concept in traditional Japanese calligraphy and ink painting. As one of the most potent symbols of Zen 禅, the circular shape becomes synonymous with the cosmic circle enclosing emptiness. It is a symbol of the absolute, of the totality of phenomena, and at the same time, of the extreme intuition and understanding of both the formal and philosophical role of emptiness, which the art of Calder attempts to reach.
Ironically, the show’s closing piece is a metal maquette for an outdoor sculpture that recalls in its shape and movement the Great Wave by Hokusai, playing with what is arguably one of the most iconic paintings of Japanese art known by the international public, while still moving beyond such art historical stereotypes. Ultimately, Rower’s unique Calder exhibition effectively reveals unexpected and largely unexplored connections between the art of the Modern American master and Japan, demonstrating how modern art is shaped by cultural exchanges between artists operating at the historical intersection of local/nationalist resistance and the unstoppable forces of globalization.
“Calder: Un effet du japonais” is on view through Friday, September 6, 2024 at Azubudai Hills Art Gallery in Tokyo.
Who gets to call themselves an artist? Mesut çiçen
The question of how to define art has plagued creatives and philosophers for centuries. Aristotle defined art as a true idea given physical form. Leo Tolstoy called it “a means of union among men, joining them together in the same feelings, and indispensable for the life and progress toward well-being of individuals and of humanity,” and Oscar Wilde identified art as “the most intense mode of individualism the world has known.” It seems we can, individually, define art, but we can’t reach a consensus.
The same issue arises when the goal is to define ‘artist.’ Lots of people want to be viewed as artists, and label themselves such, from tattooists (body artists) to chefs (culinary artists) to, more recently, GPT prompters (A.I. artists). If nailing down the definition of artist is a semantics issue, it’s also one with real-world consequences. In 2023, a Colorado web designer successfully claimed before the U.S. Supreme Court that she was an artist—versus a mere service provider—which meant she was exempt from the state’s public accommodations law and could refuse to create wedding websites for same-sex couples.
In fact, there are numerous spheres in which defining what an artist is and isn’t is important. There are, for instance, grants and studio or residential spaces set aside exclusively for artists, and the organizations or government agencies overseeing their assignment need to be clear on who is and isn’t an artist. Then there are surveys conducted by economic, social and cultural researchers into artists’ employment, artists’ healthcare coverage and needs, the economic benefits of creative communities and other related inquiries for whom broader definitions of artist create a methodological problem. Without the licenses, permits, state testing or reported income requirements of other professionals, determining who is or isn’t an artist starts to feel like a value judgment.
That said, sometimes proving that someone is an artist is not just about cultural cachet or bragging rights—”official” definitions of artist (of which there are a confusing many) come into play when artists are counted in a census or have to pay their income taxes. In these cases, a self-proclaimed artist might have to meet several criteria dictated by the U.S. government to show that they’re also an artist by trade.
An artist’s job is art. The Bureau of the Census (whose data is used by the Bureau of Labor Statistics, the National Endowment for the Arts and other agencies) makes a broad national survey every ten years, inquiring about sources of paid employment during the census week. People with more than one source of income are counted occupationally in the job at which they worked the greatest number of hours during the census reference week. Because the focus is on paid employment, rather than the amount of time spent in the studio or the desire to sell art, many artists are likely to be overlooked—that is, not counted as artists. On an individual basis, this doesn’t matter as census information is anonymized, and no art dealers will throw artists out of their galleries because the Census Bureau didn’t classify them as artists. There is, however, a national policy downside: municipal, state and federal legislators are less likely to give money to the arts or to create laws that benefit artists if this group is significantly undercounted.
Artists devote time to their art. Although the National Endowment for the Arts makes use of Census Bureau data, the agency has conducted its own surveys of artists in the visual and performance spaces over the years. One of those surveys, “Visual Artists in Four Cities” (Houston, Minneapolis, San Francisco and Washington, D.C.), identified artists by their level of activity, i.e., how many hours per week they spend on art, counting those who had exhibited in some gallery or other art space in those cities over several years.
An artist turns a profit on their art. If the Census Bureau takes a broad, sweeping view of the definition of artist, the Internal Revenue Service takes a narrow one, examining individual taxpayers’ returns, and the federal agency has its own definition of artists as professionals. There are nine criteria that the IRS applies to separate professionals from hobbyists (an important distinction, as professionals may deduct their expenses, hobbyists may not).
Is the activity carried on in a businesslike manner?
Does the artist intend to make the artistic activity profitable?
Does the individual depend in full or in part from income generated by the artistic work?
Are business losses to be expected, or are they due to circumstances beyond the artist’s control?
Are business plans changed to improve profitability?
Does the artist have the knowledge to make the activity profitable?
Has the artist been successful in previous professional activities?
Does the activity generate a profit in some years and, if so, how much?
Will the artist make a profit in the future?
The artist need not answer “yes” to every question to legitimately deduct business-related expenses – including art supplies and equipment, studio rental, travel (mileage, airfare, parking, tolls, meals and lodging), educational expenses (conferences, master classes, museum membership) and the cost of advertising and promotion (business cards, brochures, photography, postage and shipping), but the IRS demands proof that an artist has made a genuine effort to earn a profit in at least three years out of five.
Artistic credentials, which don’t usually matter to collectors, critics, dealers and curators, may also help an artist make a case that he or she is a professional for tax purposes. These include earning a bachelor’s or master’s degree in the fine arts, membership in an artists’ society, experience teaching art, inclusion in Who’s Who in American Art or a similar directory and an exhibition history.
An artist is someone who requires an artist’s studio. Several private and public agencies certify artists’ eligibility to rent or buy live-work loft space apartments that have both residential and studio components. Artist Certification committees are set up to evaluate applicants’ need for space and their qualifications as serious, but not necessarily professional, artists. According to the artist certification guidelines of the Boston Redevelopment Authority in Massachusetts, “Any artist who can demonstrate to a committee of peers that they have a recent body of work as an artist, and who requires loft-style space to support that work, is eligible.” The definition that these committees use is quite flexible, focusing on subjective factors (“…the nature of the commitment of the artist to his or her art form as his or her primary vocation rather than the amount of financial remuneration earned from his or her creative endeavor,” in the words of the Artist Certification Committee of New York City’s Department of Cultural Affairs) rather than a set of hard numbers like exhibitions dates, sales, awards, memberships or commissions, which would disqualify most applicants. There is no written definition of artist at Artspace, the Minnesota-based developer of live-work spaces for artists around the country, and ad hoc certification committees at various sites look at applicants’ work (“they’re not making qualitative judgments, though,” Artspace spokeswoman Sarah Parker told Observer) to gauge the individual’s reputation within the artistic community.
An artist is an “independent contractor.” Artists are generally self-employed, working in their own studios, setting their own hours and creating objects that are of their own design and making, but sometimes they do work for others. For instance, they may serve as a studio assistant, helping another artist with practical matters, or they may be commissioned to produce an artwork, such as a monument, portrait or mural. In these circumstances, the definition of artist matters a lot, principally because of the issue of copyright. Someone who is an employee is paid a salary (and, perhaps, receives benefits, such as health insurance, sick and vacation pay), works certain set hours per week and is given explicit instructions on what tasks to fulfill and how to fulfill them at the employer’s work site, and the output that the individual produces on the job, which could be anything from paintings to sculpture, belongs to the employer. It is not uncommon, however, for artists who hire assistants to get around the need to pay taxes for these employees by calling them independent contractors, potentially giving those assistants a legal basis to be considered joint authors of the artists’ work if they were involved directly with the finished pieces. That joint authorship would be dependent upon the degree to which the assistant could prove that his or her original ideas and decision-making are part of the final work, according to Joshua Kaufman, a Washington, D.C. lawyer who often represents artists.
An artist is someone whom funding agencies call an artist. Public agencies and private organizations also provide money for individual artists, but nary one has published a formal definition of what an artist is. “We put this into the hands of our panel members,” Julie Gordon Dalgleish, former program director for artist fellowships at the Bush Foundation, told Observer. “We exclude certain things,” such as straight journalism, from the literature category and instructional videos from the category of film and video, but “we accepted an application from someone who braids hair. We would look at a tattoo artist if we felt there was a strong vision, creative energy and perseverance.” By we, of course, she meant the panels that review artists’ applications for fellowships to decide who receives money. Panel members regularly debate the question of whether or not a craft artist is an artist—a topic with a decades-long history. More recent concerns involve new media and digital art in two dimensions and three dimensions.
Ultimately, for most purposes, artists are people who call themselves artists. According to Marcel Duchamp, the artist defines art, and it seems increasingly true that nowadays artists also define who and what they are. Definitions by nature are confining and restrictive, while art and its makers seek to be expansive and inclusive. It may be simpler to state what makes an artist a professional than what defines an artist. ‘Artist’ has become a universal label denoting creativity and using it is often a way to shine a light on someone who does something particularly well. Socially, artists are often defined by the positive (freedom-loving, convention-defying) or negative (egotistical, bohemian) characteristics that other people attribute to them. Part of an artist’s job is to understand how artists are seen and what is expected of them, whether that’s by a certification committee that wants to see their body of work, a funding source that wants to understand the artist’s proposal, a dealer who wants to see what they’re capable of or the government, which more often than not, just wants to see the receipts.
