Author: Tomás Barceló
One of the clearest signs that the art world as we once knew it has come to an end is the normalization of a practice that, not so long ago, seemed unthinkable: paying to exhibit.
I have never been an artist particularly integrated into the gallery system. I have always moved more comfortably along the margins, and even so, during the nineties and early two-thousands I held several exhibitions in conventional galleries. They were well received by the public and critics, poorly in sales, but at no point did it occur to anyone to ask me for money to exhibit. Before 2008, that idea was simply absurd.
The first time I was asked to pay to exhibit was just after the 2008 crisis. At that time, some galleries closed, many artists stopped making a living from their work, and the cultural system entered a profound crisis. In that context, alternative proposals emerged, driven by independent cultural managers—often unemployed—who genuinely intended to reinvent the sector or at least navigate the crisis until it subsided. There was talk of new formats, cultural dynamization, and giving visibility to artists. However, when put into practice, many of these proposals ended up reduced to exhibitions in bars or venues with available wall space. The final surprise came in the fine print: monthly fees that artists had to pay as a management charge in order to access these exhibitions.
Before the crisis, the model was clear. The gallerist, dealer, or cultural manager invested in artists in whom they saw value and proposed a shared business. The artist produced the work, the gallery provided its client network and mediating capacity, and the profits were divided. The percentages could be high, but they made sense if the gallery fulfilled its role: generating context, building discourse, creating networks, and selling.
The problem appears when sales cease to be the center of the system. When there are not enough buyers, the sector shifted its gaze toward those who produce, and the artist began to be seen as a direct source of income. In a context where there are more people who want to be artists than collectors interested in buying work, this inversion of the model becomes tempting. Exhibitions, visibility, and presence are offered in exchange for money, and this completely changes the rules of the game. The artist ceased to be the provider and became the client.
Often, this new model disguises itself with seemingly favorable sales percentages, much lower than before. It sounds good, but it is misleading. If the business no longer depends on selling artworks but on attracting artists who pay to be there, the real incentives to sell diminish. Success is no longer measured in sales but in the number of participants.
In its most extreme form, this translates into large collective events with no artistic criteria, where everyone is welcome as long as they pay their fee. These are exhibitions that function like parties: lots of people, concerts, cocktails, a bar, paid entry. The exhibition space is understood more as a real estate or leisure business than as a cultural event. There is an audience, there is movement, but not necessarily genuine interest in the works, let alone sales.
This does not mean that paying to participate is always negative. It can make sense if one knows exactly what one is getting into. Some seek to inflate their résumé with exhibitions in cities like New York or London, even if in practice it is merely a space rented for a few weeks. For those who understand the game, there is no deception, but neither should one believe that this holds the same value as a real curatorial selection.
There are also honest proposals, both physical and digital, that offer platforms with criteria, real audiences, and cultural stimulus. The key is usually simple: if you would attend as a spectator, it may make sense to participate as a creator. If, on the other hand, the proposal is not interesting even as an audience member, paying to be there will hardly have any long-term value.
Paying for certain services, however, can be reasonable: sales management, logistics, exports, real and verifiable promotion. In those cases, the payment corresponds to specific work. The fundamental difference is this: if you pay, you are the client. And that is not bad in itself, as long as it is clear. The problem arises when roles are confused and what is essentially a commercial service is presented as artistic recognition.
Personally, I prefer commission-based models, where the manager earns money if the work sells. There, the artist once again becomes the provider, and success depends on the system working for both.
The art world that was born at the end of the nineteenth century and, with crises and adjustments, survived until 2008, is no longer alive. Now it is time to explore new paths. New forms of creation, dissemination, exhibition, and relationships with society. But to do so honestly, it is necessary to look these changes in the face, understand them, and stop calling them by names that no longer belong to them.
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