by The art world can be a space of wonder, beauty, bravery, connection and community. As an art critic and art historian, I have spent the last ten years swimming in these waters. But it can also feel like a poorly written joke: shaped by the 1%, populated by the shrinking middle classes, picketed by anarchists and run by unpaid interns. Perhaps “the art world” is a better way to describe their barely overlapping fields. It can be difficult to find the punchline among the contradictions of cleanskin wine and conspicuous consumption.
It is the underside, full of friction and contradiction, that has caught the eye of two Australian authors who have new books out this month: Bri Lee’s The Work and Liam Pieper’s Appreciation. So, are the worlds they create for readers fact or fantasy?
Related: Bri Lee’s Work Review – a satirical art world romp that tries to tick too many boxes
Lally is the protagonist of Lee’s first novel, a young New York gallerist who is dealing with the death of one of her artists – a financial boon to her – and the public condemnation of another, who is facing allegations of sexual assault. Before the storm arrives, she meets Pat, who is trying to make it to the top of Sydney’s prestigious auction house by acquiring older divorcee possessions by any means necessary.
Lee has clearly done considerable research: she meets Jerry Saltz and Artforum, recalls the strict telephone policies of the security guards at the Frick Collection and often seems to describe the real world. “Any resemblance to actual events, locations or people is entirely coincidental,” says its opening disclaimer. But Lee’s fictional director of Sydney Contemporary – a bald man named Harry – looks a lot like the art fair’s (glabrous) founding leader, Barry Keldoulis.
But Lee has a unique story about the things that aren’t true about him. There is a narrative facility – something of the limitless finance of Sex and the City‘s Carrie Bradshaw – which allows Lally to become an inexplicable cultural maven: young, beautiful, selling artwork to the Museum of Modern Art and running the hottest gallery in New York we understand. Mostly, this industry is the setting for the painful romance between Lally and Pat; despite the minutes studied, one does not fully convey the feeling that we are living an idea rather than a reality.
Lally engages in this optic economy. In one scene, she notes that “an Asian American with a pixie cut on the desk is a very good look for the gallery”. In another, Lally reveals that she has engaged two art critics – the worst kind of cultural invertebrate – to create a synthetic controversy to fuel hype around her show, one claiming they liked it and the other another trying to burn it. In this case, my hybrid life as an Asian-Australian art critic brings me a little closer to the story than most, and much of it is false.
Related: I didn’t get credit for my bestselling book: the secret life of a famous ghostwriter
First of all, pixie cuts had their day – and arts writers would not be manipulated so rudely; although they are susceptible to more subtle coercion and the commercial pressure that comes from publications that rely on galleries to buy ads, criticism works under the myth of its own integrity.
In the endnote to his book, Pieper admits: “This book is not about art at all.” I usually disagree. The novel is a portrait of Oli Darling: a “queer country artist” (his agent explains that he only plays “bisexual” in the press releases) whose career is based on his ability to juggle both jobs. inclusion. “A true blue and elite Australian”. This proves to be an alchemical combination. Oli’s life is that of the charming narcissist, who constantly plays the game of identity politics in pursuit of shallow victories, and whose radicalism is a public performance rather than a private conviction.
Pieper also seems to have borrowed from real people to make up parts of Oli. Ben Quilty-Aussie-battler-everyman has a bit of the salt of the earth; something of Andy Warhol’s famous exploits; and a (self-confessed) pastiche of Jean-Michel Basquiat’s aesthetic raw material. But it is the artist, not the author, who is deriving it: Oli is that rare example of someone who should you have impostor syndrome, but you don’t.
Pieper’s book focuses on Oli’s fall from grace, when he was publicly fired for being disparaging about the Anzacs on live television. The reality of the cancellation has a particular basis in the Australian art world, which combines the national pastime of tall poppy syndrome with dwindling arts funding and ever-increasing competition. Just remember the rather theatrical image of Quilty called Christ on the cover of Good Weekend magazine in 2019, which angered people and ironically many people saw him crucified. The protagonist Pieper has even less of a chance.
Although Pieper is not as specific as Lee about the people who make these spaces, he is more alert, and more playful. Oli constantly forgets the names of his interlocutors, identifying them with a shorthand that emphasizes their convenience to him, and is recognizable to anyone who has rubbed shoulders in this world.
We meet “the Money”, the patron of the arts, which has an influence on the Australian art canon for its undeniable wealth; “the Paperman”, arts editor and critic, known gatekeeper of culture, who resents our changing world; and “the Baron, the third-generation squatter who inherited vast wealth and, with it, an infinite reserve of white guilt”. The names are ridiculous and the descriptions touch on the terrible, but Pieper has found the golden umbilical cord that connects the artist to these figures and feeds the drip of creative life.
Related: Review by Liam Pieper – a delightful satire on the culture of cancellation and the art world
Both The Work and Appreciation present a recognizable portrait of the art industry: its obsession with the circulation of capital, the incremental compromises made in pursuit of creative success, and the punishment of the individual when faced with the force majeure of cancellation. But it is Pieper’s book that takes this meandering world beyond the understanding of art as a commodity, bringing a bit of the magic of art back to us.
