Writing an artist statement
First things first: What is an artist statement?In the interest of clarity, let’s define “artist statement,”
An artist statement is a not-too-long series of sentences that describe what you make and why you make it. It’s a stand-in for you, the artist, talking to someone about your work in a way that adds to their experience of viewing that work.
Here are a few things an artist statement is not: a manifesto, an art history lecture, a story about discovering art, short fiction, self-psychoanalysis, a string of adjectives, a grand theory of everything you’ve ever made, or a list of your career accomplishments.
Artist statements take time, but they don’t have to be torture. If you can get into the habit of stepping back, evaluating your work, and writing a few sentences about it, you won’t have to start from scratch when you’re down to the wire.
The brainstorming phase All that said, sitting down and writing clear, concise, and compelling sentences about your art is daunting. So don’t start with sentences. Ease your way into it with a writing exercise that feels exciting, or generative, or natural to you. A few suggestions:
Gather your art in one digital or physical space and really look at it. It’s possible you’ve been working on such a micro level you haven’t taken a macro view in a while. What commonalities and differences do you see? Think holistically about a specific body of art.
Write out a list of adjectives that describe your work. Use both visual and tonal descriptors. Be specific and avoid art jargon. If your art follows in the footsteps of minimalism, could you describe it as quiet? Or rhythmic? Is your work funny, raunchy, messy?
Record yourself describing your art to a friend, family member, or fellow artist. Chances are you’re making statements about your work all the time. Have a studio visit coming up? Record the conversation (with the other person’s permission), transcribe the audio, and mine it for pertinent details.
Think about the emotions and reactions you want your audience to come away with. An artist’s intent may have little bearing on an audience’s interpretation, but an artist statement is one of the few places you get to nudge that audience towards your desired result. Do they learn something from your art or make new connections between disparate subjects? Are you trying to make people feel agitated, joyful, incensed?
Write a casual letter to your best friend about what you’ve been up to in the studio. “Dear Laurie, today I spent five hours papier-mâché-ing a cardboard version of a hamster toy. It came out looking like a first-grader’s craft project, but that’s what I was going for. I think it’ll make you laugh.”
Jeopardy your practice. What are the questions you hope to answer in your work?
Artist statement basics
Suddenly, you have a bunch of words describing your art. Now you get to pick the best ones to fulfill the very basic elements of an artist statement: what, why, and (possibly) how.
What. Make sure to state what medium you work in (paintings, sculptures, installation, non-narrative video, durational performance, etc.). It’s amazing how many statements don’t include that basic fact.
Why. Try not to overthink this one. Look back at your brainstorms and your casual conversations. You make this work because you’re excited about it. What, exactly, are you excited about? Be confident: Your art shouldn’t “hope” or “try” to do something to the viewer, it should just do it. Here is where you can also bring up, without going too far into the art historical weeds, your influences and inspirations.
How. If you have a truly unique process that’s important to understand—or one that images can’t accurately convey—briefly describe how you make your work. (Please note: Collage is not a unique process and there’s no inventive way to describe it as such, even if you use the word “juxtapose.”)
Beyond fulfilling these basic “what, why, and how” requirements, an artist statement can be relayed in whatever tone and sentence structure feels best to you. (I encourage the use of full sentences, as fragments sound flighty.)
That’s it! Really!
some things to avoid:
Extreme binaries. To many questions at once
Lazy clichés. Only you make your artwork—so shouldn’t the words you use to describe it be unique and specific as well? If you find yourself using certain words as crutches, or as highfalutin stand-ins for hard-to-articulate ideas, I highly recommend creating your own “banned words” list and keeping it somewhere handy. Then, go back to your brainstorm notes and pick out words or phrases that feel concise, fresh, and truly related to your work.
“International Art English.” Muddled or overuse of arbitrary words.
Theory. My extremely wise friend and colleague Bean Gilsdorf, longtime art world advice-giver, says this best: “Art theory only has a place in an artist statement if it has a direct bearing on your day-to-day studio practice. Otherwise, skip it.”
You have a draft, now what?
You’ve brainstormed, you’ve answered the what and the why. You’ve avoided all of the above. But chances are you still have a lot of extra baggage in that statement, or it’s not striking quite the right tone, or you feel like it could be more fun to read. Now you get to edit, revise, tweak, trim, and whip that statement into shape.
Read your statement out loud.
Trust me, this works. As you read, ask yourself: Is it accurate? Is it descriptive? Is it compelling? Is it me? Could this statement just as easily be applied to someone else’s work? Make sure it’s specific to what you make—and provides a sense of who you are to the reader.
Look at your art while you reread.
Remember, your artist statement should be current. You don’t need to sum up a wide-ranging practice from the beginning of your baby artist days to the present moment. It should reflect whatever images you’re providing alongside it. Put another way, your artist statement shouldn’t be so aspirational that you talk about making room-sized installations while your images are a few small-scale watercolors.
Work it into submission.
Read aloud, edit. Read aloud, edit. Take a break (a day, a week), come back to it, read it aloud and ask the above questions again. Remember that this doesn’t have to represent your work forever and ever. Like the U.S. Constitution, an artist statement is a living document. You can update it as often as you like.
Shorter is better.
Being economical with words proves you know what you’re doing, that you’re confident in your work, and that you don’t have to couch it in elaborate language to legitimize it. Your statement should be somewhere between 100 and 300 words in length. (This is an example of true range.)
In order to truly know how your artist statement will be received, and if it’s doing the work you want it to do, you need to have other people read it. I recommend finding a diverse audience of art friends and non-art friends, family, and mentors. This statement should be as legible as possible. Tell them to be brutally honest with you and listen to what they say.
Have a writer friend read your statement for typos. Have someone else read it for typos. Triple-check for typos!
And most importantly, give the people you ask for feedback enough time to read your statement and reply to you. Do not do this: “Hiiiii, this is due in an hour can you look it over for me pls thx bye!”
In summary…As those who exercise say: no pain, no gain. Statements are hard to write, but they’re good for you. They can help someone gain a deeper understanding of your art, feel more connected to that art and, ultimately, value it. They can make or break an application. And they can help you put words to your practice, giving you the language to understand just what you’re doing and why it’s amazing.
An artist statement is a not-too-long series of sentences that describe what you make and why you make it. It’s a stand-in for you, the artist, talking to someone about your work in a way that adds to their experience of viewing that work.
Here are a few things an artist statement is not: a manifesto, an art history lecture, a story about discovering art, short fiction, self-psychoanalysis, a string of adjectives, a grand theory of everything you’ve ever made, or a list of your career accomplishments.
Artist statements take time, but they don’t have to be torture. If you can get into the habit of stepping back, evaluating your work, and writing a few sentences about it, you won’t have to start from scratch when you’re down to the wire.
The brainstorming phase All that said, sitting down and writing clear, concise, and compelling sentences about your art is daunting. So don’t start with sentences. Ease your way into it with a writing exercise that feels exciting, or generative, or natural to you. A few suggestions:
Gather your art in one digital or physical space and really look at it. It’s possible you’ve been working on such a micro level you haven’t taken a macro view in a while. What commonalities and differences do you see? Think holistically about a specific body of art.
Write out a list of adjectives that describe your work. Use both visual and tonal descriptors. Be specific and avoid art jargon. If your art follows in the footsteps of minimalism, could you describe it as quiet? Or rhythmic? Is your work funny, raunchy, messy?
Record yourself describing your art to a friend, family member, or fellow artist. Chances are you’re making statements about your work all the time. Have a studio visit coming up? Record the conversation (with the other person’s permission), transcribe the audio, and mine it for pertinent details.
Think about the emotions and reactions you want your audience to come away with. An artist’s intent may have little bearing on an audience’s interpretation, but an artist statement is one of the few places you get to nudge that audience towards your desired result. Do they learn something from your art or make new connections between disparate subjects? Are you trying to make people feel agitated, joyful, incensed?
Write a casual letter to your best friend about what you’ve been up to in the studio. “Dear Laurie, today I spent five hours papier-mâché-ing a cardboard version of a hamster toy. It came out looking like a first-grader’s craft project, but that’s what I was going for. I think it’ll make you laugh.”
Jeopardy your practice. What are the questions you hope to answer in your work?
Artist statement basics
Suddenly, you have a bunch of words describing your art. Now you get to pick the best ones to fulfill the very basic elements of an artist statement: what, why, and (possibly) how.
What. Make sure to state what medium you work in (paintings, sculptures, installation, non-narrative video, durational performance, etc.). It’s amazing how many statements don’t include that basic fact.
Why. Try not to overthink this one. Look back at your brainstorms and your casual conversations. You make this work because you’re excited about it. What, exactly, are you excited about? Be confident: Your art shouldn’t “hope” or “try” to do something to the viewer, it should just do it. Here is where you can also bring up, without going too far into the art historical weeds, your influences and inspirations.
How. If you have a truly unique process that’s important to understand—or one that images can’t accurately convey—briefly describe how you make your work. (Please note: Collage is not a unique process and there’s no inventive way to describe it as such, even if you use the word “juxtapose.”)
Beyond fulfilling these basic “what, why, and how” requirements, an artist statement can be relayed in whatever tone and sentence structure feels best to you. (I encourage the use of full sentences, as fragments sound flighty.)
That’s it! Really!
some things to avoid:
Extreme binaries. To many questions at once
Lazy clichés. Only you make your artwork—so shouldn’t the words you use to describe it be unique and specific as well? If you find yourself using certain words as crutches, or as highfalutin stand-ins for hard-to-articulate ideas, I highly recommend creating your own “banned words” list and keeping it somewhere handy. Then, go back to your brainstorm notes and pick out words or phrases that feel concise, fresh, and truly related to your work.
“International Art English.” Muddled or overuse of arbitrary words.
Theory. My extremely wise friend and colleague Bean Gilsdorf, longtime art world advice-giver, says this best: “Art theory only has a place in an artist statement if it has a direct bearing on your day-to-day studio practice. Otherwise, skip it.”
You have a draft, now what?
You’ve brainstormed, you’ve answered the what and the why. You’ve avoided all of the above. But chances are you still have a lot of extra baggage in that statement, or it’s not striking quite the right tone, or you feel like it could be more fun to read. Now you get to edit, revise, tweak, trim, and whip that statement into shape.
Read your statement out loud.
Trust me, this works. As you read, ask yourself: Is it accurate? Is it descriptive? Is it compelling? Is it me? Could this statement just as easily be applied to someone else’s work? Make sure it’s specific to what you make—and provides a sense of who you are to the reader.
Look at your art while you reread.
Remember, your artist statement should be current. You don’t need to sum up a wide-ranging practice from the beginning of your baby artist days to the present moment. It should reflect whatever images you’re providing alongside it. Put another way, your artist statement shouldn’t be so aspirational that you talk about making room-sized installations while your images are a few small-scale watercolors.
Work it into submission.
Read aloud, edit. Read aloud, edit. Take a break (a day, a week), come back to it, read it aloud and ask the above questions again. Remember that this doesn’t have to represent your work forever and ever. Like the U.S. Constitution, an artist statement is a living document. You can update it as often as you like.
Shorter is better.
Being economical with words proves you know what you’re doing, that you’re confident in your work, and that you don’t have to couch it in elaborate language to legitimize it. Your statement should be somewhere between 100 and 300 words in length. (This is an example of true range.)
In order to truly know how your artist statement will be received, and if it’s doing the work you want it to do, you need to have other people read it. I recommend finding a diverse audience of art friends and non-art friends, family, and mentors. This statement should be as legible as possible. Tell them to be brutally honest with you and listen to what they say.
Have a writer friend read your statement for typos. Have someone else read it for typos. Triple-check for typos!
And most importantly, give the people you ask for feedback enough time to read your statement and reply to you. Do not do this: “Hiiiii, this is due in an hour can you look it over for me pls thx bye!”
In summary…As those who exercise say: no pain, no gain. Statements are hard to write, but they’re good for you. They can help someone gain a deeper understanding of your art, feel more connected to that art and, ultimately, value it. They can make or break an application. And they can help you put words to your practice, giving you the language to understand just what you’re doing and why it’s amazing.