The Sociology of Arts and Markets New Developments and Persistent Patterns

SOCIOLOGY OF THE ARTS
The Sociology
of Arts and Markets
New Developments
and Persistent Patterns
Edited by
Andrea Glauser · Patricia Holder
Thomas Mazzurana · Olivier Moeschler
Valérie Rolle · Franz Schultheis
Sociology of the Arts
Series Editors
Katherine Appleford
Kingston University
London, UK
Anna Goulding
University of Newcastle
Newcastle, UK
Dave O’Brien
University of Edinburgh
Edinburgh, UK
Mark Taylor
University of Sheffield
Sheffield, UK
This series brings together academic work which considers the production
and consumption of the arts, the social value of the arts, and analyses
and critiques the impact and role of cultural policy and arts manage-
ment. By exploring the ways in which the arts are produced and con-
sumed, the series offers further understandings of social inequalities,
power relationships and opportunities for social resistance and agency. It
highlights the important relationship between individual, social and
political attitudes, and offers significant insights into the ways in which
the arts are developing and changing. Moreover, in a globalised society,
the nature of arts production, consumption and policy making is increas-
ingly cosmopolitan, and arts are an important means for building social
networks, challenging political regimes, and reaffirming and subverting
social values across the globe.
More information about this series at

http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/15469
Andrea Glauser
Patricia Holder
Thomas Mazzurana
Olivier Moeschler • Valérie Rolle
Franz Schultheis
Editors
The Sociology of Arts

and Markets
New Developments and Persistent
Patterns
Editors
Andrea Glauser Patricia Holder
University of Music and Performing Arts University of St. Gallen
Vienna, Austria St. Gallen, Switzerland
Thomas Mazzurana Olivier Moeschler

University of St. Gallen University of Lausanne
St. Gallen, Switzerland Lausanne, Switzerland
Valérie Rolle Franz Schultheis

University of Nantes Zeppelin University
Nantes, France Friedrichshafen, Germany
ISSN 2569-1414 ISSN 2569-1406 (electronic)

Sociology of the Arts
ISBN 978-3-030-39012-9 ISBN 978-3-030-39013-6 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature
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Contents
1 Introduction 1
Andrea Glauser, Patricia Holder, Thomas Mazzurana,
Olivier Moeschler, Valérie Rolle, and Franz Schultheis
Part I Creators in the Market: Artists Between Aesthetics,

Critique, and Trade 17
2 Patrick Modiano, Between the Fields of Limited

Production and Large-Scale Production 19
Clara Lévy
3 A Star Down-to-Earth: On Social Critique in Popular

Culture 47
Désirée Waibel and Robert Schäfer
v
vi Contents
Part II Artistic Career Paths: Trajectories and Inequalities in

the Market 73
4 Art Workers, Inequality, and the Labour Market: Values,

Norms, and Alienation Across Three Generations
of Artists 75
Orian Brook, Dave O’Brien, and Mark Taylor
5 Visual Artists’ Professional Situations and Trajectories

Between Institutions and the Market 97
Pierre Bataille, Johannes M. Hedinger, and Olivier Moeschler
6 The Art Market: Art’s Incomplete Mirror—Artistic

Action’s Guiding Principles and Their Consequences
for the Art Market129
Linda Dürkop-Henseling
Part III The Economy of Idiosyncrasy: Art Dealers and

the Commodification of Individuality 157
7 When Market Promotes Individuality: Arts in Early

Modern Japan from the Macrosociological Perspective159
Takemitsu Morikawa
8 The Art Market Facing New Connoisseurship: The

Reception of Pieter Brueghel the Younger at Auction183
Anne-Sophie Radermecker
9 Collective-Artists: Actors on the Margins of the Global

Field of Contemporary Art213
Séverine Marguin
Contents vii
Part IV Marketable Art: Galleries and Gallery Owners as

Central Intermediaries 237
10 Hierarchies and Divisions in the Subfield of Gallery

Owners: A Research on Art Galleries in Milan239
Anna Uboldi
11 Mapping the Professional Self-Concepts of Gallery

Owners: A Typology263
Michael Gautier
12 The Diffusion of Galleries in China (1991–2016)287

Linzhi Zhang
Part V Market Assessments: The Increasing Role of Art

Rankings 317
13 Magic Index on the Wall: Who Is the Most Valuable Artist

of Them All?319
Nathalie Moureau
14 Can Contemporary Art Galleries Be Ranked? A

Sociological Attempt from the Paris Case339
Alain Quemin
Part VI Features of the Art Market in Advanced Capitalism:

From Established to New Patterns? 363
15 The Art Fair Boom and Its Contradictions365

Erwin Single
viii Contents
16 Art Meets Capitalism: In Praise of Promising

Potentialities?387
Denis Hänzi
17 The Art, the Market, and Sociology: Concluding

Remarks411
Franz Schultheis
Index421
Notes on Contributors
Pierre Bataille is a lecturer at the Université Grenoble Alpes. His

research interests include the sociology of education, sociology of elites,
sociology of work, cultural sociology, gender perspective, and longitudi-
nal approaches in mixed methods research design. His main works have
been published in European Educational Research Journal, European
Sociological Review, Formation-Emploi, Sociétés Contemporaines, and
Sociologie.
Orian Brook is AHRC Creative and Digital Economy Innovation
Leadership Fellow at the University of Edinburgh, researching social and
spatial inequalities in the creative economy, including precarity in cre-
ative employment, and spatial differences in the social stratification of
cultural participation. Prior to academia she worked in cultural organisa-
tions for many years, specialising in audience research.
Linda Dürkop-Henseling is a lecturer at the Christian-Albrechts
University of Kiel; she also holds a PhD from that university. Her research
interests are sociology of culture and sociology of organisations. Her pub-
lished works are as follows: Typisch Künstler? Zum Selbstverständnis in der
bildenden Kunst (Weinheim: Beltz Juventa, 2017) and Arbeiten in der
Kulturbranche: Take the Money and Run? In Typisch Soziologie!? (edited
by Obermeier, Claudia and Linda Dürkop-Henseling, 34–48; Wiesbaden:
Beltz Juventa, 2018).
ix
x Notes on Contributors
Michael Gautier is an editor at the Swiss Parliament. His research inter-

ests include the sociology of culture and the arts. His latest publication is
Passion und Kalkül. Zur beruflichen Bewährung in der Galerie (Passion and
Strategy. On the Prerequisites for Coping with the Gallerist’s Professional
Challenges) (Frankfurt/New York 2019).
Andrea Glauser is Professor of Cultural Studies at the University of
Music and Performing Arts, Vienna. Her research interests cover the soci-
ology of arts, cultural sociology, urban studies, sociological theory, and
qualitative research methods.
Denis Hänzi is a lecturer at the Bern University of Teacher Education.
His research interests include theatre, social order, and collective imagi-
naries. He is working on a book on potentialism as the upcoming societal
regime in contemporary capitalist countries.
Johannes M. Hedinger is a curator, researcher, educator, artist, and
author working in the field of contemporary art. He is the director of the
Institute for Land and Environmental Art and a lecturer at the Zurich
University of the Arts and at the University of Cologne. His focus and
research topics include art strategies, art world studies, art market studies,
sociology of art, socially engaged art, participatory art, art in public
sphere, land and environmental art, urban art, transdisciplinarity, inter-
media, cultural hacking, and artistic research.
Patricia Holder holds an MA in cultural studies from Goldsmiths
College, the University of London. As a researcher, she has mainly been
interested in the fields of artistic and creative labour in the last years.
Clara Lévy is a professor at the University of Paris 8 (Institut d’études
européennes). Her research interests include sociology of art, sociology of
literature, and sociology of identities.
Séverine Marguin is a postdoctoral researcher at the Collaborative
Research Center 1265 “Refiguration of spaces”. Her research interests are
design research, experiment, knowledge, sciences studies, and architecture.
Thomas Mazzurana studied sociology and business informatics in
Vienna and St. Gallen, where he received his PhD in 2017. His research
interests cover the sociology of art and the sociology of the family.
Notes on Contributors xi
Olivier Moeschler is an associate researcher at the University of

Lausanne, Head of Cultural Statistics at Federal Statistical Office (FSO),
and teaches at Haute École de Gestion (HEG) in Geneva. He is inter-
ested in the various aspects raised by the sociological analysis of cinema,
culture, cultural policies, media, and the arts. He is the president of the
Research committee Sociology of Arts and Culture (RC-SAC) of the
Swiss Sociological Association (SSA).
Takemitsu Morikawa is Professor of Sociology at the Department of
Humanities and Social Sciences, Faculty of Letters at Keio University,
Tokyo, Japan. His focus is on sociological theory, history of sociology,
sociology of culture, and sociology of knowledge.
Nathalie Moureau is Professor of Economics at the University of
Montpellier 3. Her research interest is cultural economics and more espe-
cially the art market, and many books and papers of hers on this topic
have been published.
Dave O’Brien is Chancellor’s Fellow in Cultural and Creative Industries
at the University of Edinburgh. Several of his works on the sociology of
culture, culture-led urban regeneration, and inequalities in cultural
labour markets have been published.
Alain Quemin is Exceptional Class Professor of Sociology of Art at
Université Paris 8 / Institut d’études européennes and an honorary mem-
ber of Institut Universitaire de France. He specialises in the sociology of
art markets and institutions. He also studies visitors’ surveys, the interna-
tionalisation of the visual arts, and the social construction of artistic repu-
tations and consecration for visual artists.
Anne-Sophie Radermecker is a BAEF Fellow at Duke Art Law and
Markets Initiative (Durham, NC). Her main research interests deal with
art market studies, the economics of the artist’s name, and anonym-
ity in art.
Valérie Rolle holds a chair for Sociology of Art and Culture at the
University of Nantes. She has conducted extensive research on creative
work such as tattoo, theatre, and graphic design. She is working on the
field of contemporary art in Nantes.
xii Notes on Contributors
Robert Schäfer is a researcher and a lecturer at the University of Fribourg

and a lecturer at the Distance University of Switzerland. His areas of
expertise are qualitative methods, cultural sociology, sociology of reli-
gion, and social theory.
Franz Schultheis is Professor of Sociology at Zeppelin University,
Friedrichshafen, Germany, and President of Bourdieu Foundation. His
research fields are sociology of arts, creative economy, work worlds, and
social exclusion.
Erwin Single is a research associate at the Institute of Sociology at the
University of St. Gallen. He is co-writer of the research publications
When Art Meets Money and Art Unlimited.
Mark Taylor is Senior Lecturer in Quantitative Methods (Sociology) at
the Sheffield Methods Institute, University of Sheffield, and is AHRC
Leadership Fellow (Creative Economy) until 2021. His research interests
are in the sociology of culture: in consumption, production, and educa-
tion, and its relationship with inequality.
Anna Uboldi is a PhD scholar in applied sociology and methodology of
social research at the University of Milano-Bicocca. Her main research
interests focus on sociology of art, education, inequalities and youth con-
dition, Bourdieu’s theory, and qualitative methods.
Désirée Waibel is a PhD candidate and a lecturer at SOCIUM—
Research Center on Inequality and Social Policy at the University of
Bremen and a lecturer at the Distance University, Switzerland. Her
research areas are sociological theory, the sociology of expertise, and the
sociology of valuation.
Linzhi Zhang is a postdoctoral research fellow at the Centre for Chinese
Visual Arts at Birmingham City University and an affiliated researcher in
the Department of Sociology at the University of Cambridge, where she
received her PhD. Her research concerns the production of fine arts in
post-socialist China.
List of Figures
Fig. 5.1 ACM dimensions inertia 108

Fig. 5.2 Space of professional positions (Dim1 and Dim2) 109
Fig. 5.3 Clouds of individuals, cluster membership, and sex 112
Fig. 5.4 Clouds of individuals, diploma, age, and partner situation 115
Fig. 5.5 Self-presentation on official documents 118
Fig. 5.6 Motivations to become an artist 119
Fig. 6.1 The differentiated art system 138
Fig. 6.2 Leading concepts of artistic actions in the art system 143
Fig. 7.1 Hishikawa, Moronobu. “After a Tune” 「 ( 低唱の後」), ca.
1673–81, in the collection of Keio University Libraries 173
Fig. 7.2 Suzuki, Harunobu. “Tea-stall of O-Sen” 「 ( おせん茶屋」), ca.
1764–1772, in the collection of Tobacco and Salt Museum in
Tokyo174
Fig. 7.3 Kitagawa, Utamaro. “Eight Views of Famous Teahouse
Beauties: The Beauty Okita Looking into a Mirror”
( 名所腰掛八景鏡」), ca. 1800–1806, in the collection of
「
Keio University Libraries 175
Fig. 7.4 Tôshû-sai Sharaku. “The Actor Ôtani Oniji as Edobei”
( 三代目大谷鬼次の江戸兵衛」), 1794, in the collection
「
of Tokyo National Museum 176
Fig. 8.1 Distribution by attribution qualifier (n = 733)195
Fig. 8.2 Average length of notes (or total number of words) by
attribution qualifier 195
xiii
xiv List of Figures
Fig. 8.3 Price index by attribution qualifier (By = 100) 203

Fig. 9.1 Example of an artist file in the archives of Documenta from
Kassel223
Fig. 9.2 Examples of collective-artist’s file in the archives of Documenta
from Kassel 224
List of Tables
Table 2.1 The most frequently invited writers on Apostrophes between

1975 and 1989 32
Table 2.2 Sales figures in France of Modiano’s works before and after
the Nobel Prize 38
Table 2.3 Works in translation available in a selection of foreign
countries before and after the Nobel Prize 41
Table 3.1 Overview of Formation’s critiques, justifications, and
pre-emptions of counter-critique 68
Table 5.1 Comparison of the socio-demographic profile of visual
artists (respondents sample), Swiss visual artists, and Swiss
working population 102
Table 5.2 Active modalities 106
Table 5.3 Sample composition 112
Table 5.4 Illustrative modalities 123
Table 8.1 Descriptive statistics—Average and Median Prices by
Attribution Qualifier 202
Table 8.2 Results of the Hedonic Regression by Attribution Qualifier 203
Table 9.1 Collective membership in the various editions of
Documenta from Kassel (1955–2012) 225
Table 13.1 Ranking of artist by country on the art scene, 2017 325
Table 13.2 Marking artistic quality according to Roger de Piles 328
Table 13.3 Institutions’ rating 329
Table 13.4 Artists’ ranking 330
xv
xvi List of Tables
Table 13.5 Top 10 young contemporary artists (under 30)—

breakdown by turnover 332
Table 14.1 Star galleries and other important ones in France in terms
of integration to the contemporary art world 354
Table 14.2 Ranking in terms of medium range of the top ten artists in
the rosters 356
Table 14.3 Overall rank: Comparison of the two rankings in terms of
recognition of the gallery and access to the market and in
terms of “quality” of its roster 358
1
Introduction
Andrea Glauser, Patricia Holder, Thomas Mazzurana,
Olivier Moeschler, Valérie Rolle, and Franz Schultheis
This book draws on the papers presented at a congress at the University

of St. Gallen in 2016 under the title “Art and Market: Alienation or
Emancipation?” Organised by the Swiss Sociological Association (SSA)’s
Sociology of Arts and Culture Research committee (RC-SAC) in collabo-
ration with the St. Gallen Institute of Sociology and supported by the
Swiss Academy of Humanities and Social Sciences (SAHS), this event
We warmly thank Joanne Walker for the quality of the proofreading of this introduction in
English, and the Centre nantais de sociologie (CENS—UMR 6025) of the University of Nantes
for sponsoring it.
A. Glauser
University of Music and Performing Arts, Vienna, Austria
e-mail: glauser@mdw.ac.at
P. Holder • T. Mazzurana
University of St. Gallen, St. Gallen, Switzerland
e-mail: patricia.holder@unisg.ch; thomas.mazzurana@unisg.ch
O. Moeschler (*)
University of Lausanne, Lausanne, Switzerland
e-mail: olivier.moeschler@unil.ch
© The Author(s) 2020 1

A. Glauser et al. (eds.), The Sociology of Arts and Markets, Sociology of the Arts,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6_1
2 A. Glauser et al.
sought to discuss the complex and changing relationship between the arts
and the market.1
In analysis of art as well as in common representations of artistic
creation, the market has often been ascribed an ambivalent role. Some
authors have suggested the market brings about the commodification
or even the bondage of art. According to the Frankfurt School, the
“cultural industry”, as an integrated economic and technological sys-
tem, produces and disseminates standardised cultural products aimed
at fulfilling needs that it itself creates from scratch and at encouraging
consumers to conform to dominant norms (Adorno and Horkheimer
1947). In turn, the figure of the “accursed artist” or “artiste maudit”
who continues to create pieces of art even when she or he cannot sell
them, is often presented as the epitome of “authentic” creation. From
this point of view, genuine art only becomes possible by escaping the
market, thanks to non-market support, for instance, in the form of
private grants or state subsidies.
In his seminal analysis of “the rules of art”, which focused specifically
on literature but has a wider scope of application, Pierre Bourdieu (1993)
showed that over time, modern artistic creation has formed relatively
autonomous production fields, establishing a “reversed economy”. In the
latter, art is believed to be valued according to its aesthetic rather than its
1
The scientific committee was, at the time, composed of Andrea Glauser (University of Lucerne),
Jens Kastner (Akademie der bildenden Künste, Vienna), Olivier Moeschler (University of
Lausanne), Alain Quemin (University Paris VIII), Valérie Rolle (London School of Economics),
Ulf Wuggenig (Leuphana University, Lüneburg), and Franz Schultheis, Patricia Holder, and
Thomas Mazzurana (all University of St. Gallen).
V. Rolle
University of Nantes, Nantes, France
e-mail: valerie.rolle@univ-nantes.fr
F. Schultheis
Zeppelin University, Friedrichshafen, Germany
e-mail: franz.schultheis@zu.de
1 Introduction 3
economic properties—although, in reality, it never truly escapes eco-

nomic considerations. In the first stage of their structuration, the fields of
cultural production therefore defined their own rules against the expecta-
tions of “bourgeois” and “social art”. They were then more generally struc-
tured according to a constitutive distinction between two subfields, the
subfield of restricted, “pure” production organised around aesthetic
norms and the judgement of peers, and the subfield of a heteronomous
and broader production responding to market-based considerations.
Bourdieu showed that this duality structures the contemporary “market
of symbolic goods” with an ideal-typical opposition between the con-
sumption of the “aesthete” and the quest for entertainment.
Other sociological studies have stressed the central role of the market
in the process of the autonomisation of the arts. Historically, the market
has contributed to the casting off of subordination to religion, the court
and the nobility, an excessively demanding cultural patronage or, some-
times, the state. This was emblematically the case for Mozart. In his
“Sociology of a Genius”, Norbert Elias (1993) showed how the use of
subscriptions and concerts allowed the young composer and musician to
move beyond the dictates of noble patrons. But while Beethoven
(Bourdieu 2001; DeNora 1995), later on, succeeded in becoming an
“entrepreneurial artist”, the musical market was, in Mozart’s time, in its
early stages, which, paradoxically, both drove Mozart’s prodigious
productivity and probably explains his premature death. Svetlana Alpers
(1991) also highlighted the constitutive role market mechanisms can play
for artistic creation, by showing how the division of labour in Rembrandt’s
studio simultaneously reflected and shaped the creation of the market
while sustaining the production of art and the reputation of the master.
As a sort of response to Theodor Adorno, Edgar Morin (1961) described
how, in the “cultural industries” (specifically in cinema), standardised
cultural goods are produced by various categories of actors who thereby
contribute to the creation of a new worldwide public.
The dissemination of artworks requires, as Antoine Hennion (1993)
has argued, numerous “mediators”, including technological and commer-
cial actors: for example, it is not despite but thanks to the modern pho-
nographic industry that a stance of “pure” listening, centred on the
appreciation of music for itself, was made possible by the opportunity
4 A. Glauser et al.
given to individuals to buy, listen to and compare several versions of the

same piece of music at home (Hennion et al. 2000).2 From a sociological
perspective, the market cannot be conceived solely as a set of economic
exchanges responding to the interplay of offer and demand. Indeed, the
market constitutes a broader social structure, a vast network of human
and non-human actors mobilising numerous material devices and col-
lectively elaborated representations and practices (Callon 2017). Art
markets are no exception, and often express more vividly the characteris-
tics and contradictions of the market logic.
For some decades now, certain sociological analyses have brought to
light the consequences of that porosity between art and markets for artists’
career paths. In its way, the “art world” model of Howard Becker (1982)
is an affirmation that art, just like every other occupational sector, is
formed by collaborative chains of various actors interacting together with
shared conventions of production that do not exclude the “social drama
of work”, for example, a disagreement about how things should be done
according to one’s position in the chain of production and consumption
(Hughes 1996). Following Howard Becker’s premise, authors like Pierre-
Michel Menger (2002) have stressed that the artist is a “worker” like any
other professional, who has to organise herself or himself as an entrepre-
neur, for example, by selling his or her artwork and/or holding multiple
jobs within or outside the field of art. From a broader perspective,
Boltanski and Chiapello (2007) have shown how the mainstream capital-
ist economy has integrated the “artist critique” to managerial injunctions
requiring professionals to be “creative” but also flexible risk-takers in the
face of the precariousness of the labour market. In the last twenty years or
so, the arts have increasingly been discussed as being part of the “cultural
industries” or, more largely, the “creative economy” and thus an impor-
tant area for economic and cultural development.3
2
The scales of appreciation and their translation into market value nevertheless remain what defines
the work of cultural intermediaries, the analysis of which has considerably developed in recent years
(Lizé et al. 2011; Jeanpierre and Roueff 2014).
3
From 2008 on, the United Nations Conference on Trade and development (UNCTAD) has regu-
larly published its “Creative Economy Reports” (see https://unctad.org/en/pages/publications/
Creative-Economy-Report-(Series).aspx). The “cultural and creative industries” are seen by
UNESCO, who published a Creative Economy Report in 2013, as a “new agenda for development”
that can be used for “widening local development pathways” (UNESCO 2013) see https://
en.unesco.org/creativity/events/cultural-creative-industries-new-agenda-development).
1 Introduction 5
Historical and contemporary relations between the arts and markets are
highly complex and diverse. In which conditions and configurations do
various types of markets play a role in the constitution of art and what dif-
ferent kinds of role do they play? How does “originality”, “nonconformity”,
“authenticity” or “criticism” relate to market settings? What are the situ-
ations and trajectories that characterise the different categories of profes-
sionals contributing to the creation and dissemination of art? What role
do intermediaries such as galleries or art experts, and platforms such as art
fairs play? What about the more and more important place accorded to art
rankings? What specificities can we observe depending on different artis-
tic forms (visual art, music, theatre, literature), national contexts, political
contexts, real conditions of production and larger historical patterns?
The present book explores a much-studied topic in the sociology of the
arts from the standpoint of new empirical case studies in different artistic,
historical and spatial settings. It illuminates the changes that have
occurred lately in various art markets as well as in their sociological
analyses.
Opening Part I, Clara Lévy’s chapter sheds light on the artificial char-
acter of the opposition made in the field of art between artistic recogni-
tion within the subfield of restricted production, and economic success
within the subfield of large-scale production. This is especially the case
for a minor faction of artists (in this chapter the French writer Patrick
Modiano) whose highest awards, such as the Nobel Prize for Literature,
have enabled them, having already attained a certain level of consecra-
tion, to progress to the stage of canonisation. Through analysis of a docu-
mentary corpus of Modiano’s promotional materials and reviews, the
paper shows with particular acuity the strategies put in place by “cultural
intermediaries” (Lizé et al. 2011), such as publishers, to ensure the
conversion of the symbolic value attached to the author, already validated
by national and international appraisals, into a surplus of economic value.
Such a position finally appears to express a proximity neither to the liter-
ary avant-garde nor to the principle of mass consumption. Rather, it
seems to occupy a specific place between recognition (among connois-
seurs) and canonisation (for posterity, in the public sphere) within the
recognition space of the literary field (Denis 2010).
The contribution of Désirée Waibel and Robert Schäfer also deals with
issues of recognition, but this time in the cultural industries market.
6 A. Glauser et al.
Based on analysis of the music video and the lyrics of Beyoncé’s song
Formation (first performed during the Super Bowl in 2016), the paper
shows how the pop artist builds her renown by combining a critical pos-
ture, on an exclusively visual level (referring to historical events revealing
racial inequalities such as slavery or hurricane Katrina), with the aesthetic
conventions of pop music through self-reflection of her star status, on a
lyrical level. These results echo Frith’s analysis (2008) highlighting that
pop music production seeks to create “a simulacrum of emotional con-
nection” between the artist and his or her audience, focusing attention on
the singer (or musicians), beyond the formal aspects of the song.
As noted by Orian Brook, Dave O’Brien, and Mark Taylor, the flip
side of recognition is exclusion. Part II points out the discriminating
power of the market. Through the portrayal of three generations of female
artists selected from a data set of 237 interviews following a large-scale
Internet survey, the three authors highlight the impact of class and gen-
der inequalities, as well as unequal integration into professional networks
in a given area, on cultural workers’ career paths (job opportunities, pay
levels, access to funding, etc.). Peripheralised artists therefore justify
remaining by a (common sense) vocational commitment to their art,
conceived as a passion or “a natural exorcism” (as one interviewee put it)
that needs to be pursued despite economic precariousness. In order to be
successful on the market—be it commercial or cultural—and to acquire
international renown or to exhibit in prominent cultural institutions,
rather than continuing with local networks and exhibitions of artistic col-
lectives, a good “sense of placement” is needed.
In a similar vein, Pierre Bataille, Johannes Hedinger and Olivier
Moeschler highlight the differences in living conditions, integration into
the art market and self-representation for Swiss visual artists. Based on a
national survey, their study confirms the need to hold multiple jobs to
make ends meet for more than two-thirds of the 457 respondents. More
interestingly, it shows the disproportionate number of mostly self-
financed artists compared to a minority being sponsored by the state and,
above all, by galleries. The latter appear to be more often men than
women, working in a professional field structured around three poles:
market success, institutional support, and lack of professional integra-
tion. Even though they are supported by cultural institutions, women
1 Introduction 7
under thirty and over sixty years old have more difficulties in finding
success and struggle to be represented in the market.
Linda Dürkop-Henseling emphasises the incompleteness of the mar-
ket as a mirror of the whole range of artistic production. Indeed, many of
the 24 visual artists she met during exploratory research produce artwork
in a professional way without making a living from its sale. By analysing
what she calls the “guiding principles of artistic action”, the author distin-
guishes four types of creators and, therefore, of integration into or prox-
imity/distance to the art market: the “pragmatic artist” who is just
exploiting a gift, the “pragmatic-professional artist” looking for recogni-
tion as a “real” artist, the “critical-professional artist” who offers criticism
within the profession, and the “critical artist” who ambitions to criticise
society with art.
In this regard, the inscription of social trajectories in a situated state of
the market determines the “field of possibilities” within which the artists
project themselves. This space of positions and of “prises de position”
depends, of course, on a broader historical context, as illustrated in Part
III. In Western as in Eastern countries, the market has offered a major
emancipatory light on artists’ horizons as regards the religious or aristo-
cratic powers in place. Takemitsu Morikawa exemplifies this in his study
of the sociocultural changes that occurred in ukiyo-e art (printed paint-
ings) in an emergent publishing market. The Japanese case appears strik-
ingly similar to the “revolutions” induced by the invention of the printing
press as regards the processes of secularisation and individualisation in
modern societies (Goody 1977; Eisenstein 1991). Copying workshops
run by the clergy gave way to the mechanised reproduction of (illus-
trated) books, at first confined to scholars or members of the aristocracy,
until aesthetic changes (notably in the customisation of contents and the
diversification of genres) encouraged their democratisation. At the same
time, the signature of the painter grew in importance.
Anne-Sophie Radermecker places the question of authentication (e.g.
the attribution of an artwork to a single name) at the heart of a paper
looking into the sales of Brueghel the Younger’s paintings in auction
houses. Her study is based on a qualitative discourse analysis of 235 lot
notes produced by the two leading market competitors, Christie’s and
Sotheby’s. Assuming that searching for the artist’s hand is anachronistic
8 A. Glauser et al.
for Renaissance paintings, Radermecker assesses the effects of academic

advances on the selling strategies of salesrooms. However, this “new con-
noisseurship” arising from the use of scientific tools (such as X-ray, infra-
red photography or pigment analysis) has only had a slight impact on the
way the “market of classified art” (Moulin 1992) works. Although today
based on sophisticated levels of identification, it is the belief in the
authenticity of signed work that continues to set the price level estab-
lished by auction houses and agreed upon by collectors.
In her chapter, Séverine Marguin uses the phenomenon of “collective-
artists” to show the permanency of the contemporary art market econo-
my’s idiosyncrasies. Associations of two or more artists who produce
works of art together and sign them collectively have increased since the
1960s, typically in critical opposition to prevailing notions of authorship
and the idea of the artist as a creative individual genius. Marguin’s central
thesis is that collective authorship—despite different diagnoses and the
recognition of some groups of artists such as Fischli / Weiss and Gilbert
& George—is strongly marginalised in the global field of contemporary
art in general, and in the art market in particular. She supports her thesis
empirically by analysing art market reports and artist rankings such as
Artprice, Kunstkompass and ArtFacts and by investigating the represen-
tation of artist collectives at Art Basel and Documenta in Kassel (two
major institutions in the international art field). The marginalisation of
“collective-artists” is attributed to the fact that individuality still repre-
sents the predominant pattern of creative subjectivity in the field of con-
temporary art—unlike, for example, in the field of music—and that in
the context of the art market, the individual artist functions as a “lever for
economic speculation”.
The world of art galleries and the profession of the gallery owner, cru-
cial to the understanding of the art field, are the subject of three chapters
in Part IV. While all three contributions propose a typology of gallery
owners or galleries, their socio-spatial or world-regional focus and their
research questions differ.
In her contribution, Anna Uboldi analyses galleries in Milan. Based on
interviews and participatory observation and on a theoretical perspective
that combines elements of the “field” concept of Pierre Bourdieu and the
concept of “art worlds” of Howard Becker, she explores the professional
1 Introduction 9
activities and practical knowledge of gallery owners; furthermore, she is

particularly interested in the self-definitions of the central actors and the
positions and oppositions in the Milanese gallery scene. She identifies the
“integrated gallery owner”, who forms the elite of Milanese art galleries
both symbolically and economically, as having a dominant position in
the field and distinguishes this type from the profile of the “historical”
and the “radical gallery owners”, both of whom occupy a position that
Uboldi characterises as corresponding to a “marginalization in the cen-
ter”. In contrast, “quasi gallery owners” and “aspiring gallery owners”,
who largely lack symbolic recognition in the field, occupy dominated
positions.
Michael Gautier’s chapter studies the professional self-conception of
gallery owners and the question of how affinity to art on the one hand
and business acumen on the other are intertwined. The sample consists of
galleries in Europe and the USA that have been able to establish them-
selves on the international art market over a long period of time and
occupy a dominant position both symbolically and economically. They
function, in the words of Bourdieu (1993, 121), as the main “instances
of consecration”. On the basis of qualitative research (interviews, bio-
graphical analyses), Gautier has reconstructed four different types of gal-
lerists, the “operator”, the “companion”, the “curator-gallerist” and the
“adviser”, and sheds light not only on their self-conceptions, but also on
the social background and educational biographies that are characteristic
of each type.
Linzhi Zhang’s chapter, in turn, draws attention to the emergence of a
gallery scene in China between 1991 and 2016, in an important contri-
bution to research into the globalisation of the art market (Velthuis and
Curioni 2015; Moulin 2003). Zhang argues that the emergence of galler-
ies in China is the result of a process of diffusion in which Western prac-
tices were received and reconfigured by Chinese gallerists. The author
understands diffusion as not simply implying the formation of
homogeneous patterns, but also encompassing processes of adaptation,
modification and rejection, in addition to the dimension of adoption. It
is precisely the reconstruction of such processes that the author is inter-
ested in, bringing to light the differences between two predominant types
of galleries: on the one hand, a variation that she refers to as the
10 A. Glauser et al.
“price-centered model”, which flourished above all in the years of the

market boom but became much less present after 2010; and on the other
hand, the model of “for-profit exhibition spaces”, which since 2010 has
become the formative paradigm. The reconstruction of the genesis and
transformation of these types is based on fieldwork by the author.
Rankings have met with great interest in sociology in recent years.
They now exist in practically all domains of society—in science, regard-
ing cities, in art—and raise questions not only as to their effects, but also
about what is documented within them, especially in connection with
the field of art: what ideas of artistic work and art do they emanate from,
how are these elements operationalised, and how do they then find their
way into rankings (Buckermann 2020)? An important thesis here is that
rankings generate what they claim to represent and measure in the first
place—namely, competition, be it between universities or cities
(Brankovic et al. 2018; Kornberger and Carter 2010)—and that they
represent powerful ordering procedures (Espeland and Sauder 2016,
2007; Heintz 2019).
The two chapters dedicated to this subject in Part V adopt very differ-
ent approaches to the phenomenon. The chapter by Natalie Moureau
critically analyses the phenomenon of rankings in the field of art, focus-
ing on current rankings or indexes such as ArtFacts, Artprice, ARTnews,
ArtReview or Kunstkompass, which are published on the Internet or in
the media. She examines the question of how the proliferation of such
indexes is to be understood in the field of art (as well as in many other
fields of practice). Furthermore, she draws attention, on the one hand, to
the production mechanisms of such rankings, which, as she argues, are
based on simplifications and typically do not make the methodological
approach on which they are based transparent. On the other hand, she is
interested in the effects these rankings produce; she speaks of “perverse
effects”, which she associates, among other things, with the fact that the
evaluated and ranked actors adopt strategies to perform better in the
ranking—strategies “which may be inefficient from a welfare point of view
within the art world”. In addition, she points out that rankings (can) have
problematic consequences insofar as they tend to have “self-fulfilling
effects”, like those Robert K. Merton described in his well-known analysis,
“The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy” (1948), in which he examined the social
1 Introduction 11
mechanisms that lead to lies becoming true or an originally inadequate

description of a situation becoming reality.
At the centre of Alain Quemin’s chapter is the question of how a rank-
ing can be elaborated consistently on the basis of sociological instruments
and what can be learnt from this in regard to the contours of the art
market—in other words, what possible gains in knowledge for sociologi-
cal studies result from the construction of a ranking. He examines this
through the example of a ranking of galleries in the field of contemporary
art in France, based on the observation that there have been numerous
rankings of artists since the 1970s, but hardly any of galleries. A central
thesis is that the phenomenon of rankings, which is often associated with
journalism and non-scientific procedures, can function as a fruitful
instrument of knowledge in the context of sociological research under
certain conditions.
In Part VI, the last chapters of the volume explore the prevailing
mechanisms and discourses in the field of art in advanced capitalism on
the basis of empirical examples and thus also describe the constraints and
limits of the art market, which sometimes appear, at first glance, to be
spaces of possibility.
Using a collective research carried out on the Basel art fair, Erwin
Single discusses recent changes in the contemporary art market, where art
fairs play a role similar to auction houses in the market of classified art:
they set the value of artists and of their production.4 Salesrooms have
competed with the gallery system of fairs (particularly on the primary
market) since they added contemporary art to their catalogue from the
1980s onwards. However, Single notes that the multiplication of art fairs
(from 3 in 1970 to some 300 at an international level in 2018) contributes
to the weakening of the market, since the success of these events depends
on participation as well as the commercial health of the galleries.
Consequently, art dealers have reoriented their commercial strategies,
reinforcing the globalisation of a henceforward internationalised trade.
While some (the average galleries struggling for recognition) are driven to
4
As shown in the book, cultural intermediaries usually contribute, alongside merchants, to setting
the value of art. Their collaborative relationship nonetheless does not exclude competition favour-
ing the market, observable in the decline of art criticism as well as in the gradual substitution of
salaried museum curators with freelance contractors (Poulard 2007).
close their showrooms if they cannot tie into local networks, others (the
prominent galleries defining the rules of the game) tend to multiply their
group’s subsidiaries abroad (Velthuis 2013).
But such growth in the number of art fairs could not have been
achieved without the arrival all over the world of billionaires whose pur-
chasing behaviour encouraged the financialisation of contemporary art.
These results confirm the observation made elsewhere of the emergence
of a “transnational elite” with a “cosmopolitan cultural capital” (Prieur
and Savage 2013)—that is to say a fraction of wealthy and well-educated
social actors inclined to move out of a national cultural reference frame-
work and contributing, in this way, to a “globalisation of high culture”.5
Even if they are key players in a supply market that cannot exist if it does
not meet their demand, collectors are not addressed in this book. While
they are usually analysed as one of the actors in a wider chain of economic
cooperation (Moulin 1989; Schultheis et al. 2015), recent studies have
focused on the variety of collectors’ profiles, showing they cannot be
reduced to the figure of the “mega-collector” (Moureau et al. 2016).
In his contribution, Denis Hänzi shines the spotlight on the maxim,
prevalent in both artistic and economic worlds, that individuals should
“realize their potential”. Based on examples from the field of theatre, the
educational system and the labour market in general, he discusses the
central role played today by the principle of potential actualisation. He
emphasises that the idea of “promising potentiality” is a new valuation
criterion in late capitalist society and that the figure of the artist is repre-
sented in current discourses as an almost ideal-typical embodiment of
potential to be realised. The central thesis of this contribution is that the
predominance of this maxim sheds light on a paradoxical situation: while
at first glance the maxim stands for the possibility of authentic self-
realisation, on closer examination it turns out to be a “tricky vehicle for
capitalist commodification”, which actually limits the individual and the
social horizon of possibilities.
In his concluding remarks, Franz Schultheis reflects on the paradoxes
of a market of symbolic goods reaching astronomical figures but refusing
5
This internationalisation is not new, as shown by the historian Christophe Charle (2015); how-
ever, it differs from nineteenth-century trends by its financialisation (Thompson 2008).
1 Introduction 13
to be considered as another market as a result of an illusio of disinterest-

edness. However, the exchanges in the field of art are characterised by
financial dealings based on legitimacy echoing, for Schultheis, Max
Weber’s idea of “status groups” which, distinct from but in articulation
with his definition of social classes, underlines how possessing property
or wealth interacts with ideas of social honour to foster patterns of social
stratification. This leads the author to see the art field as a “social enclave”
growing as fast as financialisation and as the number of millionaires—a
trend which makes Schultheis fear that art, with this very special position
in society, may become just another luxury good.
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———. 2016. Engines of Anxiety: Academic Rankings, Reputation, and
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University Press.
Part I
Creators in the Market: Artists
Between Aesthetics, Critique,
and Trade
2
Patrick Modiano, Between the Fields
of Limited Production and Large-Scale
Production
Clara Lévy
Translated by Phoebe Weston-Evans
Introduction
On 9 October 2014, the Nobel Prize in Literature was awarded to the
French writer Patrick Modiano for “the art of memory with which he has
evoked the most ungraspable human destinies and uncovered the life-
world of the Occupation”,1 which is to say, the period during which
France was occupied by German forces from 1940 to 1944. This was the
Warm thanks to Phoebe Weston-Evans for her work on this text, which goes far beyond a simple
translation.
Peter Englund, former permanent secretary of the Swedish Academy, https://www.youtube.com/

1
watch?v=lg1ix8qauGY, accessed 14 June 2018.
C. Lévy (*)
University Paris 8, Saint-Denis, France
e-mail: clara.levy@libertysurf.fr

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6_2
20 C. Lévy
starting point for our research into “the making of a Nobel laureate”, the
aim of which has been to understand how and why Modiano came to win
the world’s most prestigious literary prize and to better elucidate the posi-
tion he occupies in the literary field in France. Our study adopts the
sociological perspective of Bourdieu’s field theory. We situate Patrick
Modiano and his work within the broader literary field, and offer an
analysis of the critical reception of his novels and of the news of the 2014
Nobel Prize (Lévy 2017a, b).
Modiano’s particular case is especially interesting given that, from the
very beginning of his career up to the present day, he has coupled critical
acclaim with commercial success, which are traditionally regarded as
mutually exclusive in the French literary field. As such, the author’s con-
comitant critical and commercial success provides grounds to challenge,
albeit partially, Pierre Bourdieu’s theory that distinguishes between two
subfields of art (Bourdieu 1977, 1991, 1996). Bourdieu describes, one
the one hand, a subfield of relatively autonomous, limited production
and, on the other, a subfield characterised by large-scale production,
dominated by a commercial, market-oriented approach:
The more autonomous the field becomes, the more favourable the sym-
bolic power balance is to the most autonomous producers and the more
clear-cut is the division between the field of restricted production, in which
the producers produce for other producers and the field of large-scale pro-
duction (la grande production), which is symbolically excluded and discred-
ited. (Bourdieu 1991, 39)
It is our aim here to ascertain the degree to which Modiano’s position

in the literary field constitutes a challenge or nuance to Bourdieu’s dichot-
omy. In order to tease out the various factors at play, we analyse the
moment of Modiano’s breakthrough into the literary scene, as well as the
production and critical response to his texts. This reception initially posi-
tioned and then maintained—for nearly five decades—his presence in
the field of limited production (acclaim from literary critics, peers, aca-
demics, inclusion in prominent collections, attribution of literary prizes,
including the Nobel Prize, arguably the most prestigious literary distinc-
tion) and his simultaneous presence in the field of large-scale production
2 Patrick Modiano, Between the Fields of Limited Production… 21
(large print runs and sales figures, almost always republished in pocket
format, participation in non-literary fields such as cinema and music).
We then consider the effects of the attribution of the Nobel Prize within
these two literary subfields, given that the 2014 prize has seemingly
resulted in both greater serious literary acclaim in France and overseas,
and an increase in book sales.
Before the Nobel Prize

F riends in High Places: Modiano’s Entry into
the Literary World
Gallimard, Modiano’s publisher, gave the following author description

on its website in October 2014:
Patrick Modiano was born in Boulogne-Billancourt on 30 July 1945. He

spent his childhood in various boarding schools in Biarritz, Jouy-en-Josas
and the Haute-Savoie. His parents were often absent, leaving him alone
from a young age. He was very close to his younger brother Rudy, who died
when he was ten years old. This painful episode haunts Modiano’s work.
He finished his studies in Paris at the lycée Henri-IV and was awarded the
baccalauréat diploma. Instead of pursuing his studies, he devoted himself
to writing. At that time, among Patrick Modiano’s closest friends was the
writer Raymond Queneau, who would later be one of the witnesses of his
marriage. His search for identity through his mysterious and troubled past
began in his first novel, La place de l’étoile, published in 1968 and he went
on to win the Prix Goncourt in 1978 for Rue des Boutiques Obscures.
Gallimard has published around twenty of Modiano’s novels and short
story collections. He co-wrote the screenplays for Louis Malle’s Lacombe
Lucien and Jean-Paul Rappeneau’s Bon Voyage. He is also the author of
Catherine Certitude, illustrated by Sempé and published in 1988 by
Gallimard Jeunesse.2
Quotations translated by Phoebe Weston-Evans. The entry for Patrick Modiano on the Gallimard
2
website has since been modified and abridged, http://www.gallimard.fr/Contributeurs/Patrick-

Modiano, accessed 14 June 2018.
22 C. Lévy
Modiano’s connection to Queneau3 is crucial, especially for the publi-

cation of his first novel, La place de l’étoile. Queneau was a friend of
Modiano’s mother and had been enlisted to give the young Modiano
private maths lessons. More significantly, however, Queneau introduced
Modiano into the Paris literary scene and took him along to several soi-
rées and events organised by Gallimard. In 1967, Modiano asked
Queneau to read the manuscript of La place de l’étoile. Queneau immedi-
ately recommended the novel to Gallimard. In an enthusiastic letter
accompanying the manuscript he wrote:
Please find enclosed a book that I recommend for the NRF. In my opinion
it is an excellent piece of writing and significant in that it marks the birth
of a writer (…) As I see it, that this young man, at only twenty years old,
has managed to infuse this work of literature with so many questions and
torments, is an exploit that is not only astonishing but moves me to admi-
ration. (Queneau quoted in Auderie 2014)
It is intriguing that while Modiano was being actively championed by

Queneau, he was also keenly supported by the writer Jean Cau,4 who was
involved with his mother at the time and who wrote the preface to the
first edition of La place de l’étoile. In 1967, Cau contacted Claude Durand,
director of Éditions du Seuil’s collection Écrire, sending him the
manuscript along with a highly laudatory letter. “I have to say, this really
is one hell of a book, a real test for the reader (…). This writer, at just
twenty, has a truly unique voice and with one mighty push he has flung
open the heavy doors of literature” (Cau quoted in Lamy 2008).
Claude Durand remembers reading La place de l’étoile very quickly:
3
Raymond Queneau (1903–1976) was an erudite French novelist, poet, and playwright renowned
for his encyclopaedic mind. In 1924, Queneau joined the Surrealists, and he later cofounded the
Ouplio literary group. In 1938 he joined the Gallimard reading committee, specialising in English-
language projects, before being appointed director of the Nouvelle Revue Française (NRF) reading
committee in 1941. In 1954 he took over direction of the prestigious Encyclopédie de la Pléiade, a
position which he occupied for the rest of his life. His novel, Zazie dans le métro, published in
January 1959 and adapted for cinema the following year by Louis Malle, brought him widespread
public recognition. For more information: https://www.britannica.com/biography/Raymond-
Queneau (accessed 14 June 2018).
4
Cau had formerly been Sartre’s secretary. He won the Prix Goncourt in 1961 for La Pitié de Dieu
(Gallimard) and was an important intellectual figure at the time.
I was on board straight away. After getting the green light from Paul
Flamand, the head of Le Seuil, I got Modiano in to sign a contract. He
came back a few days later, visibly upset. He told me, ‘my mother gave the
manuscript to Queneau, and he wants it. Since I’m still a minor, she signed
the contract with Gallimard.’ I was so disappointed that I didn’t even ask
him how old he was. At the time, the legal age was twenty-one. In 1967,
when the manuscript was accepted, Patrick Modiano was almost twenty-
two. Strictly, it should have been published by Le Seuil. Its eventual publi-
cation with Gallimard was postponed until 1968 to avoid controversy after
the Six-Day War. Israel is not exactly treated with the utmost sympathy in
the novel. That Gallimard asked Jean Cau to write the preface was probably
to forestall a potential dispute. (Lamy 2008)
Modiano’s proximity to these well-known writers at the end of the

1960s was consolidated at the time of his marriage. On 12 September
1970, he married Dominique Zehrfuss, daughter of the famous architect
Bernard Zehrfuss. Her account of their wedding day demonstrates the
young Modiano’s level of social capital: “I have a catastrophic memory of
our wedding day. It was raining heavily, it was a total nightmare. Our
witnesses were Raymond Queneau, who had been Patrick’s mentor since
his teenage years, and André Malraux, a friend of my father” (Zehrfuss
2003, quoted in Cosnard 2011).
Clearly, Modiano’s entry into the literary world was greatly facilitated
through the network of relationships around his mother and his wife,
among others. These intimate connections indicate how he came to be
favourably introduced to these prominent publishing houses that would
go on to publish his texts.
Prestigious Publishing Houses
The role a publishing house plays in the career trajectory of an early-

career writer patently carries huge importance. The collaboration between
a writer and a publishing house is based on mutual recognition. Editors
select writers who conform to the publisher’s general editorial direction;
publishing houses, like authors, are spread across the fields of limited
production and large-scale production and occupy different positions
24 C. Lévy
therein. Bourdieu proposes three principal groups of publishing houses

in France based on the relative proportion of their production that stems
from more speculative long-term investments as opposed to higher-
guarantee, short-term investments (Bourdieu 1977, 25), and his analysis
concerns the historical state of the field at the beginning of Modiano’s
career. Looking through Bourdieu’s framework, at the beginning of the
1970s, publishing houses in France were categorised as follows:
Small, avant-garde Intermediary “Big” publishing houses

Pauvert Flammarion Laffont
Maspéro Albin Michel Presses de la cité
Minuit Calmann-Lévy Hachette
Bourgois Gallimard
Within the subfield of publishing houses that brought out works with
more long-term returns and were geared towards an intellectual reader-
ship, Bourdieu distinguishes further subcategories:
Avant-garde, becoming
recognised Neutral Dominant
Maspéro Le Seuil Gallimard
As Christophe Charle explains (1985, 140), publishing houses select

authors and works based on the literary or ideological criteria correspond-
ing to their image. Similarly, writers have their own personal strategies to
establish their particular position within the literary field and choose a
given publishing house based on their past literary production and gen-
eral image. As an emerging writer making his first move in the literary
scene, choosing Gallimard over Le Seuil was a significant strategic move
of Modiano and of his mother. The choice of publisher speaks volumes
about authors and about the image they intend to promote of their
literature.
Gallimard and, to a lesser extent, Le Seuil have been Modiano’s main
publishers. As Bourdieu’s table indicates, they are both situated in an
intermediary position, between the avant-garde publishing houses on

one side and those whose output is essentially commercial on the other.
By publishing with Gallimard and Le Seuil, Modiano maintained from
the beginning the potential of gaining popular recognition as well as seri-
ous literary acclaim; both houses have the capacity to work in large print
runs and, in Gallimard’s case, can republish works in a pocket format
collection if warranted by the size of the initial run, which has been the
case for almost all of Modiano’s works. On the other hand, Gallimard’s
collection Blanche is among France’s most prestigious and exclusive liter-
ary collections.
Accumulating Literary Prizes
The attribution of literary prizes constitutes an important signifier as to

the renown and prestige of a writer. Literary prizes follow different crite-
ria, but generally they all have the same effect, albeit with varying degrees
of prestige, value and longevity: they promote and endorse a particular
work and confer a level of recognition to its author, again within variable
degrees of reach, both geographically and temporally, and with varying
levels of literary standing and cachet. Modiano’s page on Gallimard’s
website and his French Wikipedia entry list the prizes he has won over the
course of his career, leading up to the Nobel Prize in 2014. Some are for
a particular novel, and others are for his complete body of work at the
time of the prize attribution.
Prizes and awards for the complete works:
The Prince Pierre of Monaco Literary Prize (1984)

Grand prix de Littérature Paul-Morand—Académie française (2000)
Cino Del Duca World Prize (2010)
The Marguerite-Duras—BNF Prize (2011)5
The Austrian State Prize for European Literature (2012)
5
The Marguerite Duras—BNF Prize is awarded in rotation for works of theatre, film and literature.
In 2011, the jury was presided over by Alain Vircondelet, a university professor and Duras special-
ist, and included actors, writers, critics and journalists. https://www.margueriteduras.org/films-
autres/prix-marguerite-duras, accessed 14 June 2018.
26 C. Lévy
Prizes for particular novels:
Roger-Nimier Prize 1968 (La place de l’étoile)

Félix-Fénéon Prize 1969 (La place de l’étoile)
Grand prix du roman de l’Académie française 1972 (Les Boulevards
de ceinture)
Prix des libraires (Booksellers Award) 1976 (Villa Triste)
Prix Goncourt 1978 (Rue des Boutiques Obscures)
The Relay Prize 1990 (Voyage de noces)6
Jean Monnet Prize for European Literature (funded by the department of
Charentes) 2002 (La Petite Bijou)7
Given this extensive list of accolades, it is clear that Modiano’s literary

status was quickly recognised by his peers. Awards began from his very
first publication and include some of the most prestigious literary prizes,
notably the Grand Prix du Roman de l’Académie française in 1972 and
the Prix Goncourt in 1978. Sylvie Ducas describes:
the fundamentally ambivalent nature of the prize system in the French lit-
erary field: a prize is simultaneously a national institution that takes place
in the plush interiors of legendary Parisian restaurants, perpetuating time-
worn traditions of literary recognition and norms, as well as a media-
advertising tool at the heart of publishing houses’ marketing strategies and
an integral part of the book industry. (Ducas 2010, 1)
Ducas notes that “competitions between publishing houses have long

since replaced the era of the great literary battles”. These remarks could be
6
This is a hybrid prize since it is bestowed by a jury made up of both professionals and readers. The
Babelio website provides the following description: “Every year, we choose one novel from a new
selection of excellent books. Laureates are chosen for the quality of their writing style and original-
ity of plot. Each year, a new jury is assembled, made up of people working in the travel industry,
journalists, writers, members of Relay, united by a shared passion for books in all their forms, and
for reading in all means of transport.” https://www.babelio.com/prix/86/Relay-des-voyageurs-
lecteurs, accessed 14 June 2018.
7
The Jean Monnet Prize for European Literature, founded in 1995, is awarded to European authors
for works written in or translated into French. The prize is funded and sponsored by the Department
of Charentes, and the selection committee is made up of writers, critics, and journalists. http://www.
litteratures-europeennes.com/fr/rubrique-2615-prix-jean-monnet.html, accessed 14 June 2018.
extrapolated to the global literary field and its international prizes, of

which the Nobel Prize is the most prestigious. Every year, however, the
announcement of the winner is inevitably accompanied by media criti-
cism, debate and sometimes scandal. Ducas adds:
literary prizes are driven by opposing systems of logic; literary on the one
hand, recognising the artistic talent of a work and an author, and economic
on the other, focusing on a book’s print runs and sales. This contradiction
makes literary prizes an excellent starting point in studying the economy of
symbolic commodities and the struggles and power plays for literary status
(…). Investigating the development of prizes towards more popular forms
and the progressive establishment of a new kind of literary value—com-
mercial, dramatic, media-friendly, democratic and based on consensus—
demonstrates how the relationship between critical assessment and literary
value has shifted from what it was in traditional literary spheres.
(Ducas 2010, 2)
It is interesting to note that literary prizes are, first and foremost,

thought to demonstrate a particular author’s literary merit in the eyes of
their peers and therefore the writer’s establishment within the field of
limited production. However, in reality, prizes are accompanied not only
by symbolic value; they often come with material return. Some prizes
come with a lump sum of money. Among the prizes awarded to Modiano,
the Grand prix de Littérature Paul-Morand de l’Académie française was
awarded with 300,000 francs (about 45,000 euros), the Cino Del Duca
World Prize with 300,000 euros, the Marguerite Duras Prize (donated by
Pierre Bergé) with 15,000 euros and the Austrian State Prize for European
Literature with 25,000 euros. In addition to these figures, there is also the
sum of one million euros that comes with the Nobel Prize in Literature.
Aside from monetary rewards, literary prizes often entail increased
media attention to the author and the winning work(s), especially for
those prizes which themselves attract more media attention, which, of
course, can have a very direct effect on sales figures.
Literary prizes make it more likely for a novel to be translated. (…) While
it is undeniable that literary prizes are seen as a label of quality and for this
reason, prize-winning books are more sought after, the increased potential
28 C. Lévy
for translation of an award-winning novel is also to do with editorial policy

and commercial strategy which is centred around the promotion of literary
prizes overseas. (Ducas 2013, 94)
The effects of prestigious national prizes, such as the Prix Goncourt,

are, of course, amplified when it comes to the Nobel Prize in Literature.
The economic consequences of the Nobel are particularly important, as
Modiano’s editor, Antoine Gallimard, noted on the day of the prize
announcement, when a journalist asked him what the prize represented
for Gallimard:
It has a significant effect, of course, in terms of economic impact. It is a

huge deal for the publishing house and for the author. We have already
issued another substantial print run of 100,000 copies for Modiano’s latest
novel Pour que tu ne te perdes pas dans le quartier [which came out one week
before the Nobel].8 When Le Clézio won the prize in 2008, his novel,
which came out that October, Ritournelle de la faim, sold 350,000 copies.
The Nobel is a huge literary prize which affects not only the sales of the
most recent publication, but also the whole body of work. It also really
speeds things up in terms of selling foreign rights. (Gallimard quoted in
Aïssaoui 2014)
Academic Recognition
As well as being published by Gallimard and winning several literary

prizes, critical discourse not only in the press—general and literary—but
also within universities started to develop around Modiano’s body of
work quite quickly.
Every critical affirmation contains, on the one hand, a recognition of the

value of the work which occasions it, which is thus designated as a worthy
object of legitimate discourse (…) and on the other hand an affirmation of
its own legitimacy. Critics declare not only their judgement of the work
but also claim their right to talk about it and judge it. In short, they take
8
The English translation, So You Don’t Get Lost in the Neighbourhood (trans. Euan Cameron) was
published by MacLehose and came out in 2015.
part in a struggle for the monopoly of legitimate discourse about the work
of art, and consequently in the production of value of the work of art.
(Bourdieu 1991, 35–36)
For many scholars, Modiano and his novels have become a subject of
research, and a number of masters and doctoral theses have been written on
his work: in October 2014, the online database of French doctoral theses
showed that there were sixty-one theses, completed or under way, either
exclusively on Modiano’s work or in conjunction with other authors.9
Scholarly interest has not been limited to France or French-speaking
countries, however. Alice Kaplan, head of the French Department at Yale,
where she teaches courses on Modiano’s work, gave an interview in Libération
after the Nobel Prize announcement. She explained that there was already a
significant level of academic interest in Modiano’s work, though to a lesser
extent in the United States. Modiano has been published, before his Nobel
Prize, in translation in America by Verba Mundi, which also publishes works
by Le Clézio, the most recent French Nobel Prize laureate before Modiano.
The level of scholarly interest is indicated by the sixteen theses on Modiano’s
work written in American universities since 1987, “which is not negligible
for a contemporary foreign writer”, according to (Kaplan quoted in Franck-
Dumas 2014). In her opinion, people are attracted by Modiano’s laconic
style and language, which is highly accessible both in French and in English.
However, she sees an impediment to the reception of his novels overseas:
[T]he precision of Paris-based references throughout his texts is incredible—

all the street names and addresses, which brilliantly capture the atmospheres
of different neighbourhoods. You probably have to know Paris a little at least
in order to pick up on all the allusions. Yet even without picking up on all of
them, he is still so good at creating atmosphere. (Kaplan quoted in Franck-
Dumas 2014)
9
Wikipedia shows a non-exhaustive list of these theses, which gives an example of the themes dealt
with in these theses on Modiano’s page (https://wikipedia.org/wiki/Patrick_Modiano accessed 14
June 2018) identity, memory, nostalgia, autofiction, paternal images, the Occupation, Paris, and so
forth. Since the Nobel Prize, however, there has been no sudden increase of theses on Modiano’s
work added to the database: there were two new additions in October 2014 and autumn 2015. This
could be only a matter of time for France; abroad, the Nobel Prize has clearly legitimated Modiano
as a subject of research for students in French literature.
30 C. Lévy
However, Alice Kaplan emphasises the difficulty of studying and ana-

lysing Modiano’s literature within the American university system:
You can’t read Modiano for his ‘identity politics’, and American universi-
ties are obsessed with this approach, which systematically interrogates lit-
erature through positions of gender and race. Modiano too is obsessed with
these themes, yet his work demonstrates that there are no simplistic con-
clusions to be drawn. He cannot simply be classed as a ‘Jewish writer’, for
example. (Kaplan quoted in Franck-Dumas 2014)
Flourishing in the Book Market
Many of the elements we have looked into thus far support the argument
for Modiano’s classification in the subfield of limited production in the
literary field in France. Since his first novel came out in 1968, he has
continued to accumulate the whole gamut of symbolic capital affirming
his ever-greater establishment within this subfield. While this is true,
from the outset, Modiano has simultaneously established himself in the
field of large-scale production, evidenced by the size of his novels’ print
runs and sales figures.
Around the time of the Nobel announcement, an article in Le Monde
(15 October 2014), a major French daily newspaper, noted that Modiano’s
novels typically sold between 60,000 and 80,000 copies in the months
following their release. Indeed, Gallimard issued an initial print run of
60,000 copies of Pour que tu ne te perdes pas dans le quartier, published
just before the Nobel announcement. From its release on 2 October, it
sold well, and according to France TV info, the website for French public
TV channels (17 October 2014), it was positioned at the ninth place in
the Ipsos/Livres Hebdo10 rankings list.
It should be noted that nearly all of Modiano’s works (except for some
of his non-novelistic works, such as the children’s books, Dieu prend-il soin
des boeufs? in 2003, illustrated by Gérard Garouste, Une aventure pour
10
Livres Hebdo is a magazine for professionals in the book industry (bookstores, publishing houses,
libraries) and the public interested in book news. Ipsos Culture publishes weekly rankings of best-
selling books.
Choura in 1982 or Une fiancée pour Choura in 1987) have been systemati-
cally republished in Gallimard’s pocket format collection, Folio, after
being published in their Blanche collection. La place de l’étoile was pub-
lished in Folio in 1975 (three years after the collection was created), and
there have been two subsequent Folio editions. It is interesting to note
that there are certain changes in the text from one edition to the next and
that Jean Cau’s preface is omitted in later editions. Progressively, the
period between a novel’s first release and its republication in pocket for-
mat has decreased: Modiano’s works meet the conditions for being offered
to readers in a more economical edition, which, of course, means a boost
in sales, and the potential publication of subsequent pocket format
editions.
Finally, that Modiano belongs—and already did long before the
Nobel—not only to the sphere of limited production but also to that of
large-scale production is evidenced by his prominence both within the
literary scene and in non-literary circles. His appearances in the media
have been significant, especially on the literary television programme
Apostrophes, even though he does not quite fit the description of the
model invitee. Christian Delporte describes Apostrophes as:
the new generation’s flagship programme. The show, entirely dedicated to

literature, was created in 1975 by journalist Bernard Pivot and aired on
Friday nights at prime time. With a focus on the latest news in publishing,
novels and essays, it drew a huge audience and had an important impact on
sales. The format was that of a discussion or debate based around particular
books presented by their authors; a single writer or essayist no longer
appeared alone, in majesty. The idea was to create more of a critical envi-
ronment and to heighten the performative aspect. Participants were invited
to make a kind of presentation, so the ideal participant was one who under-
stood the rhythm of television, spoke clearly and eloquently, smiled appro-
priately, avoided long tangents, communicated his or her message briefly,
spoke with controlled voice, gaze, and gestures; in other words, someone
with natural ease who knew how to communicate. (Delporte 2009, 144)
Delporte adds that although this description seems to be the exact

opposite of Modiano, whose awkwardness, difficulties speaking, unfin-
ished sentences and long silences are well known, he is among the few
32 C. Lévy
Table 2.1 The most frequently invited writers on Apostrophes between 1975
and 1989
Writers Number of invitations
Jean d’Omesson 15
Max Gallo, Philippe Labro 14
Philippe Sollers, Michel Tournier 11
Jacques Attali, Jean Dutourd, Claude Mauriac, Henri Troyat 10
Jean Cau, Jean Lacouture, Françoise Sagan 9
Bernard Clavel, Jean Daniel, Françoise Giroud, Jean- 8
Edern Hallier
Emmanuel Leroy-Ladurie, François Nourrissier, Jean-
François Revel,
Jorge Semprun, Henri Vincenot, Alphonse Boudard,
Hélène Carrère d’Encausse,
Bernard-Henri Lévy, Pierre Miquel, Patrick Modiano 7
writers—forty-five in total, from 1976 to 1989—to have been invited to

the programme at least five times. Delporte shows that Modiano made
seven appearances on the show (2009, 139, 151) (Table 2.1).
Modiano has also been involved in other non-literary writing proj-
ects. He participated in the making of four films, two of which he co-
wrote the screenplays.11 The most important of these is Lacombe Lucien,
which he co-wrote in 1973 with Louis Malle. Set in the south-west of
France during the Occupation, the film’s protagonist is a young man
who wants to join the local Resistance group, led by his school teacher.
He is rejected on the grounds of his youth, and through a series of
seemingly random events, he ends up joining the ranks of the Milice,
Vichy’s paramilitary arm, and eventually has his teacher imprisoned.
The screenplay was published by Gallimard and caused a scandal when
it came out in January 1974, prompting Malle’s move to the United
States. Controversy surrounded the seeming lack of justification or rea-
soning behind the protagonist’s behaviour; Lucien’s character was seen
as a rejection of engagement, and the film seemed to question the idea
of heroism.
11
Cosnard, Denis, http://lereseaumodiano.blogspot.fr/p/modiano-et-le-cinema.html, accessed 14
June 2018.
As well as writing for film, Modiano has also written song lyrics; he
and his school friend from the lycée Henri IV, Hughes de Courson,
recorded the album Fonds de tiroirs 1967,12 which came out in 1979.
Modiano was also part of the jury of the Cannes Film Festival in 2000.
After the Nobel Prize

Attribution of the Nobel Prize in Literature
When it was announced that the Nobel Prize in Literature was going to
Patrick Modiano, the French press took the opportunity to explore the
history of the prize and to discuss the profile of prize winners since its
inception in 1901. Le Monde wrote that the prize, awarded to writers
producing the most “outstanding work in an ideal direction” (9 October
2014), had been won by 111 writers since 1901 and, if all the data from
previous winners were to be brought together, the “average laureate”
would be French or an author writing in English, from Europe, a prose
writer as opposed to a poet, and male.
The Swedish Academy and the Nobel Committee13

The Nobel Committee is formed from the Swedish Academy, which has
five members, each of whom is elected for a three-year term. The
Committee is attached to the Nobel Foundation. The Swedish Academy’s
website details how the prize attribution process is conducted. The
Committee compiles the nominations list, with suggestions accepted
from members of the Swedish Academy and from other similar national
academies and literary bodies around the world, professors of literature
12
Fonds de tiroirs is a compilation of twelve songs written in 1967 with Hughes de Courson, a musi-
cian, composer and producer. The album features three instrumental pieces and nine songs, with
lyrics written by Modiano. It was first released on vinyl in 1979 by Ballon noir, then on CD in
1997 by Masq and re-released in 2005 under the title Fonds de tiroirs 1967 by Le Roseau and dis-
tributed by Harmonia Mundi. In 1968, a year after they recorded the songs, Hughes de Courson
presented Étonnez-moi, Benoît…! to Françoise Hardy, and she recorded a version of Modiano’s
song. Two years later, Régine recorded a version of Modiano’s song L’Aspire à cœur.
13
http://www.svenskaakademien.se/en/the-nobel-prize-in-literature, accessed 14 June 2018.
34 C. Lévy
and linguistics at university level, previous Nobel laureates in literature

and presidents of those societies of authors that are representative of the
literary production in their respective countries. Each autumn, the
Committee sends out between 600 and 700 nomination forms for the
following year’s nominations list. Individuals or institutions put forward
a list of several names along with a description of the nominee’s work.
People aren’t allowed to nominate themselves. Nearly 350 names are sub-
mitted to the members of the Committee, with around fifteen to twenty
being presented in a shortlist in early February for approval by members
of the Academy.
In May, the Nobel Committee settles on a final list of five candidates
from which the members of the Academy choose the winner. If one of the
proposed authors is not published in a language read by the majority of
the jury, the Academy may commission translations. After studying the
works of the candidates in detail, several discussions and meetings take
place. It is often the case that writers are nominated several times and
thus their works are already known to the jury members. In this case, the
Academy will take any of their new publications into account. Following
debates, the jury takes a vote at the beginning of October. The candidate
who obtains more than half of the votes is selected as the winner of the
prize. The four others are automatically put in the running for the next
year. The name of the winner is announced by the Permanent Secretary
of the Academy in October in Stockholm. The nature of the deliberation
process and the final list of five names are kept completely secret and are
not made publicly available for fifty years.14
Modiano is the fifteenth French writer to be awarded the prize (there
have been more laureates of French nationality than any other; there have
been twelve Americans, ten Britons, eight Germans and eight Swedes, six
of whom were already members of the Swedish Academy or became
members after winning the prize). The prize is administrated and awarded
in Sweden, and although there has been a gradual increase in non-
European prize winners, especially since the 1980s (Weston-Evans and
Nettelbeck 2017, 400), the prize has remained highly Eurocentric,
14
Swedish Academy. Website. Available at: https://www.nobelprize.org/nomination/literature/
index.html, accessed 14 June 2018.
increasingly so if one takes into account certain laureates’ dual national-

ity. In contrast, literary genre is becoming increasingly less varied: plays,
philosophical texts, and poetry were more frequently awarded by the jury
before the 1950s, until the prize was given to Bob Dylan in October
2016! The opening up of the prize to female writers has been very slow
too. Only thirteen women have won the prize since 1901 (between 1901
and 1980, there was up to one female laureate per decade, a figure which
climbed to three in the 1900s and 2000s, and for the 2010s, there was
one female author before Modiano, Alice Munro, awarded the prize in
2013 for her short story writing, a literary genre previously unrecognised
by the Nobel committee, and one after Modiano, the Belarusian writer
Svetlana Alexievich, in 2015). The oldest person awarded the Nobel Prize
is Doris Lessing, who won the prize in 2007 at eighty-eight years old, and
the youngest is Rudyard Kipling, who won in 1907, at forty-two.
So, even though Modiano’s win in 2014 was unexpected in some
regards, his prize shouldn’t be considered such a surprise, since he fits
several of these major “criteria”: a white, male Frenchman, 69 years old,
whose principal literary output consists of novels. Moreover, both
Modiano and the previous French laureate J. M. G. Le Clézio were trans-
lated into Swedish and published since 2012 by a publisher notoriously
close to members of the Committee, Elisabeth Grate.15 Nine of Modiano’s
novels were translated into Swedish early on, all published by two houses,
Bonnier then Norstedt. However, no new translation in Swedish appeared
between 1993 and 2012 when Elisabeth Grate Bokförlag, a family-fun
publishing house specialising in quality French literature in Swedish
translation, brought out three titles in two years. Unfortunately, it has
not been possible to obtain confirmation from Gallimard that selling the
foreign rights to Elisabeth Grate just two years before he won the Nobel
Prize was linked to a strategy to make Modiano’s more recent texts avail-
able in Swedish. However, we can perhaps speculate over the chronology
of events and surmise that Gallimard saw it as a wise move to have
Modiano translated by this particular publishing house at that particu-
lar time.
15
https://www.bief.org/fichiers/operation/3839/media/9076/Suède%202015.pdf, accessed 14
June 2018.
36 C. Lévy
There are several further French links. In 2006 Jesper Svenbro, a poet
and historian who spent his whole career in France as research director at
CNRS, took a seat as a member of the Swedish Academy. There has also
been the recent sexual harassment scandal involving Jean-Claude Arnault,
a French photographer and the husband of the poet Katarina Frostenson,
herself a member of the Swedish Academy. Among other accusations, Jean-
Claude Arnault is thought to have leaked the names of potential laureates
to the media and has been described as having a strong influence on the
Swedish Academy. Matilda Gustavsson, the journalist at the origin of the
scandal, has been quoted by the newspaper (L’Express, 26 January 2018)
saying: “The Nobel Academy has eighteen members and he was considered
by some to be the 19th member, which gives you an idea of how influential
he was” (Glydén 2018). It is therefore possible that in 2014 Modiano ben-
efitted from a combination of the support of his publisher as well as factors
beyond his control but which may have worked in his favour.
As well as the immense symbolic status and literary recognition that comes
with the Nobel Prize, it also carries a significant material award. The prize
money has fluctuated over the years, but it is now fixed at ten million Swedish
krona, which is approximately one million euros. A gold medal, a certificate
from the Nobel Foundation, and the prize money are bestowed upon the
laureates by the king of Sweden during the prize-giving ceremony held on 10
December, the anniversary of Alfred Nobel’s death. For each laureate there is
a presentation speech, which is inherently laudatory and often given by the
Permanent Secretary, providing an institutional contextual overview. This is
followed by the acceptance speech delivered by the authors themselves. These
speeches provide the opportunity for the laureates to outline their work and
their artistic aspirations and outlook. Much of Patrick Modiano’s acceptance
speech delivered in December 2014 in Stockholm was reprinted in the
French press on the same day or the day after, and was published by Gallimard
in the collection Blanche in February 2015.
Effects of the Nobel Prize in France
We will now turn to the effects of the Nobel Prize on the sales and dis-
semination of Modiano’s novels. As for all Nobel literature prize winners
before him, sales figures and print runs increased massively both in France
and in overseas literary markets. Following the prize, new print runs of
works in French as well as works already translated were initiated, and
new translations of previously untranslated works were commissioned,
notably into English. Philippe Le Tendre, sales director at Gallimard,
explains that the main difference with a prize like the Goncourt, for
example, which focuses on one particular novel, is that the Nobel Prize is
awarded to a writer for their entire body of work (Mainguet 2015). No
other prize awarded for an entire body of work has the same effect, since
the Nobel Prize concerns the international literary field, which few prizes
have access to and fewer still have as much impact.
We must underline the fact that what the agents themselves call the
‘Noble effect’ is in reality the result of multiple strategies (of editors,
authors, publicists, etc.); this euphemistic term and indigenous category,
in fact, obfuscates and renders more palatable very simple basic economic
interests and strategies in a field (literature) which does not overtly value
such calculations. That Gallimard published Romans in the Quarto collec-
tion (an edition containing ten novels and short stories originally pub-
lished between 1975 and 2010) in May 2013, coupled with his novel,
Pour que tu ne te perdes pas dans le quartier, appearing just one week before
the prize announcement, could lead one to the conclusion that Modiano
winning the prize, while not a sure thing, was at least considered highly
likely by his publishing house. If he were to win, then his most recent
works would already be available in bookshops—and booksellers are well
aware of the famous ‘Nobel effect’ on sales in the immediate post-
announcement period and a little later at the end-of-year celebrations,
traditionally a period for gift giving, books in particular (Table 2.2).
Articles in French newspapers and magazines that appeared in the days,
weeks and months following the prize attribution bring to light the sig-
nificance of the Nobel’s impact on sales. On the day of the prize announce-
ment, the immediate effects on stocks of Modiano’s novels were felt and
reported by the media, which focused on sales numbers and commercial
success. Many newspaper and news websites reported that various book-
shops (such as Gallimard’s outlet in Paris and the FNAC, the large retail
chain) had completely sold out of Modiano’s books (Beyer 2014). So, we
can see that the Nobel Prize, an international prize administrated and
awarded outside of France, has immediate effects on the interior market.
38 C. Lévy
Table 2.2 Sales figures in France of Modiano’s works before and after the
Nobel Prize
Before the Nobel After the Nobel
Romans (Quarto edition) May ’13–Oct ’14: 9500 Oct ’14–Jan ’15: 50,000
Pour que tu ne te perdes Print run (Oct ’14): 60,000 Oct–Dec ’14: 300,000
pas dans le quartier (average sales forecast:
between 40,000 and 60,000)
Collected works Jan–Dec ’13: 41,000 Jan–Dec ’14: 700,000
Sources: Beyer (2014); Beuve-Méry (2014); Aïssaoui and Dargent (2015); Dupuis
et al. (2014); Mainguet (2015); Le Point (2014a, b)
One week later, the ‘Nobel effect’ was still in full force, as an article in
Le Point, a weekly French news and current affairs magazine, outlined:
Patrick Modiano, awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature on 9 October, is at

the top of the novels sales lists this week […] With an initial print run of
60,000 copies, the new Modiano novel Pour que tu ne te perdes pas dans le
quartier, was already selling well since its release on 2 October, but the
Nobel Prize has given the novel a massive boost. Gallimard ordered a second
print run of 100,000, with the “Nobel de littérature” strip, and the 2013
Quarto edition, a collection of ten of his novels, was reprinted to the order
of 160,000 copies. His publishers are in full production mode promoting
his novels and several pocket format reprints of his earlier novels are under
way. At the beginning of November there will be a new Folio collection on
the market, comprising Dora Bruder, La place de l’étoile, his first novel,
which came out in 1968, Un pedigree and Rue des Boutiques Obscures, which
won the Prix Goncourt in 1978 and with 530,000 copies sold and transla-
tions in some forty-five countries, is his biggest commercial success. His
three children’s books Une aventure de Choura, Une fiancée pour Choura and
Catherine Certitude are also being reprinted. (Le Point 2014a)
One month after the prize was awarded to Modiano, Le Point noted
that, according to Edistat,16 Nobel-winning authors generally see their
sales figures increase over tenfold, and sometimes more in their own
country (Le Point 2014b). This was reiterated in the same week by
Le Monde:
Edistat is a website that offers estimates of sales of books, bestseller lists and indicators on major
16
market trends in France.

Modiano has already sold 404,000 books this year, compared with 41,000
last year, and Christmas shopping has only just started. This tenfold increase
is in line with the average rise recorded by laureates. (Beuve-Méry 2014)
At the beginning of 2015, Le Figaro’s traditional annual list of bestsell-

ers (the only one to include pocket format sales) from the previous year
was announced17:
The 2014 Nobel laureate made a sensational entry; the Prize has rarely
made such an impact on sales. In Modiano’s case, the mythical ‘Nobel
effect’ is particularly remarkable […] Over 300,000 copies of this novel
[Pour que tu ne te perdes pas dans le quartier] have been sold, but the impact
of the literary world’s most prestigious award can be seen on Modiano’s
whole body of work, and his earlier titles in pocket format have sold
remarkably well. (Aïssaoui and Dargent 2015)
Indeed, David Ducreux, from Folio, stated that “Modiano’s earlier

works have also benefitted from the Nobel announcement. (…) We have
made pocket format print runs of 100,000 copies of Modiano’s classics,
Dora Bruder, Rue des Boutiques Obscures and La place de l’étoile”. Ducreux
adds that, “normally, we sell around 3,000 copies a year” (Mainguet
2015). The ‘Nobel effect’ has an impact on the complete works of a writer,
whose time in the limelight is most acute in the few months following the
announcement. It is impossible, however, to find out exact sales figures
for 2015, 2016, and 2017, with French publishing houses being tradi-
tionally rather secretive about their sales figures. When they do release
them, as was the case in 2014 with Modiano, the figures given by
Gallimard vary quite considerably, depending on the interview. What we
do know is that in October 2017, when Modiano’s first post-Nobel works
were published, Souvenirs dormants and Nos débuts dans la vie, they went
straight to the weekly bestsellers list in L’Express of the twenty highest-
selling books at second and sixteenth place, respectively (Peras 2017).
“2014’s bestsellers: Musso and Modiano step up, Lévy steps down.” Guillaume Musso and Marc
17
Lévy are “airport novel” writers, firmly in the field of large-scale production. For years they have
been among those vying for the top place in various bestseller lists, and it is generally one or the
other who makes it to the top.
40 C. Lévy
Effects of the Nobel Prize Abroad
The effects of the Nobel Prize are not limited to France. Gallimard was
determined to make the most of the ‘Nobel effect’ to promote the distri-
bution of his works in translation in other countries: “Patrick Modiano’s
work has been translated into some forty languages, and Gallimard will
be making sure that key Modiano titles are available overseas before the
Nobel Prize ceremony in Stockholm on 10 December” (Le Point 2014a).
Modiano was not very well known abroad when the Nobel Prize was
announced. The website Slate.com published an article on 9 October
2014 titled ‘A Reminder to Journalists Writing About the New Nobel
Prize Winner, From Wikipedia’, which collated a number of Twitter mes-
sages declaring their complete ignorance of the writer, and featuring a
screen-grab of Modiano’s English-language Wikipedia page. A notice,
added by Wikipedia editor Alvindclopez, was only online for about ten
minutes: “To The Reporter Now Copying from Wikipedia. Be careful
boy. Primary sources are still best for journos”.
Anne-Solange Noble, director of foreign rights at Gallimard, explained
that they “expect to reach the sales peak two years after the prize, when all
the reprints of his catalogue in France and overseas will be available, cou-
pled with the release of new translations. This should be at some point in
2016” (Noble cited in Bied 2016). In the same interview, she added:
The need to act quickly meant we had to seriously reduce the amount of
time we would normally take to negotiate rights and bring works out. The
post-Nobel period is also a time of intense editorial work; and in this case
the work was even more intense because the news of Modiano’s win was
such a surprise. Neither Gallimard nor any of the other rights holders had
prepared for it. Gallimard wanted translated works to be available to the
public before the official ceremony on 10 December 2014, and made
arrangements for reprints of around one hundred works in thirty different
countries just three weeks after the announcement of the prize. (Bied 2016)
The effects of the Nobel Prize on overseas markets are often even more
intense than in France. For Anne-Solange Noble, you have to make the
most of the opportunity: “The impact of the Nobel Prize overseas is short
lived, the next year another author will be in the spotlight. We had to
move quickly” (Noble cited in Beuve-Méry 2014). When the Nobel
announcement was made, Gallimard had the option of promoting the
whole catalogue by selling translation rights, or selling the rights of
Modiano’s most recent novel, Pour que tu ne te perdes pas dans le quartier,
to the highest bidders. They decided to take the first approach in order to
consolidate and stabilise the supply on the market before agreeing to cede
the rights for his latest novel. Gallimard’s strategy to cope with the Nobel
was to respond as quickly as possible to market demand. According to
Anne-Solange Noble, rights for Pour que tu ne te perdes pas dans le quartier
have been acquired in thirty-three languages in the wake of the prize
(Bied 2016). It should be noted, however, that rights for Modiano’s nov-
els had already been acquired in thirty-six languages—including Basque
and Persian—before the Nobel Prize announcement in October 2014.
“In Modiano’s case, the Nobel effect was not essentially to do with creat-
ing a market for translation into additional languages. This indicates that
the effect is measured principally in the number of reprints in each lan-
guage for titles already published and the number of new contracts in
these languages for hitherto unacquired works” (Bied 2016) (Table 2.3).
Clearly, the effects of the Nobel are felt in overseas markets, although
with less impact than in France, since overseas sales have remained
Table 2.3 Works in translation available in a selection of foreign countries before

and after the Nobel Prizea
Year of the first Translations before Additional translations
Modiano translation the Nobel (up to after the Nobel between
Country to appear 2014) 2014 and 2017
Sweden 1970 12 5
Italy 1973 12 13
Spain 1976 28 19
China 1986 20 17
a
The same work may be translated several times and published either by different
publishing houses, or by the same publishing house but with some years’
separation. I am grateful to PhD students Maria Ranefalk, Francesca Dainese,
and Tang Tianying, all of whom are working on Modiano in Sweden, Italy, and
China, for these figures. They were presented in 2017 in the seminar led by Clara
Lévy “Patrick Modiano: la fabrique d’un Nobel”. Maria Patricio Mulero also
presented her research on the reception of Modiano in Spain
42 C. Lévy
relatively modest. In comparison, in the academic field, interest in

Modiano has increased dramatically. In China, for example, two master’s
theses on Modiano were completed before 2014, and there have been
twenty-seven since.
Conclusion
In Modiano’s case, the Nobel Prize in Literature has served principally to
amplify, rather than change or shift, the position he occupied in the
French literary field prior to the prize. From the beginning of his literary
career in 1968 and right up to 2014, he was situated at the intersection
between the fields of limited and large-scale production. His work was
published by Gallimard and Le Seuil. He has received a significant num-
ber of literary awards and was recognised by his peers, literary critics and
literature professors. Simultaneously, his sales figures have been high and
his novels systematically republished in pocket format. The Nobel Prize
has resulted in greater recognition in France and especially overseas; out-
side certain countries like Spain and Germany, Modiano was little known
or read prior to the prize. The prize has also had purely economic conse-
quences, some of which were short term—with the tenfold increase in
sales of Modiano’s works, and the one million euros prize money—and
others which will continue for years given the Nobel’s propensity to cre-
ate ‘long sellers’ for its laureates. Moreover, it is particularly interesting to
note that Modiano’s increasing establishment in the field of large-scale
production has not led to a disdainful or wary reception within the field
of limited production. The Nobel Prize has given Modiano and his work
increased visibility among readers in the wider public as well as more
specialised readers such as his literary peers and members of literary
Academies.
Through the singular case of Modiano we can revisit the theoretical
question of autonomy within the literary field described by Pierre
Bourdieu. As Gisèle Sapiro notes, from the nineteenth century, “contrary
to the economically-driven gearing toward short-term profitability that
motivates production in the large-scale market, is the opposing pole of
small-scale production which recognises the irreducibility of the aesthetic
value of a product to its market value and defers to the judgement of

specialists (peers and critics) rather than the general public” (Sapiro
2016). The shift in economic logic and the increasing autonomy of aes-
thetic judgement as opposed to economic performance are relative, as
this study has sought to indicate. While there are some periods for which
or writers for whom the dichotomy is applicable, there are others who
challenge its validity, as for Modiano. In his case, aesthetic value and
market value are both principal features of his work and both seem to
accumulate and augment reciprocally. Is Modiano the exception that
confirms the rule? Or has the time come, with more and more editor’s
strategies, when more and more works and authors go beyond Bourdieu’s
opposition? Further research on other writers should confirm or invali-
date this hypothesis.
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3
A Star Down-to-Earth: On Social
Critique in Popular Culture
Désirée Waibel and Robert Schäfer
Introduction
In the sphere of pop culture, artistic and market values are most closely
intertwined. In contrast to other social spheres, it is common in pop cul-
ture to evaluate performance in economic terms, for example, to praise
artwork by referring to the pecuniary worth it generates or to illustrate
the artist’s genius by highlighting his wealth. But does this mean that
productions of pop culture “are no longer also commodities, they are
commodities through and through” (Adorno 1975, 13), resulting “in the
stultification, psychological crippling, and ideological disorientation of
the public” (Adorno 2005, 69)? Or are they rather artistic, emancipatory
D. Waibel
University of Bremen, Bremen, Germany
e-mail: desiree.waibel@uni-bremen.de
R. Schäfer (*)
University of Fribourg, Fribourg, Switzerland
e-mail: robert.schaefer@unifr.ch

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6_3
48 D. Waibel and R. Schäfer
expressions of and for ordinary people, authentic “voices of the voiceless”

against the cultural hegemony of the “power bloc” (Fiske 1989, 28, 163)?
As the debates around Formation by Beyoncé Knowles show, questions
concerning the critical capacities of pop culture are persistent.1 The song
was first performed at the National Football League (NFL) Super Bowl
halftime-show in 2016. The performance was marked by political refer-
ences: right at the outset, for instance, Beyoncé and her dance crew syn-
chronically clenched their fists, all clad in black leather and sporting
berets mimicking the uniform of the Black Panther Party. Moreover, the
performers danced their way into an X-formation on the baseball field,
paying tribute to Malcolm X. After the show, the dancers addressed the
once again raging issue of police brutality against African Americans.
They held up a sign, handwritten by Black Lives Matter (BLM) move-
ment activists, which read “Justice 4 Mario Woods”.2
The performance’s political references immediately set off a heated
public debate. One line of argument focused on the performance’s criti-
cal content, either deeming it positive or negative. For example, approv-
ing comments stated that Beyoncé is “blaring her voice just when we
need her” (Fallon 2016) and that she “embodies a new political moment”
(Moore 2016, see also Kornhaber 2016), while disapproving commenta-
tors accused her of using the show as a platform “to attack police officers”
(former Mayor of New York City, Rudy Giuliani, cited in Holpuch 2016)
and “to perpetuate the great battle of the races” (Lahren 2016). A second
line of argument focused on the performance’s context, questioning the
apparent commodification of a serious social justice issue as well as the
role of superstars as social critics.3
1
The videos were assessed on YouTube (NFL (2016); Beyoncé (2016)), the lyrics on Genius (2016).
2
Mario Woods was fatally shot by police officers in 2015. The sign was handed to the dancers by
two organisers of BLM, who also made and circulated a video of the scene. BLM is a social justice
movement that took off after the acquittal of a neighbourhood watch volunteer who lethally shot
teenager Trayvon Martin in 2012 (Ransby 2018, 29–46).
3
This critique has as an approving and a disapproving version as well. For example, the former
states that “Beyoncé has rewritten [the Super Bowl] as a moment of political ascent” (Caramanica
et al. 2016, see also Ellen 2016), whereas the latter ascertains that “the performance didn’t feel
purely like an act of subversion” (Battan 2016), that it is “Beyoncé’s bid to be an artist without los-
ing her commercial appeal” by which “politics quickly becomes a mere signifier in the show, instead
of a point of interest or debate” (Als 2016), and even that “Beyoncé waited until black politics was
so undeniably commercial that she could make a market out of it” (Guo 2016; see also hooks 2016).
3 A Star Down-to-Earth: On Social Critique in Popular Culture 49
While opinions diverged on whether it ought to be embraced or con-

demned (in the first line of argument) or whether it is out of place (in the
second line of argument), note that all discussants seemed to agree that
the performance was social critique. Indeed, there is a crucial difference
between attacking a social critique and negating its status as such. A fit-
ting example for the latter was the issue around Pepsi’s commercial Jump
In, which is also full of “references to police brutality and Black Lives
Matter protests” (Friedman 2017), but whose critical aim was entirely
negated. Immediately after airing, the commercial faced a fierce (social)
media backlash accusing it of appropriating current social critique for
pecuniary gains and of “trivialisation of today’s street unrest” (Bogost
2017). As a result, Pepsi pulled the commercial and apologised: “Clearly,
we missed the mark” (ibid.).4
This is what this chapter is interested in: how does a pop culture pro-
duction aimed at a social critique “hit the mark”? What are its audiovisual
resources to present a cause, to make a social justice issue intelligible?
What are the rules to which social critique in popular culture must adhere
in order to be deemed “competent”, and thus legitimate? In short, how
does social critique work in popular culture?
nalysing Social Critique in Popular Culture:

A
“A Voice for the Voiceless”
As the example of the Pepsi commercial already implies, these questions
are approached from the standpoint of the pragmatic sociology of
critique. Instead of relying on predetermined definitions of legitimate
critique, we follow the assumption that actors—in our case the audi-
ence—are “capable of distinguishing between legitimate arguments and
arrangements and illegitimate ones” (Boltanski and Thévenot 2000,
4
With this example, we assume that the rules of legitimate social critique, as investigated in this
chapter, not only apply to pop culture in the narrow sense—as a subdivision of the sphere of the
arts—but to other cultural productions as well (in this case: advertising). We thus follow Urs
Stäheli (2003), who, using Luhmannian concepts, defines popular culture in a wider sense, that is,
as a specific mode of communication that appears in many spheres of society.
215).5 To explore how social critique in popular culture must be put forth
in order to be considered legitimate, we selected a production aiming at
social critique that the audience deemed as highly successful—Beyoncé’s
Formation—and conducted an in-depth sequential analysis.6 For the
remainder of this chapter, we focus on the music video Formation, which
was released the night before the Super Bowl, and only use context mate-
rial for clarification.7
Conceptually, we draw on the pragmatic sociology of critique as well
as on political theories of representation. While both bodies of work are
concerned with the question of how social critique must be put forth in
order to be considered legitimate, the former examines different princi-
ples of justice—that is, focuses on what is criticised—whereas the latter
concentrates on the positionality of the critic and thus focuses on who
criticises. In their seminal work on justification, Luc Boltanski and
Laurent Thévenot (2000, 2006) emphasise the critical capabilities of
actors. They argue that actors are capable of critiquing, justifying, and
achieving agreement in situ by invoking different “orders of worth”
guided by certain “higher common principles of justice” (Boltanski and
Thévenot 2006, 141). The authors model six universal orders of worth:
the world of fame (valuation of renown), the market world (valuation of
competition), the industrial world (valuation of efficiency), the domestic
world (valuation of tradition), the civic world (valuation of general
5
Regarding the legitimacy of Beyoncé’s Formation as a social critique, we thus rely on the judge-
ment of her audience, who deem it legitimate. However, note that other scholars have assessed
Beyoncé’s legitimacy as a social critic by examining her self-representation, intentions, and former
actions. For an overview, albeit primarily concerning Beyoncé’s representation of (black) feminist
causes, see Djavadzadeh (2017).
6
Our sequential analysis follows the methodological paradigm of objective hermeneutics by Ulrich
Oevermann (for an English introduction, see Maiwald 2005 and Wernet 2014). Note that, for
clarity, this chapter does not strictly reproduce the sequences of our empirical analysis, which was
conducted according to the music video’s temporal order (see Table 3.1 in the Appendix). While
the temporal order is still mirrored in the text, some of the arguments are organised alongside
substantial results.
7
This material includes academic texts, professional and amateur reviews of Formation, and com-
ments on social media. The videos were assessed on YouTube (NFL 2016; Beyoncé 2016), the lyrics
on Genius (2016).
interest) and inspired world (valuation of creativity). Critical compe-

tence, then, is the ability to invoke the pertinent order of worth at the
right moment. However, since different orders of worth contradict each
other, critique and justification tend to provoke counter-critique.8
As regards our empirical case, Boltanski and Thévenot’s model speaks
to the fact that Formation is a social critique that addresses a plurality of
principles of justice. Indeed, our analysis revealed that the music video is
exemplary in this regard.9 It not only exerts the whole array of orders of
worth, it also pre-empts counter-critique by rapidly and systematically
switching from one order to another, thereby producing and solving ten-
sions between them in a performative way.10
However, the legitimacy of a social critique not only depends on what
is criticised, it also depends on who does so. For instance, even though
there were various aspects rendering the aforementioned Pepsi commer-
cial illegitimate, critics focused on the fact that the person solving the
tensions between the protesters and the police is incorporated by a White
celebrity. This shows the importance of what Linda Alcoff diagnoses
regarding the problem of speaking for others: “Who is speaking to whom
turns out to be as important for meaning and truth as what is said”
(1991, 12).
To analyse the rules of representation to which social critique in popu-
lar culture must adhere in order to be deemed legitimate, we draw on
Boltanski’s earlier work on public denunciations as well as on political
theories of representation.11 In their analysis of a vast corpus of readers’
letters to the editors of the daily Le Monde, Boltanski, Darré and Schiltz
(1984) reveal that the chance of a public denunciation to be judged as
8
Consequently, Boltanski and Thévenot register common conflicts (2006, 237–273) and compro-
mises (2006, 293–335) between each of the worlds.
9
While we focus on the analysis of the music video itself, the model could also be used to comple-
mentarily analyse different receptions of the song, which we touch on only briefly.
10
For a chronological overview of Formation’s critiques, justifications, and pre-emptions of counter-
critique, see Table 3.1 in the Appendix.
11
For an English summary, see Boltanski (2012, 207–219).
credible—and thus, as publishable—depends not so much on content,

but on the positionality of the involved actors, that is, the size of, and
relations between, denouncer (i.e. critic), victim, offender, and judge.
Concerning size, the study holds that a public denunciation likely fails to
be judged as credible when actors appear as individuals. This means that
critics, for instance, must de-singularise or rise to a level of generality
from which they no longer speak as an individual, but instead act as a
moral authority for a collective, for example, in an institutionalised
capacity formally backed by academic credentials. Concerning relations,
a public denunciation likely fails to be judged as credible when there is
too much proximity between the actors. This means that a cause is best
represented by a critic not personally involved or not part of the collective
of victims.
Of course, such rules of credibility vary depending on the context.
According to our analysis, the logic of legitimate representation in popu-
lar culture differs in two important ways, concerning size and relations.
Firstly, the authority of the denouncer does not derive from formally
institutionalised capacities, or charisma of office, but instead from per-
sonal charisma in the Weberian sense. This is because, in pop culture, the
distribution of worth follows the order of the world of fame, where “the
reaction of public opinion determines success” so that “worthy beings are
the ones that distinguish themselves, are visible, famous, recognized”
(Boltanski and Thévenot 2006, 179). However, since extraordinary fame
guarantees the critic a “voice” by virtue of public recognition, the legiti-
macy of its use is scrutinised all the more—especially if it is used to speak
for particular groups of “the voiceless”. Secondly, the rule concerning the
relations of the involved actors is inversed: distance does not evoke cred-
ibility, but rather prevents it. Thereby, legitimate representation in popu-
lar culture follows a logic akin to what political theorist call “descriptive
representation”. It rests on proximity—indicating shared experiences—
ascertained due to shared characteristics such as race, gender and other
visible attributes, but also “body language, choice of words, accent, and
other external signs” (Mansbridge 1999, 645). In other words, descriptive
representation is about “being something rather than doing something”
(Pitkin 1967, 61).
In order to be successful, pop-culture productions aiming at a social

critique thus need to solve the following problem: On the one hand, crit-
ics must appear as universal singularities, justifying why they (and not
somebody else) use “their voice”. This immediately sets them apart from
the collective of victims, which, in turn, violates the rule of legitimate
representation requiring proximity between the critic and the victim.
Thus, on the other hand, critics need to appear as part of a particular col-
lective, that is, “the voiceless” on behalf of whom they speak. Since these
depictions threaten to undermine each other, they must be put in place
carefully in order to pre-empt counter-critique. Moreover, these contra-
dictory depictions must be unified into a “voice for the voiceless” in a
credible way. Taken together, social critique in pop culture thus requires
accounts of distinction, identification and the unification of both.
In the following, we will show that Formation’s critical competence lies
not only in the way it puts multiple principles of justice to work, but also
in the way it depicts Beyoncé. The analysis first focuses on how the social
cause is established in such a way that the viewer is likely to acknowledge
Formation as social critique, and not merely as entertainment. It
then addresses how Formation invests in the logic of legitimate represen-
tation by depicting distinction, identification, and the unity of both.
stablishing a Social Cause: “Always

E
the Same Who…”
This section examines how Formation presents the social justice issue and
establishes its cause. The social justice issue is visually introduced in the
second shot with the appearance of the artist Beyoncé on the roof of a
nearly submerged New Orleans police car against the backdrop of flooded
suburbia. The scenery immediately evokes connotations of Hurricane
Katrina in 2005. Since this natural disaster is intimately linked to the
political and social problems it drew attention to, it continues to act as a
visual symbol for the issue of contemporary discrimination of African
Americans.12 The scenery thus suffices to introduce the social injustice

Formation means to address. Subsequently, Formation carefully estab-
lishes its cause by visually constructing equivalences on the one hand and
by inducing ambiguity on the other.
First, regarding the construction of equivalences, note that the cause is
established via multiple visual references of discrimination. Because the
legitimacy of social critique depends on the generality of its cause, the
multiplicity of these references is crucial: it needs to be shown that the
cause is not about a singular event of idiosyncratic relevance, but instead
concerns a common good (Boltanski and Thévenot 2000, 215). If a cause
cannot be raised to a general level, the critique risks a dangerous counter-
critique: that the denounced state of affairs may admittedly be tragic, but
ultimately presents an extraordinary event in an otherwise fair world.
Formation avoids this counter-critique by systematically yoking together
a variety of singular moments on the visual level, thereby stressing the
generality of the issue. After introducing the social justice issue by virtue
of the symbol of Hurricane Katrina, the video proceeds with a cascade of
references to further “events” of discrimination, which we can only illus-
trate in a selective itemisation13: the back of a police jacket, the exterior
and interior of a historic plantation residence, a Black cowboy, Martin
Luther King Jr., a Black boy in a hoodie dancing in front of heavily armed
White police officers. Formation thus establishes equivalence by visually
associating events that are highly diverse in terms of location, time, and
significance. Their adjacency evokes the impression that it is “always the
same who” (Boltanski 2013, 37) lose and always the same who win. It is
precisely the seemingly random association of events that underscores the
12
As Napier et al. (2006, 58) describe this coupling pointedly: “The predominant media images in
the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina […] depict a social rather than a natural disaster; thousands of
poor, mainly Black citizens were left homeless by the storm and stranded for days before receiving
food, water, or transportation. The catastrophic hurricane and the unprecedented response failure
made headlines across the globe.”
13
Note that not all visuals refer to discrimination. As discussed below, lots of them include proud
and joyful demonstrations of African American culture as well (e.g. church service, hair salons).
longevity and ubiquity—and hence systemic nature—of racial

discrimination.
Second, Formation does not simply depict the cause head-on, but in a
highly ambiguous fashion. This is especially apparent in Formation’s
extensive use of carnivalesque inversions, that is aesthetic figurations of
ironic reversal common in popular culture (Bakhtin 1984; see also Fiske
1989, 81–90). Based on his studies of medieval carnival speeches, Mikhail
Bakhtin describes its “peculiar logic of the ‘inside out’ (à l’envers), of the
‘turnabout’, of a continual shifting from top to bottom, from front to
rear […]. It is to a certain extent a parody of the extracarnival life, a
‘world inside out’” (Bakhtin 1984, 11). In its ironic reversals of the cause,
Formation depicts both victims and critic as empowered, instead of suf-
fering, and the offenders as disempowered, instead of violent. For exam-
ple, Black women, including Beyoncé, feature as noble landladies who
nonchalantly demonstrate the opulent lifestyle of slaveholders, while
White police men surrender—showing the gesture known as “hands up,
don’t shoot” since the shooting of Michael Brown—on the command of
a Black boy.
On the one hand, these carnivalesque inversions serve Formation’s
claim to the status as a work of art. Art is distinct from other modes of
communication in that there is no need to depict the “real” society in
order to criticise. To the contrary, in refusing to reproduce the world as it
is, for example through reversal, paradox, or parody, artistic communica-
tion asserts autonomy (Luhmann 2000, 282–283). Carnivalesque inver-
sions thus allow the music video to take issue with the real world, while
at the same time demonstrating that it does so from an artistic stand-
point. However, Formation is only ambiguous to a certain extent. Indeed,
there are many sequences addressing the cause that are entirely devoid of
irony. After the scene when police surrender to the command of a Black
boy, for example, a graffiti appears that reads “Stop shooting us”. In
another scene, a man is holding up a newspaper, The Truth, featuring a
picture of Martin Luther King Jr. below the headline “More Than a
Dreamer”. These references convey that the cause is ultimately under-

stood as real, and ought to be taken seriously.
On the other hand, inducing ambiguity also helps Formation to man-
age the legitimacy of its representation of the social justice issue. Indeed,
Formation fictionalises not only the victims and the offenders, but the
critic, that is, Beyoncé, as well. Throughout the video, the artist incorpo-
rates manifold fictitious roles in relation to the social injustice, for exam-
ple, that of a slave owner, or, as she drowns with the police car at the end
of the clip, of a victim of Hurricane Katrina. In this way, she visually
inserts herself right into the thicket of the social justice issue, but always
in an ironic manner—which, as we will discuss shortly, shields the critic
from potential counter-critique.
The elaborate presentation of the social justice issue on the visual level
highlights the most interesting feature of Formation’s social critique,
namely the absence of the cause on the lyrical level. Throughout the
music video, the issue of systemic discrimination of African Americans is
only expressed visually, not verbally. Even when the cause is addressed
linguistically, it is visualised in writing (i.e. “Stop Shooting Us”, “More
Than a Dreamer”), not spoken by the singer.14 Due to its lack of audible
expression, we may call Formation’s denunciation a mute critique. Mute
critique is a resourceful strategy not only for presenting the cause, but for
managing the critic’s legitimacy as well. First, it capitalises on the
enhanced communicative capacity of visuals as a medium. For (moving)
pictures, like numbers, reduce complexity and are thus endowed with a
suggestive power enhancing the chances of acceptance of their respective
argument (Heintz 2010). Second, it shields Formation from potential
14
This even holds for the omnipresent term “slay”, which is repeated twenty-nine times throughout
the song. Even though the word would, in its original meaning (i.e. “to kill”), allow to express a call
to arms (especially when used in the plural future tense), it is mainly used to speak to Beyoncé’s
success (i.e. “killing it”). Indeed, the singer seems to have influenced the current meaning of the
word, which reads rather unspecific. As she addressed the crowd at the premiere of her Formation
tour before playing Formation: “If you came to slay tonight say ‘I slay’,” Beyoncé began. “If you slay
every day say ‘I slay’. If you came to have a good time say ‘I slay.’ If you’re proud of where you come
from say ‘I slay’. Are y’all gonna celebrate with me tonight? Say ‘I slay’” (Bartleet 2016).
counter-critique, for it is difficult to attack a social critique that is not

explicitly expressed in words. Third, it allows separating the presentation
of the social injustice (on the visual level) from the justification of the
critic (on the lyrical level). As we will show in the following section, the
discontinuity between lyrics and visuals is a necessary manoeuvre to ren-
der Beyoncé’s claim of representation legitimate.
The Quest for Legitimate Representation

As a result of the mute critique strategy, one would not know that
Formation denounces the discrimination of African Americans if one
only listens to the song or reads the lyrics without watching the video.
Strange enough, Beyoncé does not lend a voice to the social justice issue
presented on the visual level. Instead, the artist introduces herself by cel-
ebrating her fame, wealth, and work ethic, and by attacking her “corny
haters”. Considering that an easy way to counter a critique is to negate
the critic, this presentation of herself in lieu of a presentation of the col-
lective cause is surprising. Why does Beyoncé not sing about systemic
racial discrimination?15
Indeed, the success of social critique often stands or falls by the legiti-
macy of the critic. As we will show in this section, a closer look reveals
that the discontinuity between lyrics and visuals in Formation is one of
manifold complex manoeuvres which ultimately render Beyoncé’s repre-
sentative claim for the social justice issue legitimate. In the following
sections, we show how they allow for the establishment of distinction and
identification between her and the collective of victims as well as the uni-
fication of both.
15
Systemic discrimination of African Americans is not addressed in the lyrics sung by Beyoncé but
referenced by other speakers, such as Messy Mya. Yet, as we will show below, the lyrics sung by
Beyoncé are not totally devoid of critical content per se since they indirectly address gender issues
(in the form of accounts of empowerment, see also Emerson 2002, 129).
Distinction: “I’m a Star!”
This section looks at how the artist is presented as a universal singularity,

which allows her to speak for others: a star. From the start, Formation
introduces Beyoncé as such on both the visual and the lyrical levels.
Visually, her uniqueness is depicted in the aforementioned introductory
shot, in which she is standing atop a New Orleans police car that is, like
the suburbia in the backdrop, nearly inundated. That she is completely
dry, and wearing make-up and a perfectly clean Givenchy gown seems to
imply that she came down from the heavens: literally a star down-to-
earth. This impression is fortified by the movement of her gradually
squatting. In this establishing shot, she looks angelic; her golden locks
shining against the backdrop of the sky, she is gazing directly into the
camera, ignoring the dirty reality of what is beneath her. Her voice first
appears after this visual introduction, establishing an account of herself:
“Y’all haters corny with that Illuminati mess / Paparazzi, catch my fly and
my cocky fresh / I’m so reckless when I rock my Givenchy dress (Chorus:
stylin’) / I’m so possessive so I rock his Roc necklaces”. In this account,
she valorises herself in terms of the world of fame by referencing instances
that made it into the tabloid news (Boltanski and Thévenot 2006, 184):
that she is the subject of conspiracy theories, is haunted by paparazzi,
wore an extravagant gown to the Met Gala, and is possessive of her hus-
band Jay-Z, a famous rapper and founder of the label Roc-A-Fella. As it
is common in the realm of pop culture, the valorisation of her renown is
not only expressed in terms of the world of fame, but in stressing her
market value as well.
While Beyoncé’s stardom is a prerequisite to bring attention to the
social justice issue, it inevitably sets her far apart from the collective of
victims. Moreover, since the primary objective of pop culture is renown,
putting her voice in service of a collective cause risks being counter-
attacked as a “‘calculated gesture’ by someone who seeks to make a spec-
tacle of [her]self” (Boltanski and Thévenot 2006, 300) and thus tries to
exploit a social justice issue for profit. Formation pre-empts that risk by
bringing up Beyoncé’s distinctive position most carefully. While “I am a
star” is reiterated four times throughout the song, Formation invests a
great deal in explaining Beyoncé’s trajectory in such a way that it not only
justifies her distinctive status, but also argues that it is accessible to every-
one. To achieve that, it uses a compromise of the orders of worth of mar-
ket and of industry. On the one hand, Beyoncé’s financial success is
justified by the principles of the market world, in which individual com-
petition for the satisfaction of one’s self-interested desires is highly legiti-
mate (Boltanski and Thévenot 2006, 44–53). Due to competition, the
market world is inherently volatile—the winners of today are the losers of
tomorrow (ibid., 196–203). On the other hand, however, the justifica-
tion of Beyoncé’s distinctive position in terms of the market is coupled
with her worth in the industrial world, in which greatness is achieved
through efficient productivity. This account of the singer features promi-
nently in the chorus: “I see it, I want it, I stunt, yellow bone it, I dream
it, I work hard, I grind ’til I own it (…) Sometimes I go off (Chorus: I go
off), I go hard (Chorus: I go hard) Get what’s mine (Chorus: Take what’s
mine), I’m a star (Chorus: I’m a star) ’Cause I slay (Chorus: Slay)”. Taken
together, the distinctive position of the singer is justified by virtue of
meritocracy, which marries market principles to those of the industrial
world. What makes her deserve a distinctive position, then, is neither
luck nor advantage but her inner-worldly ascetic work ethic in a world of
opportunities. In invoking the meritocratic ideal, it is argued that
Beyoncé’s position is indeed distinctive but also, in principle, accessible
to everyone.16
This compromise is risky, since it advocates the values of liberty and
equality on the basis of which the social injustice cannot be addressed: if
a worthy state is achieved by individual merit, the opposite state must be
self-inflicted. To avoid the impression that the star is blaming the victims,
the explanation of Beyoncé’s trajectory is thus bracketed by a denuncia-
tion of her detractors: “Y’all haters corny with that Illuminati mess” (first
line of refrain), “I twirl on them haters, albino alligators” (third line of
chorus). In this account it is, at least on a personal level, acknowledged
that there are indeed injustices or offenders in the world, diminishing the
16
Note that this argument could not be made if Beyoncé’s status were justified in reference to her
talent as an artist. And indeed, references to her worth in terms of the world of inspiration are
completely lacking on the lyrical level.
values of liberty and equality. At the same time, it is emphasised that

there is no equivalency between the star’s individual cause and that of the
collective. This is important since a naïve comparison of unequal suffer-
ings—accusations of being an Illuminati member or unfavourable reac-
tions to a Givenchy dress versus losing one’s home and being shot—would
instantly delegitimise the critic (Boltanski and Thévenot 2006, 300). In
choosing causes that are decidedly devoid of suffering, the distinction
between them is emphasised, instead of naively ignored.17 This is also the
reason why the artist is only incorporating roles with relation to the social
injustice in an ironic manner. However, while only speaking for herself
shields the justification of the singer’s distinctive position from possible
counter-critique,18 it inevitably emphasises that there is no relation
between the critic and the cause presented on the visual level. To consti-
tute a relation of proximity, Formation must identify with the collective
of victims, for which it invokes a completely different set of values.
Identification: “I Am One of You”
This section looks at how Formation invests in identification with the

victims in such a way that renders Beyoncé’s claim to represent the cause
legitimate. In order to achieve identification, “[t]he overblown diva image
of […] Beyoncé needs to be deflated to depict a down-to-earth, around-
the-way girl from an identifiable place” (Durham 2012, 42). As shown in
the following, the investment comprises three manoeuvres of self-
deflations (in terms of the inspired world), which are backed by the
depiction of Beyoncé as a member of the Southern African American
community (in terms of the domestic world).
17
That the audience will not accept false equivalences or naïveté concerning suffering became also
evident in the issue around the Pepsi commercial. Immediately after the commercial was released,
Martin Luther King’s daughter Bernice King posted a photo of her father being pushed by police
and commented mockingly on Twitter: “If only Daddy would have known about the power of
#Pepsi.”
18
As Alcoff (1991, 22) puts it: “If I speak only for myself it may appear that I am immune from
criticism because I am not making any claims that describe others or prescribe actions. If I am only
speaking for myself I have no responsibility for being true to your experience or needs”.
Formation achieves identification by means of a manoeuvre that we

may call self-deflation, as opposed to Boltanski’s term of self-aggrandisement
(Boltanski et al. 1984). Self-aggrandisement is a manoeuvre to establish
generality, which allows distancing one’s individual self from a particular
state of affairs (de-singularisation). In contrast, self-deflation is a manoeu-
vre towards particularity, which allows identifying one’s individual self
with a particular state of affairs. To be sure, both manoeuvres aim at
enhancing credibility, yet the latter operates according to the rules of
proximity. Formation uses the manoeuvre of self-deflation in three ana-
lytically different respects: technically, morally, and artistically.
The three manoeuvres of self-deflation can best be illustrated by the
prelude sequence: Formation begins with a shot of a low-quality screen
accompanied by static noise. The screen flickers before abruptly going
black. This visual’s low quality contrasts with the professional high-end
production that predominates in the music video. It presents another
carnivalesque inversion, albeit on the technical level: a well-managed,
commercial production ironically introduces itself as spontaneous, defec-
tive, and amateur. This manoeuvre is repeated throughout the video, in
scenes that give the impression of being filmed by a hand camera.19
Formation also self-deflates regarding the moral standard of its content.
In the prelude sequence, the flickering screen reads “parental advisory”.
Then, the blinking cursor on the next line spells “explicit lyrics” right
before the screen turns off. In including the well-known parental advisory
label (PAL) of the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) in
the video, Formation warns its viewers right away that it is not compatible
with “contemporary cultural morals and standards” (RIAA Guideline).
By highlighting the label in such a way, Formation self-deflates regarding
the moral standard commonly expected of an commercial pop produc-
tion. Thereby, it affiliates with artworks for which PALs are commonly
issued, namely underground art, which does not concern itself with
matching the moral standards of the broadest possible audience.
Note that implicating its own frame (e.g. displaying a flickering screen or the play-mode) is also
19
an artistic means that allows a work of art to highlight, and play with, the difference between fiction
and reality (Luhmann 2000, 101).
To move closer to the particular world of underground culture,

Formation uses a third manoeuvre—artistic self-deflation—consisting of
directly importing underground artefacts. This third manoeuvre is the
most salient, as artistic underground material is deliberately spread
throughout the track and music video. A crucial example is the sampling
of Anthony Barré aka rapper Messy Mya, whose voice inaugurates the
song. Right after the flickering screen, during the first shot of Beyoncé on
the police car, we hear a nearly unintelligible voiceover: “What happened
at the New Wil’ins [New Orleans]? Bitch, I’m back by popular demand.”20
Mya was a New Orleans–born bounce rapper, comedian, and local social
media personality, who was lethally shot in 2010 under mysterious cir-
cumstances. He represents an archetype of a worthy being of the inspired
world in many respects (Boltanski and Thévenot 2006, 159–164): his
performances were spontaneous, low-budget, vulgar, bizarre, and often
incomprehensible, which is the exact opposite of the slick, high-budget,
sexy-but-clean, and easily intelligible performances of large audience-
oriented pop productions. By importing Messy Mya at the outset,
Beyoncé is letting him speak for her and therefore with the people he
stands for: the underground community of the streets of New Orleans.21
This third self-deflation is further reinforced by other citations of local
hip hop artists (such as Big Freedia), local cultural practices (such as
bounce rap and twerking), local celebrations (such as the Mardi Gras
festival) and local events (such as Hurricane Katrina, via excerpts from
independent documentaries). The imported material is pieced together
with produced scenes, resulting in a bricolage suggesting proximity and
like-mindedness between the pop star and the local underground culture.
While these self-deflations allow Formation to escape the universal
world of commercial pop culture and move towards the particular world
of Southern underground culture, such blatant manoeuvring is bound to
20
It is only in the context of Formation that Messy Mya appears to be addressing the collective
cause. In his original video, the citation refers to a personal quarrel at a stand-up show (Mya 2010).
21
Note that capitalising on others’ greatness is a common manoeuvre in public denunciations.
While in the Le Monde study, it is used to achieve official status, Beyoncé uses this strategy to
anchor “her identity to a specific spatial location” and to achieve “hip hop authenticity and street
credibility” (Durham 2012, 42).
be met with counter-critique, especially accusations of appropriation.22

Formation pre-empts such counter-critique by stressing Beyoncé’s ances-
try. Indeed, the music video invests a great deal in depicting Beyoncé as
an authentic member of the Southern African American community. To
do so, it invokes the order of worth of the domestic world, in which sin-
gularity—a worthy quality both in the world of fame and inspiration—is
shunned in favour of tradition, generation, customs, and simplicity
(Boltanski and Thévenot 2006, 164–178). On the one hand, Formation
highlights Beyoncé being part of the Southern African American com-
munity in cultural terms. On both the visual and the lyrical levels, she is
portrayed as being moved by local habits of everyday life, that is, by a
“natural behavior” (ibid., 167). Examples include habits such as having
“hot sauce in my bag, swag”, visiting the seafood chain Red Lobster after
a sexual encounter, driving “El Camino with the seat low”, or “Sippin’
Cuervo with no chaser”. On the other hand, Formation exemplifies
Beyoncé’s roots in terms of ancestral heritage, notably right after talking
about paparazzi and Givenchy dresses: “My daddy Alabama, Momma
Louisiana / You mix that Negro with that Creole make a Texas Bama (…)
/ I like my negro nose with Jackson Five nostrils”. Moreover, this heritage
is also passed on, thus ensuring the continuity of generations (Boltanski
and Thévenot 2006, 173)—to a cameo appearance of her daughter danc-
ing in the setting of the historic plantation residence, Beyoncé sings: “I
like my baby heir with baby hair and afros”.
The various manoeuvres of self-deflation that allow Formation to move
towards the particular world of underground culture are thus backed by
the emphasis on the singer’s ancestry in terms of both nurture and nature.
As the singer expresses “I am one of you” (Dovi 2002, 736; Mansbridge
1999, 645), according to the logic of descriptive representation, Formation
achieves identification with the particular collective of the social injustice
presented on the visual level.
22
Of course, importing cultural material tends to be problematic on both the normative and the
legal fronts—and indeed, since publishing Formation, Beyoncé faced multiple lawsuits claiming
copyright infringement. However, note that Formation’s citations are widely regarded as legitimate
on a normative level. Fan comments critique the fact that the material was not paid for, not that it
was used.
Unification: A Star Down-to-Earth
Since Formation carefully establishes distinction as well as identification,

the crucial task is to show how these contradictory qualities coalesce into
a unified persona. To achieve unification, Formation provides yet another
account, depicting Beyoncé—as we already noted—as a “star down-to-
earth”. It is on the back of this account that representation of the collec-
tive cause is claimed, by invoking the values of the civic world.
On the lyrical level, unification is achieved by presenting Beyoncé’s
evolutionary trajectory that is reflected in different layers of her persona,
namely, “her outside” (distinction) and “her inside” (identification). After
introducing her as a star and reminding of her identity as a Southerner,
she goes on singing: “Earned all this money but they never take the coun-
try out me.” She might have worked her way up to fame, and might cur-
rently be known as a worldwide celebrity, but inside she remains “the
same”, the ordinary “country girl”.23 The manner in which the contradic-
tory layers of her persona are synthesised into a unified whole is strikingly
evident in the aforementioned line “I got hot sauce in my bag”. She may
wear fancy clothes and luxury handbags, but inside she is still imprinted
with the habits of the Deep South.
The same logic is put at work on the visual level. The most exemplary
visual illustrations of the synthesis are the three dancing scenes of Beyoncé
and her posse of dancers. In each of these scenes, Beyoncé is depicted, due
to uniform dressing and synchronous movements, as a part of a bigger
whole. Yet, she sticks out—not only because she is the only one singing,
but also because of visual markers such as her long braided blonde hair
that contrast with the short loose afro hair of the accompanying dancers.
She gets “in formation”, but she is clearly designated as the leader.
On the back of this visual unification, the singer assumes leadership on
the lyrical level: “Okay, ladies, now let’s get in formation, ’cause I slay (2
x). Prove to me you got some coordination, ’cause I slay. Slay trick, or you
get eliminated.” Note that this leadership narrowly adheres to the logic of
descriptive representation, too: it is limited to “the ladies”, whereas the
23
According to Morgan Jouvenet (2006, 77, 197–200), demonstrating that rappers ‘stay the same’
despite their success is a typical artistic resource as well as a market strategy to maintain their
‘authenticity’.
collective of victims is not addressed. However, there is one instance in

the chorus where Beyoncé speaks in plural form, as part of a general col-
lective: “We gon’ slay (Slay), gon’ slay (Okay) we slay (Okay), I slay
(Okay)”. That the sole instance when the plural form is used in the lyrics,
notably for Formation’s omnipresent term “slay”, ends with the singular
form is characteristic of the dialectic unification of identification and
distinction.
While the singer neither claims direct leadership over the collective nor
directly denounces the injustices against them, she is ultimately claiming
representation by virtue of an offering. This offering is only intelligible in
the conjunction of lyrics and visuals: sitting on the police car, and later
standing on it with her arms wide open, the singer proclaims: “I might
get your song played on the radio station, ’cause I slay (2 ×), You just
might be a black Bill Gates in the making, ’cause I slay. I just might be a
black Bill Gates in the making.” In invoking the figure of a self-made,
charitable billionaire, Formation constitutes a compromise between the
world of fame, which is, again, evaluated in economic terms, and those of
the civic world (Boltanski and Thévenot 2006, 319). The artist openly
celebrates her renown and her wealth, but also acknowledges that it
comes with a responsibility for the common good. Because Beyoncé
excels in the world of pop culture, she might be able to help “you”, that
is, to help generalised others to get on the same path. At the end of the
video, Beyoncé drowns in her Givenchy gown, lying on the New Orleans
police car upon which she stood at the beginning, as if to say: “I am not
you, but I am with you”.
Conclusion
This chapter started by stating the obvious: that some works in pop cul-
ture are understood and debated as social critique, while others are not.
It then proceeded to ask why. To do so, it did not theorise on the critical
capacity of popular culture categorically; that is, it did not offer an evalu-
ation of whether productions of popular culture are art or business, or
whether they are a genuine expression of the artists’ opinions and posi-
tions. Nor did it theorise on the general role of social critique in popular
culture, let alone on its impact on contemporary society. Based on a
sequential analysis of one successful pop-culture production, the chapter

instead aimed at elucidating the complex ways in which a social critique
must be put forth in order to produce legitimacy. Indeed, using “the voice
for the voiceless” is intrinsically risky because of the rules of legitimate
representation. To adhere to those rules, social critique in pop culture
must provide contradictory representative accounts which threaten to
undermine each other, and thus risk to be met by counter-critique.
Throughout the chapter, we showed how Formation adheres to these rules
and pre-empts those risks by means of various manoeuvres: ambiguity,
discontinuity between visuals and lyrics, self-deflation, and systematic
switching between different orders of worth. In doing so, Formation per-
forms a complex dialectic of distinction, identification, and the unifica-
tion of both, for which it establishes various compromises between
different orders of worth.
This case study allows reflecting more generally on how popular cul-
ture enables social critique, but also limits it. Concerning enablement,
collective causes can benefit greatly from compromises with the worlds of
inspiration and fame to call reality into question and to inform a large
audience of a cause (Boltanski and Thévenot 2006, 296, 317, see also
Alcoff 1991, 29). Such a communication of a social justice issue would
hardly be possible, let alone successful, without the various media
resources that the popular format holds. For instance, Formation is largely
enabled by the power of visuals to convey suggestive impressions, which
are more likely to be accepted than explicit arguments. It also uses the
potential of moving images, or the passage of highly versatile and flexible
impressions in a short time frame, and is thus able to quickly produce
and resolve contradictory depictions. Moreover, it heavily draws upon
the possibility of playing with concurring media levels. The simultaneity
of multiple media levels allows assembling various audible and visual
materials in a way that enables the linking as well as the separation of
their respective meanings. Overall, the formal characteristics of popular
communication, that is, accessibility, understandability and high con-
nectivity (Stäheli 2003, 281), are enabling a social critique to be put forth
in such a manner that it is not only understood as such but that it is
deemed as legitimate as well.
However, there are also limits to social critique in popular culture.

Paradoxically, these limits derive from the very compromises that enable
social critique in popular culture, that is, the use of “a voice for the voice-
less”, to begin with. While compromises are necessary, they are also fragile,
since the common good “remains unspecified (…), so it is always possible
to denounce a compromise as a sacrifice of principle” (Boltanski and
Thévenot 2006, 20). From the perspective of the civic world, Formation’s
public denunciation of systemic discrimination of African Americans is
limited in multiple ways. Due to the compromise with the world of fame,
for instance, it is not able to draw a sharp distinction between victims and
offenders. For grandeur in the world of fame depends upon recognition by
the largest possible audience, and thus must depict the issue, as well as the
involved actors, in a way that is most inclusive, and therefore rather
unspecified. To this effect, Formation addresses the cause in a positive fash-
ion, and depicts both victims and critic as empowered instead of suffering,
while offenders appear as disempowered instead of violent.
In the end, Formation cannot escape the values that are predominant
in the realm of pop culture, where artistic and market values are most
closely intertwined. This is evident in the only direct claim the singer
makes regarding the collective cause, that is, the offering according to
which she might be able to help provide “you” with fame and money.
Moreover, in the very last line of the song’s lyrics, Beyoncé states: “Always
stay gracious, best revenge is your paper,” while looking directly into the
camera and rubbing her thumbs repeatedly over the tip of the index and
middle finger. In suggesting such economic, individualistic, and some-
what passive “solutions”, Formation stays true to the values that make
worthy beings in the realm of pop culture but are of little significance in
the civic world. Paradoxically, it is the critical competence of Formation
that limits its critical capacity: as much as it prevents Formation from
naively speaking for the victims, it also prevents it from advocating for
the collective of victims in a way that is meaningful in the civic world.
Acknowledgements The authors thank Anna Sommer and Daniel Künzler for
their expertise in African and African American culture, the editors for their
thorough reviews, and Pranathi Diwakar and Ewgenia Baraboj for their diligent
copyediting.
Appendix
Table 3.1 Overview of Formation’s critiques, justifications, and pre-emptions of
counter-critique
Order of worth Empirical examples Investments in Potential counter-critique
Values (chronological order) self-presentation (to be pre-empted)
Commodification of a
serious social justice issue
(as a general assumption
towards pop-cultural
productions)
Inspired world Flickering screen reads Three-fold self- Too esoteric and thus
creativity, “parental advisory deflation to move exclusive, ignoring the
nonconformity, explicit lyrics” towards a particular opinion of the largest
passion, underground culture possible audience
authenticity Sampling Messy Mya
“What happened at the ↓
New Wil’ins?” IDENTIFICATION
World of fame “Illuminati mess”, ‘I am a star!’ Too far apart from the
universality, “Paparazzi”, “Givenchy experiences of the victims,
renown, celebrity dress”, “Roc necklaces” Self-presentation as a violation of the rule of
universal singularity, proximity
partly expressed in
terms of market worth,
i.e. luxury, wealth)
↓
DISTINCTION
Domestic world „daddy Alabama, ‘I am one of you’ Too provincial, paternalistic,

tradition, momma Louisiana (…) authoritative
generation, Texas bama (…) my Self-representation as a
“natural habits” baby heir with baby hair particularity, a member
and afros (…) my negro of the Southern Black
nose with Jackson Five community
nostrils”
↓
IDENTIFICATION
Compromise of „I see it, I want it, I stunt ‘I am not you…’ M: Too selfish (personal vs.
the worlds of (…) I work hard, I grind collective enrichment)
industry and 'til I own it”;
market I: Too technocratic and
I: efficiency, Explanation undemocratic
productivity of Beyoncé’s trajectory
M: equal, universal in meritocratic terms
competition for the (trajectory accessible to
satisfaction of everyone)
individual desires
Civic world “Earned all this money ‘…but I am with you’

solidarity, but they never take the
generality, country out me”; “I got ↓
collective interest hot sauce in my bag”” SYNTHESIS OF Limits: Fragility of
and struggle IDENTIFICATION & compromises
“Okay, ladies, now let's DISTINCTION (Star
get in formation” down-to earth)
“I just might be a black
Bill Gates in the making”
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Part II
Artistic Career Paths: Trajectories
and Inequalities in the Market
4
Art Workers, Inequality, and the Labour
Market: Values, Norms, and Alienation
Across Three Generations of Artists
Orian Brook, Dave O’Brien, and Mark Taylor
Introduction
How does the art market interact with broader social structures?
Contemporary sociology of the art market has done much to highlight
the importance of social inequalities, particularly those associated with
wealth, into understandings of the (global) system of contemporary art
production. This sits alongside the rise of economic sociology stressing
the importance of economic practice to a world seemingly dominated by
aesthetics and the denial of languages or modes of valuation found in
market prices. Finally, the study of art as a subsection of the ‘creative
economy’ has begun to focus on the working practices of individual
O. Brook • D. O’Brien (*)

University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh, UK
e-mail: o.brook@ed.ac.uk; D.OBrien@ed.ac.uk
M. Taylor
University of Sheffield, Sheffield, UK
e-mail: m.r.taylor@sheffield.ac.uk

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6_4
76 O. Brook et al.
creatives and their orientation and relationship to the findings of both

economic sociology and the sociology of inequality.
This chapter is located at the intersection of these three areas of
research. The chapter highlights the narratives of three creative workers,
all self-identifying as artists. The three narratives serve to illustrate three
issues. First, the complexity of the artists’ orientation towards the system
of contemporary art production. Second, the role of broader social
inequalities, particularly those associated with gender and social class, in
explaining the artists’ careers and their artistic practice. Third, how these
case studies relate to the broader literature on inequality in the cultural
and creative industries.
Individuals’ narratives, framed through the lens of social inequalities,
market structures, and their own artistic practices, are important for sev-
eral reasons. The chapter begins by sketching some of the existing litera-
ture in the area, much of which is the subject of both the introduction to
the book and the discussions in several of the other chapters. As a result,
the literature is narrated as a means to establish the importance of the
research project from which the qualitative data is drawn. The chapter
then moves to discuss the Panic! Whatever happened to social mobility in
the arts project, and the associated research methods, before introducing
the case studies of the three artists. The three are shown to have varying
orientations to the art world and art market; to have shared struggles
associated with class and gender and a shared distance from the art world’s
‘somatic norm’; and to have adapted their practice in different ways. The
chapter concludes by thinking through what the ‘new inequalities para-
digm’ (O’Brien et al. 2017) might mean for the study of art and culture.
Understanding Artists and Inequality

There is now an extensive sociological literature on both the art market
and the creative occupations associated with it. In addition, there is a vast
popular literature demonstrating that the questions associated with who
makes art, what is aesthetically and financially valued, and the broader
social position of art are of interest to public audiences (e.g. Thornton
2008; Thompson 2012; Perry 2016). The sociological literature has
4 Art Workers, Inequality, and the Labour Market… 77
sought to account for a more social understanding of both the produc-

tion of art (Becker 1982) and a more social understanding of taste
(Bourdieu 1984). Work on the institutions of the art world, for example
cultural policy regimes (Alexander et al. 2018), the art fair (Schultheis
et al. 2015), art auctions (Pardo-Guerra 2011, 2013; Coslor 2010), and
art dealers (Velthuis 2007), has followed in the wake of initial sociological
studies on production and consumption. Most obviously of interest for
this chapter is research on art workers, both artists and the broader set of
creative occupations constituting cultural production more generally.
Art workers have emerged as a category of interest as a result of more
general transformations in the economies of the Global North (Chiapello
2004). They are debated as being the vanguard of the new economy, as a
result of the creativity, autonomy, freedom, and entrepreneurialism
ascribed to arts work in public policy (e.g. DCMS 2001, 2017), but also
the personalised and individualised forms of responsibility, placing risk
and precariousness as the concern of the worker, rather than of the state
(McRobbie 2015; Ducret et al. 2017). At the same time, the longer-
standing social status of the artist, as a repository for critical perspectives
or socially transformative interventions and innovations, has also acceler-
ated research and policy interest (Chiapello 2004; Mateos-Garcia and
Bakhshi 2016; Luxford 2010).
As a subcategory of cultural and creative occupations, artists, and artis-
tic labour, are now well researched from a variety of disciplines, including
sociology (e.g. Gerber 2017), economics (e.g. Abbing 2014), geography
(Markusen 2006), cultural studies (Forkert 2013), and art history (e.g.
Dimitrakaki and Lloyd 2017). The most recent intervention has come
from Gerber’s study of artists working in the USA, which attempted to
understand the artist as an occupation with unclear boundaries. These
unclear boundaries are subject to state judgements, for example, over
taxation status, as well as artists’ own individual narratives associated with
their relational status to other occupations, their credentials, their under-
standing of art as a passionate vocation, and their need to be paid for
work (Gerber 2017).
All of these different disciplinary perspectives point to a fundamentally
unbalanced labour market for artists: a labour market characterised by
potentially ‘big winners’ able to plug into global circuits of capital and
78 O. Brook et al.
thus fame, wealth, and canonisation by galleries and art historians, and a
longer tail of those struggling with low wages and deeply insecure work-
ing conditions (O’Brien et al. 2016). Who gets to ‘win’ in these markets
is subject to specific social dynamics associated with long-standing demo-
graphic categories of class, ethnicity, and gender, alongside emerging
research focuses in areas such as disability (e.g. Kuppers 2014) and sexu-
ality. The intersections of these categories are, of course, crucial in
accounting for an art world, and a broader cultural production system,
dominated by white, middle-class origin, able-bodied men.
It is clear from the existing field that inequalities, associated with who
produces and who consumes, are important to the sociology of art and
artists. The rest of this chapter is situated in this context. We draw on
three detailed case study narratives of artists working in England, in order
to better understand the lived reality of contemporary artists’ work.
Moreover, in doing so we draw attention to the structural inequalities of
the labour market for artists in Britain, showing how geography, class and
gender intersect to exclude our three artists from specific parts of the art
world, whilst at the same time shaping their practice and only partially
valuing and validating them as artists.
A Note on Methods and Data

The data discussed in this chapter are drawn from a larger project looking
at inequality in the arts and cultural ‘world’ of the UK. This was initially
a public engagement research project, with a media partner and an arts
organisation keen to understand inequality issues within the arts in the
UK. As part of this, in 2015, The Guardian, a UK newspaper, hosted a
web survey for cultural workers that attracted almost 2500 individual
responses. The research team then conducted follow-up interviews with
237 respondents working across a variety of cultural and creative occupa-
tions, including visual arts, theatre, film and television, music, and design.
Interviews were conducted using a combination of in-person, Skype,
and telephone, and were audio recorded. They lasted around an hour,
with the aim of understanding the career biographies of participants;
their own reflections on the structures of their cultural or creative
occupation; their perceptions of inequalities associated with class, ethnic-

ity, and gender; and their tastes and cultural interests. As a result, the data
set provides a rich and highly detailed picture of contemporary cultural
work in the UK. Moreover, for present purposes, it allows for compari-
sons between different career stages within the same cultural occupation.
Janet, Carla, and Lisa: Artists’ Working Lives

My interest in the Art Market is limited. I think not from any particular class
conscious way but I think in a way the Art Market does wonderful things. But
it doesn’t deal with every form of creativity. (Carla)
We now turn to the empirical section of the chapter. Here we intro-

duce data from three of the Panic! Interviewees, who we have called Janet,
Carla and Lisa. All three are white women. Janet was in her 60s at the
time of the interview, and had done a range of jobs within the art world
before working as a temporary lecturer in art at a university in a rural
English town. She has a PhD in fine art. Carla, who also has a PhD in
fine art, was in her 40s at the time of the interview and was a practising
artist. Her work had been part of the contemporary global art world, but
at the time of interview she was focusing on place-based and community
engagement forms of art, nearer to her home in the Midlands of England.
She no longer lived or worked in London. Her art practice provided
income from grants, and she had some teaching at a local university’s art
school, although she was more precariously employed than Janet. Finally,
Lisa was in her 20s at the time of the interview. She had recently gradu-
ated with a BA in Fine Art from one of London’s middle-ranked art
schools and was working as a teaching assistant whilst doing unpaid
internships in the arts.
All three self-describe as artists. As we will see, this self-description is
an important subject in the context of recent research on the boundaries
of artistic professions (Gerber 2017) and the chapter’s interest in how all
three artists relate to the idea of a ‘somatic norm’ (Puwar 2004; Friedman
and O’Brien 2017) in cultural and creative labour markets.
80 O. Brook et al.
Class(ifying) Artists
Although we have noted the gender and ethnicity of our case study art-
ists, our first moment of analysis is to draw attention to the complexity of
their class status. This complexity is the result of the tension between
three modes of doing class: classification by parental occupation into a
class of origin (Crompton 2008); the artists’ self-descriptions using rep-
ertoires of class and classed experiences (Lawler 2013); and the artists’
occupational destinations. The latter point creates a bridge to the follow-
ing section, highlighting the uncertain boundaries associated with the
occupation ‘artist’.
In the British context, class, particularly the forms of identity associ-
ated with class, is important to understanding individuals’ narratives of
themselves (Crompton 2008; Skeggs 2015; Savage 2000, 2010, 2015;
Bottero 2004). It would be impossible to write any meaningful discus-
sion of our participants without some understanding of their class posi-
tion. This is, of course, notwithstanding academic theories as to the
changing salience of class (cf. Savage 2015). For Savage (2015) discus-
sions of class are most important to how the British middle class under-
stand themselves, with a curiosity about position vis-à-vis others and a
reflexive desire to position oneself as an ‘ordinary’ person (Savage 2000).
Indeed, given the classification of artists in the professional middle class
within the British National Statistics Socio-Economic Classification
(NS-SEC), it is unsurprising that class needs attention in our discussion.
Janet, Carla, and Lisa all have complex class and status backgrounds,
and we have chosen them deliberately because of this. Janet’s parents were
both labourers, giving her a ‘traditional working class’ background. Carla
came from a single-parent family, and her mother was an academic, but
her class narrative is conscious of the intersection of gender and occupa-
tion in her early life. Finally Lisa, the youngest artist, was from a ‘creative’
household. Her father was a working musician and her mother worked in
the fashion industry prior to the domestic labour of bringing up Lisa.
Lisa’s parents’ status as ‘creatives’ marked a difference with what she
described as the rest of her ‘working class’ family:
I think I grew up with a lot of middle-class values but on very, quite, working
class budget and, apart from my parents, a working class family. Everyone in
my family is very working class, it’s just my parents I suppose which are different
in both their families. (Lisa)
Here she drew on the language of values to differentiate her parents,

and thus her experience, from the rest of her family. Later in the inter-
view, expanding on the comment about a working-class budget, she
attributed financial hardship to her parents’ (particularly her father’s)
career, meaning she drew distinctions between herself and the ‘middle
class’ art world. Occupational criteria were thereby not central to Lisa’s
claims to working-classness. Rather, financial constraints sat in tension
with class-based values in her narrative of a classed upbringing.
Janet’s discussion of class offered a similar set of ‘values’-based narra-
tives, alongside a more formal occupational understanding of her class
origin. Both of her parents were labourers in the rural part of England
where she grew up. She too drew on cultural and embodied understand-
ings of class, describing herself as ‘socially working class’ because:
I don’t have those, it’s the social mannerisms, the ease of mixing and speaking in
those sorts of circumstances. It’s a very subtle thing, it’s very hard to define and
I think it’s one reason why I talk about work. Probably since I went into doing
art rather than the political activist stuff or teaching I’ve not made any friends
which are not based around work and where the conversations are largely about
practice, about ideas and things.
I have a lot of people who I think of as being close because I work with a lot
and everything, but sometimes I sit back and I think actually these people know
absolutely nothing about me. They know what I think, they know what I do,
but they don’t know any of those other stuff….When I meet up with people
who’ve known me through my 20s it’s a very different feel and a very different
relationship. So sometimes I’m just very conscious that’s a real split. (Janet)
This sense of dislocation or unease is in keeping with research on the

narratives and biographies of the socially mobile in the UK (Friedman
2014). There is an added element of interest in the context of cultural
workers, specifically artists. In Janet’s narrative the discussion of work, of
her practice, was a mode of avoiding some of the dislocations and
82 O. Brook et al.
distances between her middle-class artistic and university milieu, and her
social origins. This gestures to a particular place given to arts and cultural
practice in her sense of a classed self. This importance will be considered
in more detail towards the closing section of the analysis, as the place for
the vocation of the artist, along with the transformative power of the arts
in society, was crucial to all three participants’ ways of negotiating the
barriers and exclusions they faced as art workers.
For now, Janet’s comments on her practice in relation to her class des-
tination provide a comparative point to Carla’s understanding of class.
Carla was from, in occupational terms, a more privileged social starting
point, as her mother was employed in higher education and eventually
became an academic researcher. However, her mother’s occupation belied
the complexity of growing up in a single-parent family and moving
around the country. For Carla, class was a subject to be avoided, not in
terms of a claim to ordinariness (Savage 2000), but rather the perception
of a lack of connection between the cultural and the material reality of
her childhood. Two comments illustrate this:
brought up with somebody who, essentially, was in the realms of Poetry, Art—
all of that incredible ’60s avant-garde. Who then, sort of, moved in to some-
thing that was, I suppose, very, very, very different. I think when we first moved
to [a northern city] we ended up moving into a small terrace. I think because
we had come up from the South, probably sounded tremendously posh but I
remember the kids coming over from next-door, just being absolutely gob-
smacked that there was no television and no sofa and just these beanbags and
radios. I think they just didn’t know what the heck was going on. (Carla)
My mother went to a very beautiful university, I then went to school on a coun-
cil estate, so putting things together in terms of class with that, it is very tricky.
So, quite often, I just absolutely avoid it. It is almost like you are uncomfortable
in whatever bracket it is. Because you don’t exactly fit in with those mod-
els. (Carla)
As we can see, all three artists illustrate the complexity of class within
their individual identities. Moreover, by gesturing towards class as a mode
of exclusions, we see links to both broader questions of inequality and to
the issue of who is included by virtue of their class. Our discussion of the
somatic norm for artists, which closes this chapter, will return to
this point.
Inequality and the Struggle to Be an Artist

Carla’s sense of not fitting models of class opens up a more general discus-
sion of the experiences of our three participants as they have attempted to
build sustainable artistic careers. Moreover, it is through their experience
of inequality that we can understand their practice, most notably in rela-
tion to the structures of a predominantly white, male, and middle-
class origin art world focused, in the UK, on London. We use London as
a route to open up discussions of structural inequalities of pay; barriers
based on the intersection of class and gender; and the more general ques-
tion of who is, and who is not, afforded the status of an artist.
The Cultural Capital
Just as class has a specificity in the British context, the role of London is
important in understanding our three case study narratives. London is
narrated by Cunningham and Savage (2015, 321) as an ‘elite metropoli-
tan vortex’, in which the cultural, economic and social resources of those
within elite professions self-perpetuate the existing social closure. This
pattern of elite closure is set in the context of a highly unequal city, par-
ticularly with regard to access to housing (Atkinson et al. 2017).
London is an important site for creative activity in general in the UK,
with the dominant proportion of creative businesses based in and around
the capital (Bernick et al. 2017; Mateos-Garcia and Bakhshi 2016). It is
also the beneficiary of a huge imbalance in state support for the arts,
where it is the dominant recipient of English arts funding (Stark
et al. 2013).
Moreover, analysis of the labour market for creative workers indicates
London accelerates class disadvantages (Oakley et al. 2017), both in
terms of the socio-economic origins of creative workers, and in terms of
84 O. Brook et al.
their rates of pay. Whilst creative workers as a whole see higher (and in
some cases the highest) rates of pay available in London, the access to
potential work networks, markets and thus riches and security is, at best,
unevenly distributed.
London’s role in creative labour markets, particularly its role in per-
petuating inequalities, makes for an ambivalent relationship with popular
narratives of making it by going to London (Oakley et al. 2017). Tied to
the role of London in the national imagination, as the big smoke of liter-
ary, musical, and visual production, is the importance of London as a hub
within the circuits of the global art market (Robertson 2015) and for
artistic production. Although specific scenes (Crossley 2015) and
moments of importance (or fashion) to the global art world are mobile,
and the dominance of London and New York as centres for the market
exchange of art has been challenged, particularly by Hong Kong (Harris
2017; Robertson 2015), London remains a place and space that is crucial
to artistic production and consumption.
London was also important to our three case study artists, both shap-
ing their careers and practices, as well as interacting with the social
inequalities which we have sketched earlier. To return to the analysis of
Oakley et al. (2017) on creative workers, and Cunningham and Savage
(2015) on the role of London in reinforcing inequality more generally in
British society, we can see how London has acted to exclude our three
artists from both the labour market and the forms of aesthetic legitimacy
afforded by participation in the capital’s art world.
For Janet and Carla there was exasperation at London’s dominance,
whether in terms of London’s role in de-legitimising places in which they
worked, or in terms of London’s role in maintaining and perpetuating
inequality, to the detriment of artistic innovation:
[a branch of a national arts organisation] had that week announced that it was
changing its name…That had been announced in the local press but they had
decided that they would have the big renaming party and launch at the archi-
tects’ offices in London. So everybody in [Janet’s town] was really pissed off that
it was the sort of thing, well we’re obviously not good enough to have this. They
have to go to London for it. (Janet)
The interesting situation I think now is that is something that is very much been
joined by many artists that were living in London that now can’t afford to live
there…So there is this interesting potential, cultural death of the capital—
which is something that was inconceivable when I was in my 20s. (Carla)
In Lisa’s case, we can see the ‘results’ of London’s inequalities, inequali-

ties which underpinned the career-biographical narratives of Janet and
Carla, happening to the contemporary artist. Two quotes from her inter-
view, on the lack of freedom, the competition, and the lack of space
illustrate the problem of London for her:
In real terms you have very very little freedom, particularly living in London
because there’s such a high level of competition for anything that actually I feel
like it’s a very restricting thing to be trying to do in this city at this time. (Lisa)
I definitely went through a period of being really fixated on the idea of having
a studio and really fixated on the idea that I was getting really angry about the
fact that I couldn’t have a studio because we didn’t have enough money. People
that I knew who were the same age as me whose parents were subsidising them
or who were living at home were progressing faster than me because they were
able to have a studio and it wasn’t—Yes but yes so at that point I was really, I
did get quite frustrated but then I just sort of realised that… I guess I just kind
of realised that it was going to be harder for me and it was always going to be
harder for me so there’s not really any point being upset about that. I’m just
going to have to work harder than other people and that’s kind of fine. (Lisa)
Pay and the Art Market
Lisa’s narrative of ‘working harder’ is in keeping with much of the litera-

ture on younger people’s individualisation of inequality (Franceschelli
and Keating 2018). However, this is an issue that runs across cultural
labour markets more generally, with the disparity between big ‘winners’
and a longer tail of comparatively low-paid workers (McRobbie 2015;
O’Brien et al. 2016). All three of our artists had experience of low
or no pay:
86 O. Brook et al.
I have a studio and I do exhibitions relatively frequently and I have done a resi-
dency and have worked for a couple of galleries but it’s always been unpaid. I
guess I would say that I’m still relatively engaged and as much as a practising
artist as it’s probably possible to be at my age in my current situation. (Lisa)
You’re contracted to work a number of days but the dates you work or the days
you are paid for in no way cover the amount of work that is required. (Janet)
This problem of pay was given clarity by Carla’s narrative of her own
career development, where she noted the decade-long process of getting
projects that are paid, and support via grant funding:
I think really over the past 10 years I have had this steady increment in terms
of the projects that I do. The majority of them are now paid… project that pays
for, you know, all of the work that you undertake with it. I have also been doing
a fellowship… but these are situations that when I finished my MA 16 years
ago weren’t common. (Carla)
This experience of precariousness with regard to pay is grounded, for

our three case study artists, in the nature of their work. Being an artist
was a vocation, a passionate calling to which they had committed their
lives (Sandoval 2018). Current work on the idea of passion or vocational
commitment within cultural work has attempted to critique the broader
social demand that individuals do what they love whilst foregrounding
new modes of organisation that can better enable proper remuneration
and decent working conditions (Sandoval 2018), along with a defence of
the positive elements of artistic labour, focused on autonomy and self-
expression (Hesmondhalgh and Baker 2011). In this context, it is easy to
understand the vocational commitments to artistic endeavour, most
strikingly enunciated by Lisa:
I guess it’s not even really about enjoyment or seeking employment or wanting
to make money, it just really feels like a natural exorcism of things that if I
didn’t do I would just feel like I was going insane. For me it just feels like a
really really healthy thing to be doing and like something that if I… I just don’t
really know what I would do if I didn’t do it. (Lisa)
However, whilst Janet and Carla shared the commitment to being art-
ists as a form of vocation and an element of their identity, they pointed
more directly to how structural inequalities limited this passionate com-
mitment to doing what they love. In Carla’s case, she was responding to
the constraints of funders and the market for her form of community-
based artistic practice, whilst staying committed to the work she felt had
value and the identity of the artist:
I think very much what happened with Art in the 2000s has gone. So that idea
of fame and money are, you know, that has vanished. I think it still exists but
in a very different way. I think what is really interesting now is that potential
to manifest ideas in a way that starts stretching what you can do with culture.
Again, that is a focus but also sustainability. So, I think, very much that idea
that, you know, if somebody continues to practice then they have succeeded. I
think that is the really important thing—whatever that practice is, whatever it
contains. If it is something that stretches their imagination and eventually gives
value either for them or others, then I feel that is a really important thing. (Carla)
Janet shared this vision of the artist facing questions of how to make
work that she wanted, rather than work that might be less interesting, less
risky but that fit funding and market constraints:
galleries and curators are not prepared to take risks with people they don’t know,
unless the work has been written about and validated by an institution they can
recognise. Whereas artists don’t care. Artists are prepared to show alongside or to
just show work of people who they think are interesting. I know there’s less at
stake because they don’t have to please an institution, as it were, but I think
there is something that is sorely missing. Those sorts of projects are very, very
rarely funded in terms of paying artists’ time. (Janet)
Here Janet juxtaposes artists against funders and galleries, against a

system that, as the following section demonstrates, significantly excludes
specific social groups who fail to fit a ‘norm’ to which the art world, in the
perception of our three case study artists, is attached. In turn, these exclu-
sions exploit the vocational, passionate commitments of those facing
funding systems and markets that fail to adequately cover costs and pay.
This is a vicious circle that partially accounts for the socially exclusive
88 O. Brook et al.
nature of artistic and cultural production that was the starting point for
this chapter.
Who Can Be an Artist?
Recent work on the creative workforce in the UK has suggested system-

atic exclusions for women, ethnic minorities, and those from working-
class social origins (O’Brien et al. 2016; Oakley et al. 2017). Moreover,
these exclusions shape a powerful sense of what a creative worker, whether
artist, actor, writer, director, or musician, is. This ‘somatic norm’
(Friedman and O’Brien 2017) in creative occupations is manifested in
the figure of the able-bodied, white, middle-class-origin man, a norm
also dominant across other elite occupations in Britain (Puwar 2004).
Puwar’s (2004) notion was drawn from work in British government insti-
tutions, where she identified the absence of staff who were not white,
male, and upper-middle-class. The dominance of the white male, middle-
class body was intertwined with the ideal type of government civil ser-
vant, a ‘somatic norm’ serving to exclude those who did not fit this norm.
Despite governmental institutions aiming to be credentialised and meri-
tocratic, the dominance of the norm of the white male, and middle-class
body was an important element in explaining the exclusion of those indi-
viduals with characteristics ‘other’ than this one.
Subsequently, the ‘somatic norm’ has been adapted to help explain
inequalities in cultural occupations, where we see, in the UK at least,
similar patterns of exclusion for those who do not fit the norm of white,
male, middle-classness (O’Brien et al. 2016). As Friedman and O’Brien
(2017, 368) note, the somatic norm in cultural occupations such as act-
ing ‘not only functions by designating the primacy of the white, male,
middle-class “type”, but also by clearly constructing other types as somatic
“others”’. Those others then face much greater challenges to making it as
actors, musicians, writers, or artists, as compared with those fitting the
somatic norm. This is the case even where narratives of talent or artistic
genius are supposed to explain success.
The figure of the somatic norm of the artist, as white, male, and mid-
dle class, was clear in Janet’s and Carla’s explicit recognition of the role of
class in the art world, how it excluded particular bodies and affects, whilst
including, valuing, and actively promoting others:
There is very much a thing that it is a culture that suits people that are confi-
dent. I think if you almost look at demographics and confidence within society,
then you very much hit those brackets that get termed as privileged. So, you can
look at the Arts and you can see a very white, middle-class area of enter-
prise. (Carla)
I think the trouble with the arts industry is that it’s so based on networking and
the sort of social skills, how you behave at openings. I’m not as confident as I
probably ought to be. I have a colleague who is a freelance artist. He’s from a
middle-class background and he’s a bloke. I was just left stunned by his ability
to just introduce himself and start talking to people and networking in the
middle of this seminar. I just don’t do that. I just find it really, really hard. (Janet)
Janet’s sense of struggling to be as confident as a male, middle-class

artist was echoed in Carla’s sense of alienation, of not fitting in or know-
ing the ‘rules of the game’ as an artist:
I had a period of time in which I was represented by a Gallery. I always found

that you were almost meeting a class of people that you just hadn’t got the foggi-
est idea how on earth you interact with them, which is quite amazing. Because,
you know, there is this kind of level of middle-classness or upper-middle-classness
that you get. We were visiting some people who were buying work from another
Artist and, evidently, the whole idea was to take a very, very good bottle of
wine. This was something where I was then accused of almost turning up with
a Party 7 bucket [canned beer] and they were like, ‘What the heck is this?’ (Carla)
In both artists’ comments we can see the intersection of class and gen-
der working to position Carla and Janet outside the norms of the art
world. The idea of confidence, of being talkative and self-assured in social
situations, along with knowing the unwritten rules of what sort of behav-
iour and embodiment is expected in the formal settings where crucial
elements of the artistic labour market occur, such as networking, were
explicit in both women’s sense of not fitting in. They both identified their
male, middle-class colleagues as much more capable of success in these
90 O. Brook et al.
networking settings because of their embodied characteristics. It is no

coincidence, as we noted at the beginning of the empirical sections of this
chapter, that both are estranged from the London art scene and are based
in regional locations in England; in Carla’s case, she is explicitly engaged
in community and participatory art practice.
Gender was also crucial to Lisa’s perception of the inequalities she
faced as an early-career artist struggling in London. The difference was in
the more individualised nature of Lisa’s perception of inequality. As we
noted in the section on London, Lisa pointed to the need for her to work
harder than her peers with parental affluence or London-based housing.
What is striking about her narrative of who gets to be an artist, who is
successful at claiming the title of artist by being able to practice, was the
continuation of the individualised frame. When asked directly about
inequalities associated with her occupation, she played down the role of
class structures, looking to ‘other stuff’ such as forming working
relationships:
Maybe there are issues with class and all those other kind of things within as an
undercurrent but in terms of what you talk about and how you form relation-
ships with people it’s kind of based on other stuff. It’s never really been that
much of a problem for me. (Lisa)
However, the limit to individualisation was seen in her discussion of

the role of gender. Again, in keeping with theorisations and empirical
work on gender and creative labour, the need for individual choice and
hard work was matched by a clearer picture of gender inequality and the
dominance of a particular type of masculinity as ‘the artist’:
I think it’s because there is less support to women or for women working as
independent practitioners…. Because historically the precedent is for men to
have a heroic career in the arts and for women not to… I think the problem lies
in the fact that subconsciously since day one women have had it ingrained
within them that they are going to play a secondary role to men. I think that is
where gender issues come into play within the arts particularly because there is
a historical narrative of men being superior. (Lisa)
Lisa’s recognition of inequalities foregrounded gender, rather than

class, as the key category in the somatic norm of the (successful) artist.
This serves to highlight the importance of the intersections of privileged
characteristics, such as class, ethnicity, and gender, in success. This inter-
section remains even where the emphasis shifts from gender to class. This
can be demonstrated by looking at a reading of the mythology of the
artist laid out by Carla. It is striking how close her language is to Lisa’s,
but how one factor differentiates the two, which is the role of class.
I think Fine Art and, you know, has always enjoyed that mythology of the
working class male. You can look at several examples of working class men that
have entered into Fine Art Institutions and they have thrived….But I think for
working class women it is a very different conversation…I think still there are
those situations where I have sat in talks and almost watched the differences
that happen with language….So I think we still live at a point where, you
know, your accent, your background, the way that you behave will inform
things. It totally will, yes. (Carla)
This section has aimed to establish the somatic norm of the artist, a
norm which plays an important role in exclusions from success and over-
all inequalities in the art world. However, by focusing on class as its final
point, the section also returns to the opening sections of the chapter’s
empirical discussion that aimed to establish both the importance of class
for understanding British data, and also the complexity of this category
in how the artists narrate themselves. This dual role for class points to an
important potential area for future empirical and theoretical work.
Conclusion
The overarching somatic norm of the art world, as experienced by Carla
and Janet, points to a wider truth about working as an artist. As Gerber
(2017) notes, there are many different ways to narrate oneself as an artist,
with various differing orientations to the vocation. However, the barriers
and challenges, of the practicalities of pay, aesthetic value and valorisa-
tion, and the assumptions of who is, and who is not, considered to be an
92 O. Brook et al.
artist, have a universal quality. The barriers and challenges are, of course,
not experienced equally, nor do individuals confront them with the same
level of resources, or capital, to overcome them and ‘make it’.
Our purpose with our three case study artists has been to highlight the
uneven distribution of opportunity in the art world, along with, à la
McRobbie (2015), raising serious questions as to the desirability of seeing
the artist as a blueprint for the new economy. In keeping with the existing
work on the stratification of British economy and society (e.g. Goldthorpe
2016), the new economy, if our case study artists are a guide, will look
much like the old, with important exclusions. Moreover, as Lisa’s narra-
tive indicates, it will involve the further focus on the individual as respon-
sible for the precariousness and risks of an uncertain labour market, with
little or no place for labour market reform, government or collective
action, or the operation of unfair and unequal social and power structures.
There are important notes of caution in our discussion. All three of our
artists are able-bodied and white, leaving the question of barriers associ-
ated with disability, and race and ethnicity, as moot questions in their
narratives. They are all based in England, which, as our focus on class and
London shows, has specific and particular dynamics. There is also the
caveat of the three as representative of wider trends. Moreover, the tem-
poral dimension is one demanding further research. As we have noted
elsewhere (Brook et al. 2018a, b), whilst the class composition of the arts
in the UK has been skewed towards those from professional and manage-
rial origins, this skew has continued against the backdrop of considerable
changes in the social structure (Goldthorpe 2016). In Janet’s case, her
entry into the art world occurred in the mid-1970s, and much of her
formative professional experience occurred in the 1980s. This setting was
before the art school had been absorbed into the formal higher education
system of the UK, during a period of comparative low levels of entry by
the general population into higher education, and was marked by a sig-
nificantly different social support system to the current setting (Banks
and Oakley 2016). For Carla, during the 1990s and early 2000s, there
was an expanded higher education system, along with an expanded arts
funding regime, a regime that was especially attentive to the kind of prac-
tice (O’Brien 2014) that she developed following her experiences of the
international art market. Finally, Lisa’s struggles with the art world are set
against a significantly more punitive social support system, a major hous-

ing crisis in London, as well as an art world where unpaid labour is
endemic for the early years of a career. These three historical settings pres-
ent an important set of questions for future analysis and research on the
classed and gendered experiences of the art worker.
However, as with our research using regionally representative survey
data in Britain (O’Brien et al. 2016; Oakley et al. 2017), along with com-
parisons with other creative professions such as acting (Friedman et al.
2016; Friedman and O’Brien 2017), the issues raised by Carla’s, Janet’s,
and Lisa’s stories are part of a grander narrative of inequality and exclu-
sion, particularly associated with a ‘somatic norm’ of who is valued as an
artist. Their narratives should, therefore, represent a demand for change,
as much as a sociological contribution.
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Skeggs, Bev. 2015. Introduction to the Special Issue on GBCS and Elites:
Stratification or Exploitation, Domination, Dispossession and Devaluation?
The Sociological Review 63 (2): 205–222.
Stark, Peter, Colin Gordon, and David Powell. 2013. Rebalancing Our Cultural
Capital. https://www.artsprofessional.co.uk/sites/artsprofessional.co.uk/files/
rebalancing_our_cultural_capital.pdf. Accessed 16 May 2018.
Thompson, Don. 2012. The $12 Million Stuffed Shark. London: Arum Press.
Thornton, Sarah. 2008. Seven Days in the Art World. London: Granta.
Velthuis, Olav. 2007. Talking Prices. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
5
Visual Artists’ Professional Situations
and Trajectories Between Institutions
and the Market
Pierre Bataille, Johannes M. Hedinger,
and Olivier Moeschler
Introduction
Following nineteenth-century romanticism, the modern figure of the art-
ist has been associated with the idea of singularity, which highlights the
vocation and achievements of the individual creator. Several authors have
described the passage of different art forms—among them visual arts—
into the “singularity regime” which, according to Nathalie Heinich
P. Bataille
University Grenoble Alpes, Grenoble, France
e-mail: pierre.bataille@univ-grenoble-alpes.fr
J. M. Hedinger
Zurich University of the Arts, Zürich, Switzerland
e-mail: Johannes.hedinger@zhdk.ch
O. Moeschler (*)
University of Lausanne, Lausanne, Switzerland
e-mail: olivier.moeschler@unil.ch

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6_5
98 P. Bataille et al.
(2005), characterises the modern artists’ condition. There has been a shift
from an often collective, unsigned craft to a regime which puts forward
the vocation as well as the individually created and signed art work, a
passage from the Académie and its Salon to the art market and to the
modern, solitary but not individualistic, gifted and genius-like but unin-
terested artist.
However, while the ethereal imagery of the “artiste maudit” still per-
sists, the model of the artist as an entrepreneur has emerged and stresses
the strategic, rational and competitive dimension of artistic creation. As
early as 1980, Lee Caplin proposed a portrait of the artist as an “entrepre-
neur” (Caplin 1980). Today, the “artist entrepreneur” figure is increas-
ingly prevalent in the artistic field itself, including within art schools and
cultural policy agencies, but also in the wider society, suggesting a very
close relationship between artists and the market or commercial ratio-
nales (Boltanski and Chiapello 1999; Reckwitz 2012; Grau 2013; Dockx
and Gielen 2015; Jacobs 2016; Henning et al. 2019).1 An author like
Katja Lindqvist explores the similarities and differences between artists
and entrepreneurs, addressing issues such as their traditionally ascribed
characteristics, norms and rule-breaking behaviours, and functions in the
process of bringing original ideas into the realm of consumers and larger
society (Lindqvist 2011). In the specific sector of visual (and notably
contemporary) art, this model is strongly linked to the globalisation,
expansion and reconfiguration of the art market as well as the hybridisa-
tion of artistic works and production processes themselves in a global
context (Bydler 2004; Weibel and Buddensieg 2007; Belting and
Buddensieg 2009, Belting et al. 2011, 2013). More recently, some authors
pointed out the “interpenetration” between this recent entrepreneurial
imagery and the artistic singularity regime. Entrepreneurship appears
1
Among many examples of an indigenous discourse showing the rise of explicit merchant strategies
in the arts, some years ago, ten artists explained in an Internet publication “how they became art
entrepreneurs” and how an artist can “use his or her creativity as a jumping-off point for creating a
business” (Bram 2011). More recently, the Internet site “Small Business Trends” identified a “trend
of the artist entrepreneur” and discussed the possibilities of “combining entrepreneurship with art”
(Campbell 2017). An Internet site titled TheArtistEntrepreneur is fully dedicated to the theme: cit-
ing Andy Warhol saying that “Making money is art”, its mission is to “empower visual artists and
art organisations to challenge their status quo” and to “build creatively and financially fulfilling
businesses” (online: http://theartistentrepreneur.com/home#welcome-1).
5 Visual Artists’ Professional Situations and Trajectories… 99
thus to be a continuation and an inversion of the romantic artist figure—

although this “introduction of capitalist logics” happens for the moment
more at the paradigmatic level than as a regime, since it mainly applies to
the few very internationally successful artists (Borja and Sofio 2009,
23, 24).
At the same time, sociological analyses have repeatedly shown the fac-
tors that affect artistic work and careers, of which the entrepreneurial
ideal and constraint is nothing but a new component. From a sociologi-
cal perspective, art is a professional activity (almost) like any other. While
Eliot Freidson saw artistic professions, linked to “vocation”, as a “chal-
lenge” for sociological analyses and as being fundamentally different from
classical professions (Freidson 1986) and even argued that they “cannot
be professions” (Freidson 1994), authors like Howard Becker (1982)
have described the “art worlds” as just another work sector, with their
conventions and “cooperation chains”, highlighting the role of the rein-
forcement personnel necessary for the production, distribution and
reception of artworks. The paradigm of the artist as a rational “worker”
has then been promoted by Pierre-Michel Menger, who linked the
changes in the perception and forms of artistic work to the “metamor-
phoses of capitalism” (Menger 2002). Asking “who has created the cre-
ators”, Pierre Bourdieu (1984) has traced back the socio-historical process
leading to the “autonomisation” process of relatively autonomous “cul-
tural production fields”, for example, in literature in the nineteenth-
century France, structured by certain “rules of art” (Bourdieu 1996) and,
also, a high degree of competition between artistic producers equipped
with unequal capitals or resources.
Visual arts, where the passage “from the painter to the artist” (Heinich
1993) has been well studied, like cinema, literature or many musical
genres, is a field which is known for being closer to the market than the
highly subsidised arts like theatre or classical music. Like all modern art
fields, it is a very competitive sector. Authors have analysed the highly
unequal possibilities offered to artists on the national or international art
market depending on their profile and strategies, for example, according
to nationality (Quemin 2014). It is also known for a long time that there
are various and unequal gendered ways to professionalise in visual arts (as
shown in her pioneer paper by Pasquier 1983). In Switzerland, there have
been few sociological studies on visual artists (Glauser 2009) or on the

historical evolution of the art market (Jaccard and Guex 2011; Imhof
et al. 2015). Recently, Isabelle Moroni (2017) described in a qualitative
study on mobility of visual artists of the canton of Valais how the spatial
mobility demanded by the contemporary art market imposes a norm of
flexibility, availability and adaptability. Moroni shows that this need of
constant redefinition of the self thus occurs even in peripheral regions—
but cannot equally be fulfilled according to the aesthetic posture claimed,
the “cosmopolitan” capital acquired by the artists and, also, to gender. At
the same time, it is in visual arts that the neoliberal model of the success-
ful “artist entrepreneur” is maybe the more clearly observable, with artis-
tic figures such as Jeff Koons or Damien Hirst (Borja and Sofio 2009).
So, torn between autonomy and market logics, and confronted to per-
sistent sociological determinisms, who are today’s visual artists? What is
the self-understanding of contemporary artists, what are their living con-
ditions? What are their professional and personal situations? Why did
they become artists, and how do they work? How do they make a living
from their artistic activities, and how are they involved into the art mar-
ket? Finally, can we observe a link between the various professional situa-
tions of the visuals artists and their self-perceptions in relation to artistic
autonomy and market logics? This contribution aims at grasping the
challenges that today’s artists face, for the specific case of Swiss visual arts.
We will analyse how the ways of being an “artist” are undergoing a signifi-
cant evolution in the light of trends such as the globalisation and recon-
figuration of the art market, the hybridisation of artistic works and
production processes, the reduction of public funding and the emergence
of new social expectations addressed to artists. We aim at approaching
contemporary artists’ situation in an age where artistic living and work-
ing conditions seem at a crossroads, with market logic playing an increas-
ingly important role.
After the description of our general theoretical setting, sample and
analytic strategy, the chapter presents several results exploring the tension
between institutions and the market in visual artists’ professional situa-
tions and trajectories, notably by mobilising a gender perspective. The
text ends with a conclusion which synthetises the main results and shows
their relevance for further research on art and artists in the market.
Inquiry and Respondents Sample

The analysis draws on a survey titled “The New Artist”, led by the ZHdK
(Zurich University of the Arts) in 2016–2017. The data which consti-
tutes the basis for this contribution results from a national inquiry
addressed to artists in the field of visual arts (painting, sculpture, installa-
tions) between October 2016 and February 2017.
The invitation to fill out the form was distributed in art associations,
art schools and art institutes.2 With the online questionnaire, we gath-
ered information on 15 socio-demographic and 25 thematic questions
about the representation of artistic work and the artist public figure as
well as on the respondents’ situation. Some of the latter aimed at describ-
ing the “objective” position or trajectory of the respondent,3 while others
referred to their self-perception and representations.4 On the whole, 457
valid responses of visual artists in the whole country were registered into
the e-survey device.5 A comparison with existing statistical data on the
Swiss visual artists’ population (estimated at more or less 4500 individu-
als) shows that around 10% of Swiss visual artists’ population have been
interrogated.6
The comparison of our sample’s socio-demographic profile with the
whole Swiss visual artist population’s profile and the Swiss workforce
2
The mail and flyer invitations were disseminated in or via the following venues: SIK Swiss Institute
for Art Research, the Swiss visual artists’ association Visarte, SARN (Swiss Artistic Research
Network), ZHdK and other schools of visual arts in Switzerland, as well as the magazines
Kunstbulletin and Schweizer Kunstverein.
3
These were questions on the incomes generated out of the artistic activity, who finances his/her
artwork and to what percentage, how he/she makes a living, how he/she networks in the art scene,
work-life balance, the professional activity of his/her partner or how many close friends are artists.
4
The more subjective questions focused on the reasons why the respondent became an artist, which
other profession he/she would have chosen, how he/she describes his/her profession in official
documents, the attributes that apply most for him- or herself, the elements that characterise a suc-
cessful artist in his/her opinion or the role or function of an artist in society today. These closed
questions all proposed preformatted items (plus an “other”-option).
5
For more information on the project, its documentation, the questionnaire and the general
descriptive results, see: http://thenewartist.net/en/.
6
The source for these comparisons is the Swiss Labor Force Survey (SLSP). For the Swiss visual
artists, a separated data exploitation furnished by the Federal Statistical Office (FSO) has been used
on persons who work as visual artists in their primary and/or secondary professional activity, in
analogy (as we’ll see) to our sample.
profile (Table 5.1) allows us to evaluate its characteristics and its

representativeness.
Table 5.1 shows that women are overrepresented in the sample: six out
of ten of the interviewees (60%) are female (see Table 5.1). In the overall
Swiss working population, this percentage is clearly lower, and this is
even more the case among the Swiss visual artists, where men are strongly
overrepresented.7 This trend in our sample may result from the fact that
in art schools, where the questionnaire has largely circulated, the popula-
tion is more feminised, a fact that has been verified in many European
Table 5.1 Comparison of the socio-demographic profile of visual artists (respon-

dents sample), Swiss visual artists, and Swiss working population
Visual artists Swiss visual artists Swiss working
(respondents) (SLSP) pop. (SLSP)
Sex
Male 39.7 64.3 53.3
Female 60.3 35.7 46.3
Age
15–24 4.8 3.1 12.0
25–39 20.1 18.9 32.5
40–54 33.7 36.8 34.6
55–64 25.8 21.6 16.9
65+ 15.5 18.5 4.0
Average age 50.2 51.1 41.8
Diploma
Tertiary 58.0 43.2 41.3
Other 42.0 56.8 58.5
Nationality
Swiss 93.0 84.7 74.2
Other 7.0 15.4 25.8
n 457 4500 4,675,000
Swiss working population (2018) and Swiss visual artists (pooling 2010–2018):
Swiss Labour Force Survey (SLFS)
7
For sex, age, and nationality of the Swiss working population, see FSO (2018): https://www.bfs.
admin.ch/bfs/fr/home/statistiques/travail-remuneration/enquetes/espa/publications-resultats.
assetdetail.9366518.html.
countries (Provansal 2018).8 Moreover, this feminisation reminds us that

whereas the elite of art domains almost always is masculine (Buscatto
2007), notably in visual arts (Quemin 2013), it is not the case of the
whole artistic population. The sex distribution according to the age cat-
egories confirms this impression: while 60–70% of the respondents are
female from 19 to 59 years of age, from 60 years onwards, it drops to
45–50%. The older respondents, that is, the ones that have been able to
“survive” professionally in this difficult environment, are thus more likely
to be men. This over-representation of women in our sample can also be
the consequence of the dissemination of our survey in the institutional
pole of the art sector—which is, as we’ll see, more invested by women.
Last but not least, it also known that women tend to be more responsive
to inquiries.
The structure of our interviewees’ sample according to age may be
surprising at first glance. Half of the sample (49%) falls into the “mid-
dle” category of the 41–60 years old, and the largest 10-year age slice is
50–59 (29% of the sample; see Table 5.4 in Annex). The average age is
50.2 years: this is far more than the active population (41.8 years9), but
corresponds almost exactly to the average age of Swiss visual artists
(51.1 years). So in this case, our interviewees seem to be the reflection of
an effective high age of this visual artists’ population—as it can also be
an effect from the survey design, as younger artists may have been less
ready to fill out the questionnaire and to adopt the self-reflexive position
it implied.
The first results also show that the interviewees are highly edu-
cated—58% have a university degree or equivalent, which is much more
8
It is the case in Swiss tertiary art schools for the students—although only slightly: 54% of the
students in art schools are female—as well as for the leading educational, the research and the
administrative-technical personnel, where the percentage of women is over the average in art
schools. See FSO (2018–2019): https://www.bfs.admin.ch/bfs/en/home/statistics/education-
science/pupils-students/tertiary-higher-institutions/universities-applied.html (students) and
https://www.bfs.admin.ch/bfs/de/home/statistiken/bildung-wissenschaft/personal-
bildungsinstitutionen/tertiaerstufe-hochschulen.assetdetail.8946667.html (personnel, table 12a).
9
See FSO (2018): https://www.bfs.admin.ch/bfs/fr/home/statistiques/travail-remuneration/
activite-professionnelle-temps-travail/personnes-actives/age-moyen-population-active.assetde-
tail.7206209.html.
(actually it’s the opposite proportion) in regard to the Swiss workforce.10

Such over-representation of tertiary graduates is partly due to our inquiry
dispositive (mainly situated in art schools). It’s also well known that those
with higher education are more likely to respond to surveys (see f.e. Le
Feuvre et al. 2018). Nevertheless, one may also think that this echoes the
tertiarisation of the sector.11
Finally, exactly three-quarters (75%) of the respondents are native-
born Swiss citizens, 14% are naturalised Swiss citizens, about 4% are
Swiss citizens living abroad, and only 7% are foreign citizens who, accord-
ing to the survey setting, at least work in Switzerland. All in all, 93% have
the Swiss nationality (Table 5.1). This structure of origin is without sur-
prise very different from the one of the overall workers population in
Switzerland, of whom one-quarter (26%) are foreigners, against 15% of
the Swiss visual artists. Regarding the linguistic regions, the German-
speaking interviewees are clearly over-represented: 82% of the visual art-
ists answered in German, while around two-thirds of the general
population speaks German or dialect, probably echoing the fact that the
study was initiated in Zurich. About 15% of the interviewees answered
in French (whereas around 25% of the population speak French), cor-
roborating the under-representation of the Latin part of Switzerland.12
To sum up, our sample of Swiss visual artists is feminised, older, much
higher educated, and much more “Swiss” than the overall national work-
ing population and the Swiss visual artists population, to which it resem-
bles most in terms of age.
10
See FSO (2018): https://www.bfs.admin.ch/bfs/fr/home/statistiques/travail-remuneration/
activite-p rofessionnelle-temps-travail/personnes-actives/niveau-formation.assetde-
tail.8226421.html.
11
See FSO (2018): https://www.bfs.admin.ch/bfs/fr/home/statistiques/travail-remuneration/activite-
professionnelle-temps-travail/personnes-actives/niveau-formation.assetdetail.8226421.html.
12
Only 1.4% of the respondents live in Ticino, against around 4% of the Swiss population.
Method
In order to account for the different ways of practising the visual arts
professionally in Switzerland, the social determinants of these ways of
exercising and the consequences of this articulation in terms of self-
representation of what “being an artist” means in the Swiss case studied,
we favoured a modelling articulating specific multiple correspondence
analysis (or ACM; Le Roux and Rouanet 2010) and clustering algorithms
(Studer 2013).
Our aim is, first of all, to visualise the space of professional positions
observed among the visual artists interviewed by identifying the different
types of professionalisms that polarise the professional space and what
they imply in terms of relations with art institutions, the art market and
the state. Once the structuring of professional practices and careers in the
Swiss visual arts identified, we propose to analyse the “ingredients”
(Bidart et al. 2013) that seem to favour access to one or the other of the
poles of the professional space—including gender, but also educational
capital, social capital, or age. Finally, we will see to what extent being
located at one of the various poles of the professional space informs the
visual artists’ self-representation on the basis of the more subjective ques-
tions, that is the meaning given to “being an artist”, the potential deter-
minants of success and the social function of artistic activities.
The variables chosen to construct the professional positions’ space via
the ACM—the so-called active variables—are presented in Table 5.2.
Three of these document, for each of the individuals questioned, the
sources of income assuring the daily living expenses, the way in which
artistic activities are funded, and the level of income earned per year from
artistic activities.
Our “illustrative” variables provide information on the socio-
demographic characteristics of the individuals interviewed (sex, educa-
tional degree, age, partner’s occupation, proportion of people identified as
“artists” among close friends) and are presented in Table 5.4 in the Annex.13
In the following analyses, the SLFS age categories of Table 5.1 have been replaced by decennial
13
ones, which allows to avoid too little populated categories (as it would have been the case for
15–24 years).
Table 5.2 Active Variables and modalities N %

modalities
Sources of income
Art 126 27.6
Day job (cult.) 196 42.9
Day job (non-cult.) 158 34.6
Family 155 33.9
Foundation 85 18.6
Savings 86 18.8
Social benefits 34 7.4
Who finances art activities
Self-financed 396 86.7
Pre-financing from galleries 44 9.6
Subscriptions (sales) 154 33.7
Donors, patrons 79 17.3
Foundations 136 29.8
Sponsoring 59 12.9
Public/government funding 181 39.6
Art institutions, museums 152 33.3
Other 59 12.9
Income from artistic activities
>40,000 CHF per year 33 7.2
–40,000 CHF per year 46 10.1
–20,000 CHF per year 89 19.5
–10,000 CHF per year 73 16
–5000 CHF per year 150 32.8
NR 66 14.4
Total 457
CHF: Swiss francs; NR: non-response
Artistic Precariousness
The descriptive tables of these variables already call for some preliminary
comments. In Table 5.2, we see that more than a third (35%) of the
interviewed artists have a non-cultural day job—that is, a bread-and-
butter job that has nothing to do with art or culture. And only 28%
derive a significant income from their actual artistic practice. If these
results are not necessarily surprising, they remind that for many artists—
especially the most “ordinary” ones (Perrenoud and Bois 2017), who
work at the lowest levels of the professional hierarchy—having a “double
life” is relatively common (Lahire 2006; Throsby and Hollister 2003).
Studies in theatre, music, and literature did show that only the “multipli-
cation of the self ” (Menger 1997) and the fact of being a “plural artist”
(Bureau et al. 2009) with a subtle mixture of intra- and extra-sectorial
polyvalence and/or “polyactivity” (Rolle and Moeschler 2014) lead to
relative professional stability and integration. Among our interviewees
too, many are forced to conciliate professional spaces informed by totally
different or even antagonistic symbolic logics. Being able to “make a liv-
ing with art” appears to be relatively rare. In fact, being an artist is only
seldom a full-time activity: 35% work full-time as artists (that is at a rate
of 75%-100%), while 56% are part-time artists (at a rate of 30%-74%),
who are mostly working either in the cultural and creative sector (32%,
mainly as teachers, as art educators or mediators in the museum, exhibits
and curatorial sector) or outside of it (13%), sometimes also doing house
work (7%) or being in training (5%). Almost 5%—or one out of
twenty—are “occasional artists” working less than 30% on their art.
Moreover, one-third of the artists (34%) must also use the financial sup-
port of family members. This later remark also points out how different
types of family capital can weigh in the launch and stabilisation of such
careers.
A significant proportion of respondents self-finance their creative activ-
ities in whole or in part (87%), while a very small group (10%) is regularly
offered the opportunity to pre-sell their work to gallery owners. For one-
third (33%) of the respondents, the artistic activities yield less than CHF
5000 per year, and overall, for half of them (49%) it does not exceed CHF
10,000. Only one-fifth (20%) earns around CHF 20,000, which is very
little (as it means less than CHF 2000 per month), and one out of these
earns between CHF 20,000 up to CHF 40,000 of gross income with his
or her art, a sum still far below the gross median Swiss salary of CHF 6500
per month.14 At the opposite end of the income scale, 7% earn annually
more than CHF 40,000, and only 1% reach up to 100,000 CHF with
their artistic production. In these oppositions, one can see the great dis-
parity of income in the artistic sphere and the concentration of the most
profitable activities in the hands of a small elite group (Menger 2009). Art

14
Figure for 2016; see FSO: https://www.bfs.admin.ch/bfs/fr/home/statistiques/catalogues-
banques-donnees/communiques-presse.assetdetail.5226937.html.
definitively does not bring wealth—in most cases, it is not sufficient as

sole or even as main income. Although two-thirds of the visuals artists
indicate that this amount is for themselves alone, these figures suggest a
general situation of financial precariousness.
A Tripolar Professional Space of Visual Artists

In this section, we propose to build the social space of visual artists on the
basis of their economic living conditions. Figure 5.1 represents the rela-
tive proportion of the overall inertia of the model expressed by each
dimensions of our factorial analysis, that is, the variance rate by axes. The
first two dimensions of our specific ACM contribute the most to the
global inertia of the cloud (around 10% each). It is therefore these two
dimensions that we will retain for our analysis.
Figure 5.2 represents the modalities which contribute more than aver-
age (i.e. 2.7%) to the axes as well as their location in the space of the
professional positions thus constituted.
Having been supported by an actor (a gallery, a foundation, a patron)
and being able to make a living only through their art production polar-
ise the individuals along the horizontal axis (first dimension). On the
right are those who practise visual arts in a self-sufficient way (i.e. whose
artistic activity is the main return of money). On the left of the axis are
Fig. 5.1 ACM dimensions inertia

Fig. 5.2 Space of professional positions (Dim1 and Dim2)
those who are little or unintegrated into the professional environment

(i.e. whose artistic production is not financed by public or private actors).
The second dimension—the vertical one—opposes the respondents
according to the volume of their earnings related to their professional activ-
ity in the visual arts community. At the top of the axis are individuals who
draw relatively small amounts (CHF 5000 per year) from their artistic
activity and who potentially have a day job besides their artistic practice.
This includes, in particular, artists whose professional activities have been
funded by foundations or have produced some of their work through
foundations’ action. The more people come down along this axis, the more
they are making money through their artistic activities. At the bottom of
the axis, we find the respondents who derive the most important income
from their artistic works (more than 40,000 CH per year). Not so surpris-
ingly for a field historically strongly linked to the market since it’s autono-
misation from the state-controlled Académie with its Salon (Borja and
Sofio 2009), it is those artists who are also most often followed by gallery
owners who pre-finance all or part of their work that are living best from
their artistic production. As other studies revealed, today more than ever,
artists selling their production in the art market through galleries or other
private intermediaries (collectors, art fairs) are the ones that are living best
out of their artistic production (Graw 2010; Fasche 2013).
To sum up, our analysis shows a tripolarisation of the visual artists’
professional space:
(1) At the top left is a pole of individuals little or weakly integrated into
the professional space, which try a priori to return and stay there but
have little access to legitimating and/or funding bodies.
(2) At the top right are the artists often supported by public or semi-
public institutions (foundations, museums), who do not necessarily
earn a lot of money with their artistic productions but who neverthe-
less have, we can assume, a recognition of their work.
(3) In the end, at the bottom are the visual artists who are, in principle,
the most caught up in market logic, whose main support are the pri-
vate galleries. These actors in the art market are the ones who earn the
most revenue from the sale of their work.
Artistic Positions and Paths: Gender over Age

In the following section, we will see if we can identify clusters out of our
respondents according to their profile. Figure 5.3a represents the distri-
bution of the visual artists according to their relative membership to five
clusters15—again, the horizontal axis relates (from left to right) to the fact
of being more and more supported and/or able to live from one’s art,
while the horizontal axis refers (from top to bottom) to earning more and
more from one’s artistic activity. We draw concentration ellipses (i.e. area
where at least 90% of individuals with the desired characteristic are situ-
ated) regarding the cluster membership in order to visualise the main
oppositions among clusters:
• As already evoked at Fig. 5.2, Cluster 1 gathers the individuals work-

ing in relation with the public institutions.
• Cluster 3 regroups the artists mainly evolving on the art market.
• In Cluster 4, one finds the marginalised and/or the new entrants.
• Clusters 2 and 5 occupy intermediate positions between Cluster 4 and
the other two, gathering artists located in grey areas—which are
numerous in the markets of artistic work—on the periphery of the two
main professionalisation poles (on the periphery of “institutional” art-
ists for Cluster 2, on the periphery of “market” artists for Cluster 5).
Table 5.3 gives an idea of the weight of the different professional types
identified by these clusters. The two clusters bringing together artists who
earn all or most of their income through their artistic activity (the
“institutional-oriented” Cluster 1 and the “market-oriented” Cluster 3)
are the least numerous, while the cluster located at the pole of the “mar-
ginals” (Cluster 4) gathers 30% or the largest groups of the interviewed
artists, with the people not yet (or not anymore) integrated either to the
institutional or the market pole—a distribution which illustrates the
They were calculated on the basis of the coordinates of the points for the first five dimensions of the
15
ACM. The concentration ellipses represent areas where at least 90% of individuals with the desired
characteristic are situated—here membership of a particular cluster. When these ellipses are elon-
gated, the longest axis represents the axis along which the individuals in question are mainly located.
Fig. 5.3 Clouds of individuals, cluster membership, and sex
Table 5.3 Sample % N
composition
Cluster 1 17.9 82
Cluster 2 21.0 96
Cluster 3 12.0 55
Cluster 4 30.0 137
Cluster 5 19.0 87
imbalance between the aspiring and the recognised in the fields of artis-
tic work.
Figure 5.3b then shows the location of the interviewed artists by gen-
der. The women interviewed are often located on an axis from the left of
the graph to the upper right. This socio-gendered difference in location
indicates that women tend to be slightly less likely than men to be in
professional spaces organised around galleries and the art market—and
thus make more of their career with the support of public institutions or
foundations. Despite the fact that they make up the majority of the arts
school enrolment in many European countries (Provansal 2018), in the
end women artists have little access to the most lucrative segments of the
labour market, as it appears here. This “gender gap” has been well identi-
fied internationally (Quemin 2013; Hassler 2017), including two decades
ago in cross-countries comparative studies,16 and is periodically thema-

tised in the field itself.17
To explain the weaker presence of women visual artists at the “market-
oriented” pole of professional space, scholars pointed out, for the case of
France, the impact of intermediaries’ arbitrations and their gendered
representations, as artistic notoriety is the result of the collective work
of a series of intermediaries with whom the artists have complex rela-
tions (Lizé et al. 2014). These interactions are generally based on a
“devaluation of practices [identified as] feminine” (Provansal 2018,
64–67), effectively excluding many female artists from galleries and pri-
vate collections. The tacit injunction to maintain relations of seduction
with these same intermediaries (often men) can also divert certain visual
artists from the art markets in order to invest in other spheres of activ-
ity—or, more importantly, to leave definitely their artistic career (ibid.,
67–70; see, for the case of pop, rock or jazz music, Perrenoud and
Chapuis 2016). Although we do not have empirical evidence to support
these hypotheses in our case, we can think that similar mechanisms are
at work in the Swiss visual arts’ context and contribute to explain why
women are stuck in that precise pole of the cultural field.
As gender appears to be a structuring dimension of the tripolarisation
of the professional space, we have carried out complementary analyses in
order to better understand the variations in socio-demographic profile of
the interviewed artists according to their position in the professional
space. Figures 5.4a, b, and c represent the location of individuals accord-
ing to the classical variables of the level of education and age as well as for
marital status (or, more precisely, the employment status of their partner,
which notoriously influences the possibilities as an artist), and this,
respectively, for men and women.
In Figure 5.4a we see that the educational level does not seem to have a
particular impact on the orientation of male careers (the circles are almost
superposed). Women’s access to the pole of “institutional” art,
16
Cliché et al. (2001), comparing the situation of women in arts and media in eight European
countries, found out, for visual arts, that women artists’ presence is at around 30–60% of art stu-
dents, 38–45% of the artists, and 3–20% of lecturers and professors.
17
See, for example, in ARTnews, where an article recently pointed at the “major systemic prob-
lems” still rendering women’s status and visibility difficult in the visual arts (Reilly 2015).
however—the main route to their professionalisation—is partly condi-

tioned by the fact of having obtained a qualification of higher education.
This finding suggests that women who make a living through their artistic
activities have greater educational capital than their male colleagues or
competitors and, thus, appear slightly over-selected, in the sense that, on
average, they have a higher educational profile than their male counter-
parts (Buscatto 2009). Without precise data on the social origin of our
respondents, it is impossible for us to know whether this over-selection of
female visual artists doubles their social over-selection—even if, neverthe-
less, access to the tertiary degree in Switzerland remains the preserve of
children in the higher fractions of the social space, especially for women
(Falcon 2013, 163–174). In view of this remarks, we can interpret the
over-selection of female artists as the expression of the specific obstacles
that hinder women’s careers: to establish themselves durably in this pro-
fessional space, women must be endowed with a greater volume of educa-
tional and social capital than those of men living in comparable
environments.
Figure 5.4b allows to point out another dimension of these gender
inequalities, linked to age. We see here that age makes little difference in
the group of men. Whether they are under thirty, between thirty and fifty
or over sixty years of age, male visual artists may have the more or less
same chances of being at one or the other of the three main poles of space
professional. Coming to women, their position in the professional space
differs greatly according to their age category. More precisely, those who
are under thirty and those who are over sixty tend to concentrate at the
upper-left of the graphic, that is, the pole with little or no integration
into the professional circuits and very little income derived from their
artistic activities. This confinement of women belonging to the youngest
and oldest categories to the least “lucrative” pole of the space could refer
to the specific difficulties of women to establish themselves in the long
term in artistic professional spaces (as it is the case for popular or jazz
music in French-speaking Switzerland: see Perrenoud and Chapuis 2016).
This underlines the difficulties in accessing careers—which is manifested
by the fact that the aspirants stay longer in waiting positions before seeing
their career take off—as well as the difficulty in maintaining their profes-
sional commitment in the second part of their career. As other studies
Fig. 5.4 Clouds of individuals, diploma, age, and partner situation
shown (Provansal 2018; Sinigaglia-Amadio and Sinigaglia 2015), the

“injunction to conciliation” between family and professional life on the
integration of women artists into the visual arts’ community can be an
explanatory factor of such gender inequalities. Even more so, the Swiss
gender regime remains shaped strongly by a male breadwinner/female
care-giver model (Le Feuvre et al. 2018). This injunction is one more
illustration of the fact—also studied, for example, in the field of universi-
ties and research—that “subjective decisions shall not be explained only
by subjective factors” and that the configurations of actors around women
artists, be they informal, are like the strongly “gendered organisations”
found in more formal work situations and careers and observable even in
apparently informal interactions (Beaufaÿs and Krais 2005, 53, 61).
In line with these previous remarks, Fig. 5.4c highlights the impor-
tance of domestic relationship in understanding the gendered orientation
of professional careers. We can see that, in the case of male visual artists,
“market-oriented careers” (the bottom-right of the graphic) are more
common among individuals in a relationship with someone who does
not work in the art worlds. Men in pairs with artists or cultural partners
are more frequent at the pole of so-called institutional artists (at the
upper-right). Differences are less pronounced for women visual artists
(the circles are more concentric), and heterogamy (i.e. being with some-
one not belonging to the world of arts) seems less frequent, with seem-
ingly more homogamous strategies (the larger “art” and “culture” circles)
which are not directed towards the market pole (at the bottom-right).
Since we have no precise information on the type of the partners’ jobs or
on the labour division within the couples, we can only make the hypoth-
esis that, in order to settle permanently in the art markets (where the
competition is particularly harsh and where yields are certainly higher
but also more speculative), to have support through a more stable profes-
sional position perhaps allows to consider more serenely risky profes-
sional strategies.
isual Artists’ Self-Representation:

V
The Persistence of a Romantic Self-Image
Once we have grasped the logic that polarises the professional space and
the elements of what differentiates careers and positions, it remains to be
understood to what extent these differences in practices and the inequali-
ties they cover affect the meaning ascribed by the artistic workers of the
visual arts sector to their professional activity.
Historically, the imagery of the romantic artist emerged, as already
noted, with the beginning of the autonomisation of cultural production
fields—notably of art forms such as literature (Bourdieu 1996) or visual
arts (Heinich 1993)—in the course of the nineteenth century. Although it
hardly corresponds to the dominant professional reality of artists, this
romantic representation still seems prevalent among the interviewees
themselves. Asked why they did become artists, Swiss visual artists mostly
chose the following five responses: “inner calling” (92%), “autonomy,
independence” (92%), “love of art” (91%), “self-realisation, self-awareness”
(80%), and “talent” (80%). These are mostly, if not exclusively, interior
qualities. On the subject of the purpose of art, the answer with the highest
figure is “food for thought and emotions” (70%), while “subversion and
criticism” or “contradiction and irritation” only reach around one-third.
Asked what artistic types and attributes apply to themselves the most,
the most cited options were “poet, philosopher” (50%), “inventor, cre-
ator” (45%), and “storyteller” (41%). And symptomatically, among the
most cited aspects for a successful art career are inner qualities such as
“hard work, persistence” (95%), “curiosity, inquisitiveness” (92%), “pas-
sion” (90%), “drive” (90%), “courage” (83%), and “authenticity” (81%).
The most common answer about how the interviewees would consider
their success in art is also a very internal one: “reaching my fullest poten-
tial and creating good projects” (96%).
To deepen our analysis of representations of visual artists, we crossed
the different questions on the self-presentation on official documents18
with the already described motives invoked by our interviewees as to their
commitment in an artistic career. For each of these questions, we will
present the trends within the sample as a whole and, in parallel, the over-
or under-representation of these trends within each cluster. Our aim is to
show that beyond the sometimes very evanescent character that the
notion of “artist” can encompass, artistic workers’ identities at work
(Hughes 1996; Perrenoud and Bataille 2018) are largely dependent on
their situation and the interactions in which fits their professional activity.
Figure 5.5a represents, for example, the frequency of the different
qualifiers used by our respondents to present themselves in the context of
official documents related to their professional activity. We see here that
it is the word “Artist” which is most often used (more than 40% of the
cases). Then come such expressions as “Visual artist” and “Creative art-
ist”, which still highlight the “artistic” nature of the activity. The specialty
(in the figure: modality “Spe”), such as “photographer”, “web-designer”,
is put forward in relatively few cases (around 10%). The qualification is
also quite rarely mentioned (8%).
When analysing the variations of use of these different qualifiers
according to the cluster of membership, it is clear that to define oneself as
“artist” is above all the privilege of the members of the clusters where the
18
The question referred to private (or “non-public”) administrative documents like tax returns doc-
uments, insurance policies or visas, on the basis of the assumption that this kind of self-presentation
would be particularly coherent with the respondents’ professional self-representation.
Fig. 5.5 Self-presentation on official documents
artistic activity is the most profitable (the “institutional” Cluster 1 and,

especially, the “market-oriented” Cluster 3, where the difference reaches
30 points). In Cluster 4, the one at the periphery of the visual arts profes-
sional space, it is more the side job or even the qualification that is used
to present oneself. For Cluster 5 members, the technical specialty is more
often cited in comparison with the entire sample. As the members of this
cluster are situated between the more art market-oriented pole and the
outsiders pole, it may be thought that highlighting the particular know-
how held by the artistic workers in question maybe aims less at commer-
cialisation of a particular artistic vision than at a technical knowledge.
This would allow to get work enrolments in a segment of the labour
market of the visual production relatively distant from the instances of
consecration (foundation, museums, galleries) and populated of people
little or not recognised as artists in their own right.
Figure 5.6a shows in an overview the membership scale for all the
items proposed by the already evoked question on motivational items
which, in the opinion of visual artists, have led them to embark on the
path of an artistic career. The modalities are ordered by level of relevance:
the more one moves towards the lines at the bottom of the graph, the
more the modalities mentioned apply “totally” to the way in which the
respondents perceive their own career. We see here that the gradation is
Fig. 5.6 Motivations to become an artist
almost linear between the modality applying the least (“To get rich”) and
that applying the most (the very internal “Love of art” and “Inner call-
ing”), following the diagonal of the table.
The least relevant modalities are those that refer to a very stereotypi-
cal vision of celebrity (“To get rich”, “To become famous”), sometimes
staged in certain cultural media or production, but very disconnected
from the daily realities of artistic work as shown by studies. Above all,
these little chosen modalities are in total opposition with the ideal of
disinterestedness on which is based much of the illusio of the people
who engage permanently in an artistic career (Bourdieu 1975), even
on a relatively “ordinary” level (Perrenoud and Bois 2017). We already
saw that the modalities appearing to be most in tune with this “roman-
tic” ideal of the “uncreated” and “disinterested” artist (“Love of art”,
“Talent”, “Inner calling”) are the most quoted as applying to our

respondents. The terms referring to the more political role and to the
social change which artists often pursue (“To give back to society”,
“To change the world”, “Political commitment”, “Sense of mission”)
occupy a place intermediate on the scale here constituted.
However, depending on the cluster of membership, the hierarchy of
values retrospectively invoked to have motivated the artistic career varies
considerably. Interestingly, it is among the artists most committed to
market logic (Cluster 3) that we find the proportion of respondents who
most recognise themselves in the “romantic” and classical individual
determinants of an artistic career, particularly the “Talent”, quoted 1.25
times more often as corresponding “perfectly” to what pushed them to
make a career. This again confirms that the romantic imagery of the artist
historically linked to the singularity regime can be compatible with the
entrepreneurial dimension (Borja and Sofio 2009). The more social and
political factors are also slightly more cited within this cluster than over-
all. Among respondents who are more supported by foundations and
public authorities (Cluster 1), the weight of “Talent” or the thirst for
“Independence” in vocation seems to be less important. Here aspects like
“To give back to society” but also “Flexible working hours” are put for-
ward more. Political and social change factors are also slightly more often
cited by Cluster 1 artists. In Cluster 4, which regroups the marginalised
and/or new entrants, “Love of art” seems to be the only motivation that
stands out.
Conclusion
Our analyses showed that the space of professional positions and careers
in Swiss visual arts is structured by a tripolar logic. A more institutional-
oriented pole—where artistic activities depend on foundations, public
funds and art institutions—is opposed to a market-oriented pole where
galleries dominate, both being at the antipodes of the third pole regroup-
ing the non-integrated and/or marginalised.
Moreover, the market-oriented pole and its competition are the most
correlated to artistic independence in the perception of the professionals
themselves. Interestingly then, the singularity regime is far from being
outdated. Historically linked to the autonomisation of the field, the
romantic (self-)representation of artists appears to be very compatible
with the recent entrepreneurial artistic regime (Borja and Sofio 2009). It
would be interesting to explore these results further in regard to the clas-
sical dichotomous polarisation of the artistic field (Bourdieu 1996). In
particular, it could be fertile to see how this tripolar field does intersect
with the classical dichotomous polarisation of the market between the
valorised pole of limited production and the profitable but less recog-
nised pole of large-scale production.
Further on, our analyses have confirmed the existence of the “gender
gap” long observed in visual arts (Pasquier 1983) in the Swiss case. In
view of the previous results concerning the determinants of career orien-
tation, it appears that the cluster where women are most often under-
represented (the market-oriented Cluster 3) is also the one where the
recognition of “Talent” and the devotion to the “Love of art”—in other
words, the main values determining full access to the status of artist since
the end of the nineteenth century in most of the European and North
American national space—are the most important determinants of the
artistic career. It is difficult to know if women remain distant from such
careers because they are perceived or perceive themselves as not having
the “Talent”, or—more probably—if these “subjective” elements are the
result of more subtle and less visible collective and informal mechanisms
of co-optation (Pasquier 1983; Buscatto 2009). Following what Beaufaÿs
and Krais (2005, 58, 60) observed for the academic field, one could say
that the illusio of one’s art as “way of life” and the total “availability” it
demands may be conflictual with the more familial and social role often
still assigned to women.
We can at least see that, by their under-representation in this profes-
sional sub-space dominated by the galleries and market logic, women
visual artists are a priori less likely to be given a status of creative artist at
the same level as men operating in such circles. This confirms the long
observed link between visual artists’ careers and the structural properties
of the field of visual art and, in particular, the domination of galleries in
the latter (see White and White 1965; Giuffre 1999; Gautier 2019),
moreover in an era of globalisation and of specialisation in the cultural
fields leading some authors to speak of a “golden age of intermediaries”
(Jeanpierre and Roueff 2014). Last but not least, from a gender perspec-
tive, artistic fields, often less formal in appearance, seem on the contrary
to be more asymmetrical, since the “control” of the (often male) gate-
keepers and networks regarding profitable positions and possibilities is
“facilitated when criteria and rules are informal or even opaque” (Buscatto
2009, 10). Beyond the formal borders, which have largely been elimi-
nated in this regard, there remain obstacles which are even more sly as
they are “informal, less visible and cumulative at different moments of
the career” (ibid., 8). The situation recalls the observation, more than
35 years ago, by Dominique Pasquier (1983, 422): “the putting away of
women is done all along of their artistic curriculum, from the taking into
account of their vocation to their confrontation with the professional
actors of the market”.
The analyses have also revealed possible Swiss specificities. As stated at
the beginning, visual arts is a field which is classically or strongly linked to
market logics. This is also, and maybe even more strongly, the case in the
Swiss context, where the state historically did not support arts and culture
very strongly (Thévenin and Moeschler 2018), notably visual arts (Jost
1987, 1989). The main reason is the historically rooted Swiss federalism,
in which it is the cantons that formally have the sovereignty, also in cul-
tural matters, the federal state intervening only on a facultative basis and
if the authorities perceive—as it was the case for the “exception culturelle”
of cinema (Moeschler 2011)—that “national interests” are at stake. Further
factors are the adherence of the elites to liberalism, which results in the
subsidiarity principle giving the lead in cultural matter to private initiative
(Walzer 1988), and, last but not least, the will not to favour one of the
three main linguistic-cultural communities in the country (Hauser 2010).
Success in the art market—above all economic success—seems, in
Switzerland, then to be the main indicator of artistic value and individu-
ality. It is among our most invested respondents in this segment of the
professional space that one finds indeed a more important attachment to
the notions of “talent”, “independence” and, moreover, of devotion to
the “love of art”. Whereas in other national contexts such as France
(Dubois 1999; Urfalino 1989) or Norway (Kleppe 2016) it is the state

that appears to be the main guarantor of the autonomy and specificity of
the “disinterested” nature of cultural goods, here it is quite otherwise. As
our analyses have shown, it is the market logic—and above all the domi-
nant gallery system here—and its competition that are the most corre-
lated to artistic independence in the perception of the professionals
themselves. In the end, this result indirectly points to the fundamental
impact of state categories in cultural matters in the ways of representing
oneself and of living as an “artist”, especially at the intermediate and
lower levels of the professional hierarchy (Perrenoud and Bataille 2017)—
be in a somewhat different and specific way, through a state choosing to
let the market be determinant in artists’ living conditions and modalities
of self-representation.
Annex
Table 5.4 Illustrative Variables & modalities N %

modalities
Sex
Male 178 39.7
Female 270 60.3
Diploma
Tertiary 261 58.0
Other 189 42.0
Age
–30 55 12.1
31–40 67 14.7
41–50 90 19.7
51–60 134 29.4
>60 110 24.1
Partner
Works as artist 78 22.7
Works in the cultural field 45 13.1
Works in another field 210 61.0
No partner 11 3.2
Total 457 100
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6
The Art Market: Art’s Incomplete
Mirror—Artistic Action’s Guiding
Principles and Their Consequences
for the Art Market
Linda Dürkop-Henseling
On the issue of the relation between fine arts and the market, this contri-
bution seeks to shed light on the relation between the creative urge—also
known as the artist’s motives for action—and the art market. In this sce-
nario, the art market is considered in terms of its interdependence with
art institutions like museums or art academies. Many artists have a rather
sceptical attitude towards these institutions and the art market in general,
and some artists even go so far as to refuse presenting their artworks
through these channels. Their creative work is not aligned with potential
successes on the art market, though the art market has a huge impact on
the number of sales and on the way artistic works are perceived by differ-
ent recipients, ranging from art collectors to people solely interested in
art. Nowadays, artistic and economic logics are evermore interwoven
with each other (e.g. Neckel 2008, 40). Self-marketing has become a
completely integrated part of the art scene. In this regard, Lutter’s
L. Dürkop-Henseling (*)
Christian-Albrechts University, Kiel, Germany
e-mail: lduerkop@soziologie.uni-kiel.de

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6_6
130 L. Dürkop-Henseling
analysis (2013, 10) stresses the predominance of the winner-takes-all

phenomenon, which also holds true for the artistic labour market. Thus,
the rejective stance of some artists is highly remarkable—especially since
most of them cannot live from their artistic activity alone.
This contribution consequently argues that the art market does not
offer a representative picture of the actually created artworks and shows
that the art market has to be designated as an “incomplete mirror” of art.
The functions of the fine arts are restricted by the fragmented reflection.
Of course, there are other reasons—such as the gallerists’ gatekeeper
function—why some art pieces are presented on the scene and others are
not. However, this contribution focuses on the principles of artistic
action, which reflects artists’ attitudes towards the art market.
The underlying thesis is based on an exploratory investigation carried
out by the author (Dürkop-Henseling 2017). The present contribution
summarises the main findings of the said research and puts them into
context with the art market and the wider art system. In the exploratory
study, 24 visual artists were asked about their motivations, underlying
strategies of artistic action, attitudes towards the art system and about
other fundamental issues related to their artistic work. The sample com-
prised 13 women and 11 men. The interviewees were painters and sculp-
tors. Most of them graduated from art academies, were artistically active
in the city of Hamburg and were unable to make a living from their
artistic work. Only four of them were able to finance their everyday life
through the sales of artworks. The average age was 45, the degree of
prominence laid between somewhat limited reach on the local level and a
rather further range on the regional or supra-regional scale. The respon-
dents’ prominence is limited to the art scene. In fact, many respondents
had been hosting an exhibition or were holding positions in art associa-
tions or unions. However, at the time of the guided interviews, in 2012
and 2013, none of the respondents was considered to be as famous like,
for example, Gerhard Richter.
The analysis was based on Kluge’s stage model typification (1999) and
was supplemented by a structured qualitative content analysis based on
Kuckartz (2012). On the macro-sociological level Niklas Luhmann’s sys-
tems theory was adopted, and on the micro-sociological level the sociol-
ogy of knowledge perspective. The systems theoretical perspective grants
6 The Art Market: Art’s Incomplete Mirror—Artistic Action’s… 131
a wider perspective on the art sector, and allows, for example, to include
artists’ objectives and their educational background into the analysis.
Since attitudes are not explicitly related to the topic at hand, the sociol-
ogy of knowledge perspective is expedient1 and the thoughts of Peter
L. Berger and Thomas Luckmann (1993), presented in their well-known
work The Social Construction of Reality, were drawn on.
This contribution is structured as follows. In order to unfold the the-
matic relevance more precisely, the first section concentrates on the link
between the art market, the artists and their public perception. The art
market plays a role for all artists and yet many reject it accepting that
their visibility is limited or non-existent. The subsequent section illus-
trates the potential consequences of the way artists and their art works are
misrepresented on the art market. In order to achieve an in-depth under-
standing of the underlying issues, the article goes on to shed some light
on how the art system currently presents itself, explores which principles
guide artistic actions, and particularly focuses on the art system and what
their artistic motives are. The conclusion then summarises the results of
the analysis and discusses the potential consequences the incomplete pic-
ture of the actually created artworks has.
The Art Market’s Vital Role for Artists

For a number of reasons, the art market is of major importance for artists.
One reason is how the public perceives them and their works. The public
mostly learns about artists through the media, and the media learns about
them mostly through the art market. Even here, Luhmann’s statement
according to which “[w]hatever we know about our society, or indeed
about the world in which we live, we know through the mass media”
(Luhmann 1996, 9) applies. News about artists often contain extremes,
for example, an artist daring to create something extraordinary or a paint-
ing being sold for millions. An example of an artist’s extraordinary actions
is street art artist Banksy. He opened a hotel in the crisis-shaken Palestinian
city of Bethlehem. The media covered the event by also portraying a
Nevertheless, this contribution refers only in a limited way to the latter perspective.
1
masked Palestinian and an Israeli soldier engaged in a pillow fight (Raddy

2017). However, news items with this type are rare. The majority of news
articles revolve around large sums of money earned on the art market and
highlight the standing of a specific artist. It is admittedly an unequivocal,
oversimplified way to stress both the artist’s impact and standing. Instead
of making statements about an artist’s style, technique, intention, or so-
called message conveyed by the artwork, the media merely cite sales num-
bers. Moreover, it is not only the artwork that lacks an adequate media
portrayal but also the artist’s role itself is still surrounded by myth (e.g.
Feulner 2010). This leaves room for speculations around those who work
in the art field. Here again, sales numbers and the artist’s classification
serve as indicators for their success.2
But it is not just the media which turn to sales numbers to illustrate
the value of artists and their work; the buyers of art also revert to sales
prices to compensate for their lack of experience to gauge the historical
and contemporary value of paintings or sculptures (e.g. Beckert and
Rössel 2004). In fact, both the artwork and the artist’s standing are deter-
mined by experts and institutions undergoing an intersubjective process
of evaluation and awarding reputation. Actors in this process are galler-
ists, curators, critics, art dealers, journalists, collectors or art academies
(ibid.).
Therefore, it seems to be indispensable to investigate to which extent
the perception of an artwork is influenced by these framing conditions
(Stiegler 2015). Parts of these framing conditions are social structural
ones such as artists’ educational background or their institutional embed-
ment within the art system; both aspects are discussed in greater detail in
other chapters of this publication. Since O’Doherty’s Inside the White
Cube (1986),3 it is commonly known that the way art is presented influ-
ences the way art is perceived. In sum, when looking at an artist, we need
to take his or her social environment into account. The example of a
court artist might be illustrative here as they had to care for themselves by
working closely with the gentry (e.g. Warnke 1996). Understanding their
2
See the contributions of Alain Quemin and of Nathalie Moureau in this volume.
3
O’Doherty (1986) discusses how exhibition rooms painted in white create a room in which all
outside phenomena are left out.
art is only possible if you also consider the social circumstances they lived
in. Kaiser and North’s (2017) study reveals the art market’s importance
for artists in art history. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries,
lively trade brought Dutch paintings to Germany and increased the gen-
eral demand for Dutch art. This demand then led to German artists to
manufacture “Dutch” subjects for the German art market (ibid., 16).
Another aspect to be considered is that the art market as a system has
developed over time. Up to the seventeenth century, artists also were the
vendors of both their own and other artists’ artworks, which were pro-
duced for the anonymous art market (ibid., 90). Nowadays, the art mar-
ket is perceived much wider than in former times as it contains galleries
and multiple art institutions.
Returning to the impact of the artist’s social environment on his or her
artistic work, other professional groups and institutions in the art system
are of particular relevance. Becker uses the concept of “art worlds” (see
Becker 2011) by taking up philosopher’s Arthur C. Danto’s notion
(Danko 2012, 64), who initially coined it. For Becker (ibid., 64), the
term labels a group of actors who are part of the creative process. He
emphasises that every piece of art is a joint effort of various actors in
which the individual artist is only one part of the puzzle. Here, Becker
(ibid.) makes a distinction between artists and aides. How these single
actors or organisations are related to and interact with one another is
perceived differently. Following Müller-Jentsch’s definition (2011, 27),
the triad—artist, artwork, and public—is framed by art critics and the art
market. Von Alemann (1997, 220) adds other elements like sponsors,
foundations and cultural policies to the art system. In this respect, it is
not just the art market which impacts the artist’s role but the whole
machinery of galleries, art shows, academies, art criticism, collectors, cul-
tural policies and many more. The media are part of this machinery, too.
In fact, apart from the art market, publicly founded exhibitions for
contemporary art are also important for the artists in the field and equally
serve as platforms for their artistic work. Large exhibitions of modern art,
subsidised with tax money, like the Documenta 14 (e.g. Latimer and
Szymczyk 2017) in Kassel and Athens, are quite popular. According to
Fleck (2013), from a global point of view there are two camps when it
comes to exhibitions: the art market and art institutions like museums
and art fairs on the one hand, and the art curatorial community on the
other. Fleck (ibid., 21) understands the latter as a contrast to the former
because it highlights the fine arts’ political and social functions, which
would be clearly demonstrated at major European exhibitions such as the
Documenta or the Berlin Biennale. Moreover, he suggests (ibid.) that nei-
ther the art market nor the curatorial community is a guarantor for an
artist’s success or fame, and notes that more and more artists are excluded
from the art audience and from access to the art market. Only few artists
succeed in securing high prices for their artworks (ibid., 93).
Hence it is important to consider all actors in the art field. It has to
be borne in mind that every collector, gallerist, art critic, professor, and
others, be it directly or indirectly, relates their work to the art market
(Mejstrik and Melichar 2006, 5). There is one exception, however, and
that is the curatorial community that shapes the publicly founded exhi-
bitions. Overall, the art market appears to play a significant role for
most actors engaging in the art scene, particularly as the market has
gone through processes of differentiation over the years and is no longer
limited to art galleries and fairs.4 It should also be mentioned that even
artists who work closely with the art market do not automatically receive
the art market’s full attention. For example, the investment funds focus
on a very specific artwork form while ignoring other works: “Art invest-
ment funds paint a rather black-and-white picture of the art market.
They typically base their business models on a specific and limited
product—durable, singular art goods (paintings, overwhelmingly),
while practically turning a blind eye to the rest of art production”
(Horowitz 2011, 2).
The link between fine arts and the art market is reflected by taking a
closer look at the gallerists who are responsible for the marketing of art-
works or rather of the artist. They are interested not only in the
4
Artists have always endeavoured to market their artworks on their own (Oberste-Hetbleck 2010,
18) or by collaborating with single gallerists. In any case, today more and more artists use
e-commerce platforms such as eyestorm.com, artspace.com or www.curart.de to distribute their
pieces. But even these platforms do not turn their back on classical institutions of art distribution.
Curart (2017) notes that all artists with whom the platform work with are art academy graduates
and emphasises that, moreover, some of the artists have already managed to make a name for them-
selves among collectors.
promotion of artists but also in the economic benefit of their gallery, and
their business model therefore combines art and profit (e.g. Seegers 2014,
138; Velthuis 2005, 51). In this regard, Bourdieu (1999, 272) pointed
out that it is a gallerist’s function to handle the economic side of art so
that the artists can be perceived as not interested in anything economic.
Von Alemann’s (1997, 218) perspective in regards to gallerists differs
from Bourdieu’s as he sees them following a “certain agenda” and as he
believes that gallerists looking for long-term collaborations with artists do
not necessarily have to be mutually exclusive. It is rather a specific chal-
lenge for gallerists to fulfil this double mission as their professional activ-
ity consists of two logics,5 and Velthuis (2005, 51) summarises: “[the
gallery] is a site where two contradictory logics, those of the art world and
of the economy, conflict”.
Of course, one cannot ignore that in the general perception the close
link between artists and art market is also a result of (and a factor for) the
growing number of artists: statistics of artists’ social security reveal a rapid
growth of the artist population. To give an example, in Germany there
were 18,000 insured artists in 1991, and in 2016 their number had
increased to 64,000 (Künstlersozialkasse 2017). These growing figures
also indicate that more and more artists are competing on the art market
and striving to achieve success. Another example can be found in the
wake of planning a new art fair in Berlin. The online magazine Welt
(2017) reported that Berlin alone has around 6000 artists managed by
gallerists, not counting approximately 6000 more artists that are on the
market without being represented by a gallery.
Taken together, all these aspects lead to the conclusion that the art
market, next to other factors, plays an important role for artists and their
creative urge. And yet there are numerous artists who are not represented
through this channel and who can be described as somewhat “invisible”
to the public. The next section illustrates the resulting consequences
for them.
See also the contribution by Michael Gautier in this volume.

5
rt’s Reduction to the Upper Segment

A
of the Art Market
The immense importance of the art market for the artist is indicated
by both the economic perspective and the public perception. The art-
ist’s professional activity is inevitably associated with the art market, in
particular with regard to museums, art critics, and other art-related
institutions. Moreover, artworks are often contextualised with the
high-priced art market. In that respect, this contribution assumes that
artists who follow a specific guiding principle and consciously deny
collaborations with art market actors and institutions to a large extent
are not represented on the art market and thus do not come into art
collectors’ or the public’s view. They are not perceived as players in the
art system.
This thesis proves to be relevant for two reasons. On the one hand,
artists are considered to be the epitome of creativity6 (e.g. Reckwitz 2012,
10). Creativity basically is of great importance in modern Western societ-
ies, though only few sociological analyses focus on the term and the
underlying conceptual meaning (e.g. Göttlich and Kurt 2012; Florida
2002).7 With regard to the art market as an incomplete mirror of art,
most of the potential that creativity offers is not exploited. Moreover,
according to Florida (2010, 9), artists (and other professions) have the
capacity for ground-breaking ideas which are vital for regional and
municipal developments. Other authors even take the artist’s role as to be
the society’s new ideal type. In their opinion, creativity—which is also
known to have the ability to develop innovative solutions—begins with
surpassing conventions, a pivotal characteristic of artists (Fastert et al.
2011, 12). Furthermore, art can also have an impact on the economy,
which might signify nothing less than innovation (Krause 2013).
Boltanski and Chiapello (1999) even presume that capitalism changed
6
The concept of creativity is defined in different ways. What all definitions have in common, how-
ever, is that “[c]reativity involves thinking that is aimed at producing ideas or products that are rela-
tively novel and that are, in some respect, compelling” (Sternberg 2006, 2).
7
See also Dave O’Brien’s contribution in this volume.
through the integration of what they call the “artist’s critique”. As the
aforementioned concepts of creativity and innovation exemplified, not
only progressive effects are attributed to art, but art is also reflexive.
Through art as a medium, society has the chance to reflect upon itself. In
short, art can be seen as a mirror of modern societies (Schwietring 2010,
224). That is why artwork without any credentials is also a missed chance
for reflection.
Besides these rather abstract creativity concepts, other aspects that also
play an important role are innovation and reflection as well as the labour
market. Art as part of the labour market is recording a heavy increase
(Haak 2008, 244). Every artist is facing the challenge to deal with both
the creative urge and the galleries or other relevant institutions. While the
latter have become attractive workplaces for art-interested people, access
barriers like academic degrees from art academies or the importance of
good relations with museums or gallerists are increasingly relevant.
Luhmann announced in his book Art as a Social System (1995) the emer-
gence of the art system as a functional system. From Luhmann’s perspec-
tive, art can be understood as an autonomous system mainly concerned
with itself. Indeed, before the fifteenth century, artistic production was
considered as a craft that was only used for representative purposes of the
church or the gentry. But since then artistic production has increasingly
been characterised by the ideas of the individual artist and has aimed at
reaching a broader audience. This development became possible through
changing production conditions: the autonomous art system evolved.
According to Luhmann, this development began during the second half
of the eighteenth century (Luhmann 2008, 118), as well as the establish-
ment of academies, art critics, museums, art associations, and, also, the
art market.
However, in recent years one can observe that art has begun to be
reduced to the upper art market segment. Taking a more differentiated
look, the art system will help to understand this process better. In the
next section the differentiated art system will be illustrated with the
help of a graphic and with a typology of guiding principles of artis-
tic action.
F rom a General to a Professionalised

Art System
In illustrating the differentiated art system, Fig. 6.1 is based on theoreti-
cal considerations and empirical data gained from the 24 interviews with
artists in an explorative study.8
Professionalised art system

Formation Mediation Acquisition
context context context*
Artists with Publishers e.g., Art

academic education Galleries associations
(predominant) Art Trades
Museums
Works of art
Exhibitions
(strong framing)
Art market / Art critics / Educational institutions /

Artist groups / Artist associations
(weak framing)
Formation Mediation Acquisition

context context context*
Artists Exhibitions Art reception
without university without without
degree** artistical context*** institutional
Off-galleries framing
Works of art
Selfpromotion
of artists
* The context of acquisition ranges from the mere consideration of an artwork over the
intensive discourse with an artwork to its purchase. Art-interested people or buyers
(such as collectors or museums) can be found here.
** Artists with an university degree can also be found in this context of formation.
*** Exhibitions without artistical context can take place in libraries or offices for example.
Fig. 6.1 The differentiated art system
For a more detailed figure, see Dürkop-Henseling (2017).

8
When talking about the autonomous art system, one has to consider
that the system has undergone internal differentiation. This process is
linked to an inequitable distribution of professional and economic oppor-
tunities, especially for artists. The general art system has little restrictions,
but also little professional and economic opportunities. Access to the pro-
fessional art system is more demanding but at the same time promises
more career opportunities.
Assuming that the art system is divided in two parts, the lower dashed
framing stands for both the recipient’s and the artist’s easy access to the
art system. As the profession of an artist does not require a job-specific
training, the formation context mainly (but not exclusively) includes art-
ists without an academic education. The same applies to the mediation
context including self-promotion and various exhibition formats that do
not match classic gallery concepts, for example, libraries or other public
facilities. Accordingly, no requirements need to be met in the acquisition
context. The reception of artwork takes place in various exhibition for-
mats or media portrayals without presupposing art association enrol-
ments, a degree in art or additional literature for the artwork. In sum, the
whole content in the lower dashed framing represents the general
art system.
The three terms—formation, mediation and acquisition context—are
borrowed from Smudits et al. (2014, 151). These terms are not related to
any theoretical conception underlying this contribution. They are rather
used to structure the artistic field in order to analyse it by taking different
theoretical perspectives. They are supposed to underline the wide range of
phenomena with respect to artwork’s production, distribution and recep-
tion, which goes beyond conventional ideas.
Institutions such as the art market or educational establishments are
found in the middle part of Fig. 6.1. The difficulty is to gain access to the
profession. For example, enrolment in art academies is tied to a specific
graduation. Even memberships in art or professional associations are not
easily granted. According to Thurn (1997, 117), art traders and curators
fall into the category of “gatekeepers”. These gatekeepers have a huge
influence on an artist’s career. They not only determine the validity of the
artwork but also demand artists to play their role and behave in a
professional manner during public events (ibid.). Due to a lack of trans-

parency in the scene, numerous other actors in the art field take on the
gatekeeper role. “Because of its subjective nature and the fact that the
quality of art is not directly quantifiable, art experts and critics play a
significant role in spreading information in the market and making nor-
mative assessments of artists and the work that they produce”, McAndrew
(2010, 14) summarises.
The art market, educational institutions and other institutions have a
relatively low impact on the general, freely accessible art system. Here this
is conveyed by the label “weak framing”.
The professionalised art system is situated in the upper part of Fig. 6.1.
The solid line indicates that artists have to fulfil certain requirements to
be granted access to this system. As a result, the number of artists with
academic education and an academic degree predominates in the forma-
tion context. But access is hampered by the fact that the institutions
located in the middle of Fig. 6.1 have a strong impact on the profession-
alised art system (i.e. strong framing), especially when compared to their
weak influence on the general art system. Indeed, galleries and museums
mainly work with artists who have an academic background. In this
regard, the label “professionalised art system” is closely related to the term
profession.9 This contribution relies on Mieg’s (2003) concept of profes-
sion and Dürkop-Henseling’s (2017) findings that professionalisation
trends exist in the art system if aspects of academisation, professional
associations and the conviction that reflection is a major element of art
are considered.
This first figure is not only a simplified illustration of the art sys-
tem but can also serve as an analytical tool. The mere discussion
about the concept of art already unfolds empirical difficulties of out-
lining the boundaries between the general and the professionalised
art system. This is where Luhmann’s systems theoretical perspective
proves to be important, and referring to his approach offers two
9
The German term profession has a slightly different connotation than the English definition of
“professionals”, where the term “professions” includes professional groups with high levels of
autonomy (Mieg 2003, 11).
advantages. The first advantage is that it covers an extensive range of

artists and that the field of art is considered to be an autonomous
subsystem of society. Moreover, the systems theoretical perspective
asks whether the binary coding of a system is used, thus either
enabling or hampering meaningful follow-up communication
(Luhmann 1995, 85). According to Luhmann, we can talk about art
when innovative or simply alternative principles of order are revealed
through any kind of artistic work. The artist only plays a subordinate
role because systems consist of communication and artworks serve as
communication tools (e.g. Luhmann 1984). However, if the focus is
on the artwork, all the people involved in the production of artwork
are considered. The question is not whether one has an academic
education but rather whether one can continue the communication
within the system with one’s artwork.
The second advantage lies in the system’s differentiation. Luhmann
(1984, 37) anticipates that every single system is able to undergo pro-
cesses of differentiation whereby subsystems arise. All institutions and
actors in the art system presented in Fig. 6.1 basically contribute to art’s
functions even though they act in various subsystems so that communi-
cation takes place within the different subsystems. Thus, it is possible to
talk about the art system as a whole; the art system as a whole is com-
posed of various subsystems to which institutions or actors can be assigned
to. An exhibition in a small municipal library also belongs to the art sys-
tem, although gallerists or art critics might not recognise it. Unnoticed
exhibitions are part of the art system, but they are not necessarily part of
the art market.
This section stresses that the art market is only a small part of the art
system. However, it is of particular relevance for the professionalised art
subsystem since it frames it even more than the general art system.
According to the respondents of our field study, the art market prefers to
rely on artists who belong to the professionalised art system, and specifi-
cally on those with an academic education. For example, gallery owners
recruit new artists by attending end-of-semester exhibitions at art colleges
(Seegers 2014, 142). In addition, it can be assumed that there is a back-
and-forth influence between the professionalised art system and the gen-
eral art system.
uiding Principles of Artistic Action

G
in the Differentiated Art System
The assumption that not every artist aims at acting in the professionalised
art system is backed by the illustration of the differentiated art system in
the foregoing section. Despite the art system being evermore differenti-
ated, all artists participate in the system as a whole and can be assigned to
one of the two subsystems, namely the general art system or the profes-
sionalised art system.10 Thus, the art market is not necessarily decisive or
even relevant for every single artist: a closer look at the guiding principles
of artists reveals that artistic action is much more differentiated and by far
not only guided by the objective to achieve success on the art market.
The guiding principles in the following subsections do not only refer
to artists’ attitudes towards the professionalised art system but also to the
basic motives of artistic action in general. An artist’s work is, among other
things, influenced by fundamental attitudes, values, and objectives.11
rtistic Work Between Creative Urge and Pursuit

A
of Recognition
Through the interviews conducted with the artists, it became clear that
the fundamental motivation of artistic action can be situated between
two extremes. This is reflected by the x-axis of Fig. 6.2, which relates to
the profound sense of the artist’s action. One extreme indicates that the
artist’s action aims at achieving a positive outcome in either a material
way or in his or her requirement of self-knowledge. Overarching issues
are not in his or her focus (Dürkop-Henseling 2017, 211). The other
extreme of the x-axis suggests that the artist located there is interested in
issues regarding general societal challenges and crises and that he or she
addresses them. Their focus is not on themselves but on social criticism
regardless of their own celebrity.
10
It has to be kept in mind that an artist can act in the professionalised and general art system at
the same time.
11
The guiding principles of artistic action refer to attitudes towards the art system, the art term, and
so forth, but they do not reflect the respondents’ position within the art system.
High
Pragmatic- Critical-
professional professional
Pursuit of artist artist
recognition
in the pro-
fessionalised
art system
Pragmatic Critical
artist artist
Low
Profound sense of action
Feedback, success Social criticism
Implementation Art as a
of a gift mouthpiece
Fig. 6.2 Leading concepts of artistic actions in the art system
Overall, Weber’s methodological concept of the “ideal-typical

approach” comes into effect (Kaesler 1995, 229). The ideal type is not a
hypothesis but rather a heuristic device to allocate empirical data to an
(imagined) ideal context. Thereby an ideal type is a construction—
derived from reality and repeatedly re-evaluated by reality (ibid., 234).
The y-axis in Fig. 6.2 shows which endeavours interviewees have
undertaken to achieve recognition in the professionalised art subsystem.
The appreciation can be expressed in artworks’ sales numbers through the
responsible gallerist but also through the permission to participate in
museum exhibitions, art associations or by becoming a jury member in a
competition (Dürkop-Henseling 2017, 211). This pursuit of recognition
can range from low to high efforts: some artists undertake very strong,
some only very little efforts to find recognition in the professionalised art
system. The y-axis thus reflects the typology’s derivations and the func-
tional aspects, which will be explained next.
As soon as the interviewees or other artists start with their artistic pro-
duction, especially when they exhibit their pieces of art, they are related
to the differentiated art system—whether they like it or not. Presuming
the system’s internal differentiation into a professionalised and a general
subsystem, artists need to decide which subsystem they want to belong
to. But before going into detail, it has to be noted that the typology’s deri-
vation originates from the structured interviews already mentioned. The
evolutionary process of the typology cannot be outlined here. However,
one main aspect needs to be addressed in order to go into the typology’s
comprehensive explanation: the understanding of the art term differs
between the respondents and has an impact on their respective selection
of art’s functional criteria. The understanding of the art term was specifi-
cally targeted in the interviews and yielded two main aspects: it reinforces
the creative urge, and it is a reason why artists strive for recognition
within the professionalised art system.
While some artists refer to a broader definition and conceptual mean-
ing of art and therefore consider all products designated as art by others
as artworks, other artists employ a more critical understanding of the
term and consider social criticism and reflection to be the main functions
of art. They deny that pieces created for decoration or entertainment
purposes can be regarded as artworks. Both conceptions of the term are
closely related to the different motivations of artistic action. If the artist
is mainly concerned with his or her own artistic act, his or her under-
standing of the art concept is only of secondary importance. Art serves its
purpose; the way others perceive art is subordinated because the artist is
interested neither in the fundamental issues of art nor in the relations
between society and art. To give an example, artist E states that: “I look
at everything without judging because it is extremely difficult to come up
with an idea and implement it. And sometimes it works out and some-
times it doesn’t. Not everything suits everybody’s taste. So, I would never
say ‘What’s this, what did they do?’” But if the artistic work is primarily
used to reflect societal problems, the respondents apparently employ a
critical understanding of the art term. This is confirmed by artist F who

regards only few works as true pieces of art. She criticises that art as a
term is used in an inflationary way: even kindergartners create so-to-say
art. “Essentially, there is not much left I consider as art. For me, art is
about philosophy and human’s basic needs to find themselves in it. This
has little, if anything, to do with beautiful pictures on a wall. It’s much
more complex. Nowadays, everything is considered to be art, even chil-
dren in kindergarten make art.”
The interviews show that the art market does not have the same mean-
ing for every single artist. Their attitude towards the art market is influ-
enced by their respective understanding of art as a concept and their
different links to the professionalised art system. As Fig. 6.1 demon-
strates, the art market and the professionalised art system are more closely
related to each other than the art market and the general art system.
Artists undertaking lower efforts to establish themselves in the profes-
sionalised art system also undertake fewer endeavours to be represented
on the art market. Why this is the case is discussed in the next section.
From Pragmatic to Critical Attitudes: A Typology
The typical characteristics of artistic action’s guiding principles are pre-

sented along the dimensions motives for action, goals, and strategies, as
well as the connection to the art system.
The Pragmatic Artist: Exploiting a Gift
An artist whose work follows the guiding principle of the pragmatic artist
pursues the primary objective to create his or her own piece of art. His or
her artwork reflects his or her creative urge and artistic talent. Though the
results take priority, he or she gives hope to positive feedback in form of
studio sales or general resonance. Sales or feedback in general do not
represent his or her primarily objective and motivation for artistic action.
But it is also possible that he or she equally emphasises self-knowledge.
The artists guided by this principle are basically looking for recognition
or rather positive feedback of the general art market or even the public.
The creative urge is pragmatically used in the sense that somebody has a
talent and employs it for multiple purposes. Those artists are not neces-
sarily striving for success. They feel either neutral or sceptical towards the
professionalised art system. There is little connection between them and
the underlying strategies. They have only infrequent contact to gallerists
or irregularly participate in local group exhibitions. This stance also indi-
cates that those artists’ strategy sometimes displays entrepreneurship, and
that some of them engage in networking.
An artist with this kind of ideals has a broader understanding of art.
Therefore, he or she is more likely to label a wider range of pieces as “art”.
Closely related to his or her broader understanding, he or she assumes
that art has a wider range of functions. Often artists derive their inspira-
tion from their environment. Other artists are regarded in a critical (dis-
tinctive) manner (Dürkop-Henseling 2017, 212).
To give an example, the painter Lynette Yiadom-Boakye (1977–) can
be categorised as an artist who works with the guiding principle of the
pragmatic artist (Dürkop-Henseling 2017, 250).12 Although her art-
works are quite successful and are sold at high prices, her link to the
professionalised art system is merely a pragmatic one. According to her,
everything has to be related to something else. But this is not relevant to
Lynette Yiadom-Boakye as she only paints for her own sake. She admits
that she is still prepared to fail as an artist. In this case she would go to
look for another job. Her pragmatism is shown by the fact that she also
works as an author, which indicates that she does not solely want to be
seen as a visual artist.
e Pragmatic-Professional Artist: Recognition

Th
as a “Real” Artist
An artist who follows the guiding principle of a pragmatic-professional

artist wants his or her artistic talent to be recognised and their artwork
should reflect their artistic ability. They want to be recognised as “real”
Lynette Yiadom-Boakye was not interviewed in our field study.

12
artists in contrast to those who are guided by pragmatic principles. They

expect that their artworks create feedback. In the best case, they sell their
art within the professionalised art system and their artworks display their
creative phases and mark their growth as an artist. Similar to the first
type, the inner creative urge is guided by the artist’s desire to exploit their
talent. Here, the label pragmatic-professional is also linked to the idea that
somebody has a gift and uses it. Considering the elaborations in section
“From a General to a Professionalised Art System”, being professional
indicates a certain level of expertise and the desire to become a part of the
professionalised art subsystem. They try to reach recognition within this
system and seek to take advantage of close contacts to institutions such as
galleries, museums and art associations that might distribute their art-
works. Those artists are aware of the opportunities offered by the profes-
sionalised art system, even though they have a rather critical attitude
towards this subsystem. Furthermore, their overall strategy shows com-
mitment and long-term orientated entrepreneurship while constantly
maintaining networks.
Artists who work with this guiding principle interpret art in a wider
sense with a comparable wide range of functions. For them an artwork is
easily considered as a product, and they derive their inspiration from the
environment. Since success guides the artistic action in the profession-
alised art system, other artists are regarded as competitors and perceived
in a critical (distinctive) manner (Dürkop-Henseling 2017, 213).
Andy Warhol (1928–1987) can be characterised as a pragmatic-
professional artist as he worked his whole life for the embodiment of a
specific image (Mancoff 2010). His ability to present himself was one
reason for his success, while “Warhol never gave up his early ambitions to
be recognized as a fine artist rather than a purely commercial one” (Lucie-
Smith 2009, 314).
e Critical-Professional Artist: Offer Criticism Within

Th
the Profession
An artist whose work is influenced by the guiding principle of the critical-

professional type seeks—similar to the pragmatic-professional
artist—recognition as an artist. Contrary to the other guiding principles

explained before, the critical-professional artist focuses on the reflection
or rather critique of society instead of him- or herself. His or her artworks
are rather “means to an end” to initiate discourse and critique than merely
products for the art market. Even though he or she also aims at achieving
recognition in the professionalised art system and looks for a way to get
into it, he or she regards the system in a critical way. In order to shape or
follow the art discourse, the critical-professional artist engages in art
institutions, in art associations or off-galleries. Their own success is not
the ultimate motive. The artist has a certain interest in achieving the
power to shape art’s discourse. The implementation of critical thoughts
and questions is at the core of their creative urge. Art in this sense func-
tions as a mouthpiece. The label “critical-professional” is chosen because
it relates to the reflecting on, and criticising of, society, but also implies
the desire to belong to the professionalised art subsystem.
The strategy of critical-professional artists includes little to no entre-
preneurship, but the maintenance of networks is important. Those artists
have a rather critical understanding of art. That’s why the range of art’s
functions is more limited in comparison to the guiding principles pre-
sented before. Artworks are only partially considered as goods. Their
inspiration through the environment in terms of ideas, creations or con-
ditions plays a minor role within the creative process. Critical-professional
artists have mixed feelings about their colleagues in the system. They
meet other artists in both collegial and competing ways (Dürkop-
Henseling 2017, 214).
The artist Ai Weiwei is a good example as he is known as a popular
opponent of the Chinese government, while he also engages in the pro-
fessionalised art scene (Rauterberg 2013, 144). His works always have
strong artistic and political or social implications.
The Critical Artist: Offer Criticism with Art
The primary objective of the artist who works by the guiding principal of
a critical artist is to reflect on or rather criticise society, whereas his or her
own role is of minor importance. He or she does not strive for
recognition as he or she assesses the art system in a very critical manner.

What both the critical and the critical-professional artist have in com-
mon is their belief that art is a means to an end rather than a value in
itself. Therefore, the creative process is very important for this type of
artist. Similar to the critical-professional artist, the creative urge of the
critical artist manifests itself in implementation of critical thoughts and
issues. Art is, again, employed as a mouthpiece. The label critical refers to
the reflection on, or, rather, critique of, society. To some extent the strat-
egy of the critical artist focuses on upholding networks, while entrepre-
neurship is not a part of his or her approach.
Critical artists use a narrow definition of the art term, which results in
a narrow perception of art’s functions. They refrain from characterising
art as a product, and within the creative process, material artefacts of any
kind play almost no role for the artists’ inspiration. Other artists are seen
as part of the discourse and not as competitors (Dürkop-Henseling
2017, 215).
The graffiti artist Banksy (Reinecke 2012, 47) can be characterised as a
critical artist. He worked without any references to galleries, museums or
other art institutions for a long time. But meanwhile, his pieces of art are
represented on the art market.
ragmatic and Critical Guiding Principles

P
and the Art Market
To support the thesis that many artists do not aim at becoming a part of
the art market and therefore do not receive proper recognition from
experts or the public, it is crucial to look especially at the guiding prin-
ciples of the pragmatic and the critical artist.
Of course, the pragmatic artist wants to earn money and does not
object to selling his or her works. This type of artist also embraces feed-
back from different parts of society, ranging from neighbourhoods and
communities to articles in the regional or national press. Moreover, infor-
mation about his or her current artwork is often displayed on the artist’s
own website. This is when differences to the pragmatic-professional artist
come to the fore as the pragmatic artist is not interested in discussions
and events at art clubs, professional associations or political events. He or

she sometimes takes part in joint exhibitions but only because he or she
feels forced to. In addition, they only cooperate with gallerists if doing so
does not restrict their creative urge.
Due to the attitude towards art as a product which serves as a mouth-
piece for societal critique and reflection, the critical artist is rarely repre-
sented on the art market, but instead on exhibitions such as the
Documenta.
Labelling their pieces of art as sales products would only negate their
notion of art. This scepticism is additionally illustrated in the artist’s atti-
tude towards the professionalised art system and its institutions.
Admittedly this sounds rather paradoxical given the fact that these insti-
tutions pave the way to reach out to the public. But it is exactly this
interpretation and reflection by the media which the critical artists want
to prevent. They aim at focusing on the whole process when the creative
urge develops into an art piece. Here the centre of attention is not the
artwork itself, but the process of reflection with the help of the creative
process.
Joint exhibitions with other artists are implemented to improve, or at
least enable, generating an income. Nevertheless, waiving financial and
institutional inclusion is more likely to be accepted than putting a limit
to the creative process.
Conclusion
This contribution aimed at shedding light onto the relation between art-
ists’ motives for action and the art market and revealed that the guiding
principles of artistic actions show that the art market does not necessarily
represent the totality of today’s artworks.
The main consequences on the non-representative picture of artists on
the art market were summarised in section “Art’s Reduction to the Upper
Segment of the Art Market”. It became obvious that art entails several
potentials for society such as creativity, innovation and reflection.
Although public exhibitions like the Documenta cater to art’s reflective
function, artworks not represented on the art market can also fulfil those
functions. The question therefore remains just how well artworks not
represented on the art market can be characterised as being reflective.
The professionalised art system is also affected by external influences.
Alexander (2018), for example, refers to the entrepreneurial impact on
the art system. She (ibid., 32) stresses that “[i]n addition to a focus on the
marketable, arts institutions have moved from more elitist und scholarly
aims to more populist and managerial ones, with more explicit agendas
for inclusiveness and building audiences […] and more accountability
through setting and meeting of targets and engaging in strategic and
financial planning”.
Additional aspects stemming from the non-representation of some art-
ists on the art market as well as further thoughts are presented in the
following. To start with the aspect of reception, an artwork which is
brought to attention without any interpretation by gallerists, museum
directors or leaders of art associations is perceived as “unprotected”. To
what extend the recipient reacts to this perception without any “pre-
interpretation” is quite interesting as the exhibited artwork might not be
recognised as art at all. Howard S. Becker has drawn attention to existing
conventions in “art worlds”, which are anticipated by the public (Becker
1997, 30). Accordingly, it is expected that art is exhibited in museums or
galleries and not in unconventional places or exhibition rooms. This
could lead to the impression that a visual artist’s success is only possible
through his or her presentation on the (high-priced) art market. It is
often assumed that participating on the art market is a precondition for
an artist’s success. Other marketing strategies or fields of activity (such as
consultants in companies) are not taken into consideration. This could
lead to this field becoming less attractive for future artists.
But a closer look at artists who do not strive for success on the art
market—while still seeking feedback—reveals that art is also exhibited in
unconventional places such as semi-public locations (e.g. libraries, medi-
cal practices or restaurants), public buildings (e.g. administrations or
courts) and empty shop windows. Thus, the exhibition of their artworks
takes place in the general art system. The general art system enables a low-
threshold artistic reception. The broader public can access these exhibi-
tion places more easily than galleries or art fairs. By using alternative
channels, artists make their art visible for many on the local level.
However, there is a risk that reception might be limited, as men-

tioned before.
Certainly, it has to be seen that artists who work with the guiding
principles of a pragmatic artist sometimes avoid the public spotlight and
do not aim to reach a greater audience or even the people on the local
level. Thom (2017) finds evidence for this behaviour. In his research on
the commercial motivation of artists he categorises and describes the so-
called Bohemian Fine Artist who prefers to subsist on various jobs and
any kind of financial benefits instead of successfully marketing or pub-
lishing his or her pieces of art (ibid., 5).13
Referring to the thesis that the art market is only an incomplete mirror
of art, off-galleries raise awareness because they only aim at exhibiting
artworks and reject the idea of profit-making. They do not adhere to
strict conditions of access and offer a chance for artists and their audience
to communicate.
Artists whose priority is not to strive for the art market often engage in
uncommon collaborations, for example, collaborating with companies.
Sandberg (2016, 24) detected that some artists temporally engage in
mini think tanks of large enterprises, contribute to a company’s corporate
identity or are involved in human resources and organisational develop-
ment processes. These artists are collaborating service providers who are
not interested in a critical discussion with the economy. They are rather
looking for synergies and want to exploit interdependencies (ibid., 26).
But to what extent this also holds true for the artists who follow the guid-
ing principles of critical artists remains questionable. In addition, there
are other social spheres where cooperation with artists exists. Bertram
(2017, 13) termed the expression art transfer to describe this phenome-
non. Artistic thinking and acting are deliberately exploited while pro-
cesses of artistic action are influenced by transdisciplinary entanglements
at the same time.
This contribution reveals the importance of the art market for the art-
ist while also indicating that the art market does not offer a complete
13
It has to be considered that comparisons with other typologies can be problematic as the categori-
sation often follows different theoretical approaches. Thom (2017) distinguishes between four
types of artists (“Amateur Artists”, “Bohemian Artists”, “Salaried Fine Art Employees”, and
“Business Artists”) and demonstrates the role of art regarding the livelihood.
overview of all of the actually created artworks. This can—among oth-

ers—be traced back to the fact that an artist’s representation on the art
market is closely related to his or her respective guiding principle. In
order to be able to generate a more complete picture of art, it therefore
might be worth considering shifting our focus to the general art system.
This might very well allow us to get a deeper understanding of art’s role
in today’s society, its formation, mediation and acquisition contexts.
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u.a.: University Press.
Stiegler, Bernd. 2015. Theorien der Literatur- und Kulturwissenschaften: Eine
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Commercial Motivations. London South Bank University. Abstract
Working Paper.
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Online Resources
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Part III
The Economy of Idiosyncrasy:
Art Dealers and the
Commodification of Individuality
7
When Market Promotes Individuality:
Arts in Early Modern Japan
from the Macrosociological Perspective
Takemitsu Morikawa
In this chapter, I will investigate the relation between the arts and the
market as viewed through the theory of sociocultural evolution by Niklas
Luhmann. The art of ukiyo-e in early modern Japan, namely during the
so-called Tokugawa period, will be used as a historical case study. It is
widely recognised that in those days, the arts in Japan were considerably
less oriented towards aristocratic patrons as sponsors, but more towards
the market. This tendency can be ascertained especially with the world-
famous ukiyo-e wood prints. If we follow the changes and developments
in ukiyo-e, we are likely to observe the influence of the market as an insti-
tution for the universal inclusion of individuals into functional systems
over a very long time, corresponding with the c. 250-year span of the
Tokugawa period.
For this purpose, firstly, I will present the model of sociocultural evolu-
tion by Niklas Luhmann. In this model, the development of communica-
tion technology plays an intermediary role between the co-evolution of
T. Morikawa (*)
Keio University, Tokyo, Japan
e-mail: morikawa@flet.keio.ac.jp

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6_7
160 T. Morikawa
the semantics, on the one hand, and of the societal structure, on the
other. In order to clarify his difficult concept of semantics and its back-
ground in the intellectual history, in section “Semantics, Media, and
Structure: The Mechanism of the Sociocultural Evolution” I will briefly
refer to the cultural philosophy of Ernst Cassirer. Then, in section
“Meaning of the Printing Techniques for the Sociocultural Evolution”, I
will discuss the meaning of communication technology in general, and
especially of the printing techniques, for the co-evolution of societal
structure and semantics. In section “Background: Printing Technique
and Publishing Business in Early Modern Japan”, I will point out that
ukiyo-e was oriented towards the market, which implies that the art audi-
ence in general and the specific role it played for the modern art system
emerged over time, and that their opinions had a growing influence on
art production. In section “Individualisation in ukiyo-e Arts”, I will
observe changes in the art of ukiyo-e with some famous, representative
works as examples. Finally, in section “Conclusion”, I will sum up the
effects of the market on the arts over long periods of time. Through the
communication of arts beyond the borders of feudal status groups and
those between political domains of feudal lords (han), the market made
the participation of the wider population possible. We will observe an
emblematic yet surprising example of individualisation and innovation in
art works. That means a) technical progress, especially changes from
mono colour printings to multi-colour printings, b) continuous emer-
gence of new genres and c) increasing interest in the secular world and
individuals.
emantics, Media, and Structure:

S
The Mechanism of the Sociocultural Evolution
Ever since Ernst Cassirer and his The Philosophy of Symbolic Forms, the
humanities and cultural philosophy have recognised that none of the
human forms of expression—language, myth, art, and science—are sim-
ply (after-)images of reality, but autonomous symbolic systems produced
by the human “mind” [or “spirit”; in German: Geist]. They exhibit their
7 When Market Promotes Individuality: Arts in Early Modern… 161
own structures, logics, regularities and dynamics to us. Symbolic systems

produce symbolic signs or images, though the types of images in question
here are not those “which reproduce a self-subsistent world of ‘things’;
they are image-worlds whose principle and origin are to be sought in an
autonomous creation of the mind. Through them alone we see what we
call ‘reality’, and in them alone we possess it: for the highest objective
truth that is accessible to the spirit is ultimately the form of its own activ-
ity” (Cassirer 1953, 111, 2001 [1923], 45f.).1
Representation of reality by symbols does not mean simple reproduc-
tion of the external reality, but rather “the expression of an ideal rule,
which connects the present, given particular with the whole, and com-
bines the two in an intellectual synthesis, then we have in “representa-
tion” no mere subsequent determination, but a constitutive condition of
all experience. Without this apparent representation, there would also be
no presentation, no immediately present content; for this latter only
exists for knowledge in so far as it is brought into a system of relations,
that give it spatial and temporal as well as conceptual determinateness”
(Cassirer 2003, 284, 2000 [1910], 306).
Media for representation—images, signs—play the role of the univer-
sal for each particular. For “the sign, in contrast to the actual flow of the
particular contents of consciousness, has a definite ideal meaning, which
endures as such. It is not, like the simple given sensation, an isolated par-
ticular, occurring but once, but persists as the representative of a totality,
as an aggregate of potential contents, beside which it stands as a first
‘universal’” (Cassirer 1953, 89, 2001 [1923], 20).
All cultures exist as a totality of symbolic systems and “all culture is
manifested in the creation of specific image-worlds, of specific symbolic
forms” (Cassirer 1953, 113, 2001 [1923], 49). Hence, the humanities
(cultural sciences) broadly construed see it as their task “to understand
and to show how every content of culture, in so far as it is more than a
mere isolated content, in so far as it is grounded in a universal principle
of form, presupposes an original act of the human spirit” (Cassirer 1953,
80, 2001 [1923], 9).
1
Because of the importance of his works, I always refer to Ernst Cassirer not only in English transla-
tion but also in the German originals.
162 T. Morikawa
Cassirer anticipated here the modern constructivist understanding of

the relationship between reality and media (media-reality), according to
which media-reality is not a mechanism of reproduction but instead rep-
resents “an independent process of ‘reality construction’” (Keppler 2005,
95). Symbolic systems provide means of description and expression so
that subjective experiences can be articulated in forms that can be shared
and understood intersubjectively. Accordingly, they show us the limit to
possibilities—to possible experiences, possible perspectives for observa-
tion and description and possible behavioural repertoires—at particular
times and in particular places.
Symbolic representation and social praxis stand in the relation of a
hermeneutic circle. “It is only in the reciprocal movement between the
‘representing’ and the ‘represented’ that a knowledge of the ego and of
objects, ideal as well as real, can arise” (Cassirer 1957, 203, 2002 [1929],
232). Later, following Cassirer’s argument, Gottfried Boehm’s theory of
images describes this relationship of representation as follows:
The realisation dawns that images are not that which many still believe
them to be—something post facto that, when it comes down to it, one
skims past reality without consequence like a mirror—but are instead a
power capable of shaping our access to the world in advance and hence
deciding the way in which we see it and, ultimately, what the world ‘is’.
Someone who is able to see it differently is certainly as close to it as some-
one who changes their concepts. (Boehm 2007, 14)2
In sociology, Erving Goffman (1979, 1981) brought this relationship

between symbolic representation in media and social practices back into
the foreground, refocusing attention on symbols’ function of revealing
and limiting future possibilities. Human forms of expression such as
music, painting, theatre, cinema, TV dramas, comics—which I shall here
refer to as “media for representation”—are not mere (after-)images of
social reality; rather, these symbolic systems function as a template (a pre-
image) and serve to reveal and limit future possibilities for everyday activ-
ity, offering orienting values. Media representation of behaviour draws
All quotes from works not published in English have been translated by me.
2
persistently on a behavioural repertoire of figures present in practical con-

sciousness on an everyday basis. Without prior knowledge of or prior
access to the behavioural repertoire in representational media (seman-
tics), no understanding of objectified cultures and of the behaviour of
others would be possible. Fictional sentences like “God created the world
in seven days” and “Odin built Valhalla” are comprehensible to readers
despite lacking any counterpart in reality only because and insofar as
readers are able to understand concepts like “create” and “build” as a
behavioural repertoire. “This drawing on a repertoire of forms of behav-
iour that is available in everyday life is also necessary to guarantee the
comprehension of external spectators” (Lenz 2006, 126). Media repre-
sentation creates awareness of that which, although objectively possible
beforehand—depending on the state of technical and practical knowl-
edge which applies in the particular case—is not (yet) consciously
regarded as possible by standard actors.
The novel combinations of symbols must be tested in fictions and
become evident and plausible in the eyes of the audience (cf. Luhmann
1997, 539, 548, 2012a, 326, 331). Works of art, broadly construed—
including fictional narratives, films, TV dramas, comics, video games
and so on—continue to be a suitable arena for conducting thought-
experiments with respect to novel ideas. If the novel nexuses of ideas
(semantics) acquire plausibility as templates for behaviour, they will be
able to spread. Accordingly, ordinary conduct is “in a sense […] an imita-
tion of the proprieties, a gesture at the exemplary forms, and the primal
realisation of these ideals belongs more to make-believe than to reality”
(Goffman 1986 [1974], 562, 2000 [1980], 604). Although Goffman
(1986 [1974], 2000 [1980]) himself only worked on visual media such
as film and photographs, his thesis also applies to all other media for
representation. Media influence how people speak, dress, present them-
selves and act. While it is difficult to determine how an individual TV
show or film influences an individual action, it can generally be said that
fictional media for representation remain a key medium of encultura-
tion (cf. Mai and Winter 2006b, 8). In the sense specified here, fictions
also embody “the dreams of an era that are able to oppose the dominant
ideology and in a certain respect deconstruct it” (Mai and Winter 2006b,
9; cf. also Luhmann 1997, 536ff., 2012a, 324ff.).
164 T. Morikawa
Niklas Luhmann’s theory of semantics follows this tradition (Hahn

1981; Morikawa 2014, 2015, 2016). Its novelty lies in the fact that he
combines the evolution of the symbolical nexus of representation that he
calls “semantics”, on the one hand, and differentiations of society on the
macro level, on the other.3 Social semantics cannot “be conceived of sim-
ply as a cause of socio-structural changes, but nor can it be conceived of
simply as their effect”: it contributes in a far more complex fashion to the
“evolutionary changes in the structure of society” (Luhmann 2008, 56f.).
Following Reinhart Koselleck’s template for historical semantics (cf.
1972), Luhmann sees an emergent order of social change in knowledge
itself and takes as his starting point the idea that the evolution of a seman-
tics structures and differentiates social processes through changes in sym-
bolical nexus. His semantic analysis (cf. Luhmann 1980, 1982, 1989,
1995, 1998) and theory of differentiation (Luhmann 1997, 609ff.,
2012b, 10ff.) support each other.
It is important to note here that the concept of semantics should not
be limited to the meanings of words because meaning (Sinn) is defined
independently of language in Luhmann’s theory. Meaning is defined as
the unit of difference between possibilities and reality, or, to put it briefly,
it is the nexus between possibilities and reality that is valid intersubjec-
tively. As a result, it is possible to widen the concept of semantics in the
direction of the inclusion of meaning in pictures and visuals, as Cornelia
Bohn proposes with the concept of “visual semantics” (Bohn 2012, 2017).4
Luhmann (1980, 1982, 1989, 1995, 1998) studied the following
related phenomena in the transition to a modern, functionally differenti-
ated society. Firstly, he analysed the transition of societal differentiation
from a segmentary form to a stratificatory one and then a functional one:
in a pre-modern society with stratificatory differentiation, the key dimen-
sion of difference is above/below and society is structured hierarchically.
In contrast, Luhmann characterises modern society as a functionally
3
Luhmann’s contribution here consists in linking the lifeworld structure to the socio-theoretical
typology of differentiation, on the one hand, and the development of communication technology
(dissemination media), on the other, thus showing that the model of a lifeworld with a clear reli-
gious centre has only limited validity.
4
In this sense of visual semantics, Luhmann’s concept of semantics comes near to the “noema” in
the terminology of Husserl. Cf. Husserl 1992 (1913).
differentiated society in which each functional system (politics, economy,

science, law, the family, etc.) must fulfil its own task. Reinhart Koselleck’s
“saddle period” hypothesis corresponds to the socio-theoretical model of
society’s transition from stratificatory to functional differentiation
(Koselleck 1972). Secondly, Luhmann studied the changes in the rela-
tionship between society and individuality, that is, the transition from
inclusive to exclusive individuality, meaning that an individual in mod-
ern society is no longer totally included in a single subsystem such as a
social status group, a village community, or the like; rather, inclusion cuts
across the communications of different functional systems. In modernity,
individuality as a unity can be produced by extra-societal means
(Luhmann 1989, 158; Bohn 2006, 55f.). In this chapter, I will show that
this kind of “qualitative individualism” (Simmel 1995 [1901]) emerged
in the cultural and art history in early modern Japan.
eaning of the Printing Techniques

M
for the Sociocultural Evolution
Within this theoretical framework, the technical development of dissem-
ination media plays a transmitting role between the evolution of seman-
tics and the evolution of societal differentiation. The introduction of
writing, the spread of printing and the invention of new dissemination
media up to and including the most recent form, the Internet, have
always led to upheavals in society. According to Luhmann, a trend can be
identified in the evolution of dissemination media—from the invention
of writing up to modern electronic media (Luhmann 1997, 312, 2012a,
206; cf. also Giddens 1996, 85, 100). In other words, the technical devel-
opment of dissemination media contributes to the formation of a func-
tionally differentiated society. There are two general tendencies to be seen
for the evolution of society with the development of communication and
media techniques. The first one is the transformation of the societal order.
The more the communication and media techniques develop, the more
the societal order changes from hierarchical to functional and horizontal
orders. The implementation of book printing and the book market in the
166 T. Morikawa
early modern age prepared the emergence of the modern society.

Secondarily, it has increasingly overcome spatial distances and societal
barriers. The old borders between segmentary units like clans, tribes, or
kinships and stratificatory units like status groups lose their meanings.
Book printing contributed to the decline of such old authorities as
religion and politics in the production and distribution of knowledge.
After the translation of the Bible and its subsequent distribution, the
Catholic Church lost its monopolised power of the interpretation of the
Bible and its intellectual dominance. Political and religious authorities
were not able to censor all publications. A similar cat-and-mouse game
between the political authorities on the one side and authors and pub-
lishers on the other was to be seen in the Japanese early modern age (from
c. 1600 until 1867) as a whole (Kornicki 1998, 324–352; Suwa 1978,
149 f.; for a comparison with early modern France, cf. Smith 1994,
344 ff.)
After the implementation of book printing and of a book market, the
script and the book were no longer the expression of the holy eternal
order created by God that the people should study repeatedly and inten-
sively. With the increasing occurrence of book publishing (and increasing
information), on the one hand, and the increased free time caused by
enhanced productivity, on the other hand, the custom of reading changed
from intensive to extensive reading. More and more people read new
publications only once and read the same books less repeatedly. Moreover,
the existence of the book market accelerates individualisation in knowl-
edge production and distribution in a double sense: firstly, in the acquisi-
tion of knowledge, and secondly, a divergence is now attributed to
individuals as innovation. If something is well known, but someone
doesn’t know that his ignorance is attributable to himself, it means that
he has not read enough, and that he lacks an education (Luhmann 1997,
297–298, 2012a, 177–178). The divergence in the text that can be inter-
preted now not as a violation but as an innovation is attributed to an
individual author or an individual group of authors. Authors should be
innovative and unique in order to attract the attention of the audience
and to survive in the tough competition. In order to be read, texts must
be “interesting”. The book market increases the power of the audience. In
Europe, the Earl of Shaftesbury pointed out in the late eighteenth
century: “In our Days the Audience makes the Poet; and the Bookseller
the Author” (Shaftesbury 1773, 264; capitals in the original). The form
in which a text will be written and sold depends on the opinions and
tastes of the audience, which are subject to change. It follows that the
market pulls them towards continuous innovation because of the enforced
mechanism towards continuous distinction (Bourdieu 1984 [1979]).
Fictional writings like novels and poetry belong to the arts in the wider
sense. They obviously follow the mechanism of the market and media as
sketched earlier. In this chapter, I assume that the same mechanism exists
between other kinds of artists and art markets as that between book
authors and market.
ackground: Printing Technique

B
and Publishing Business in Early Modern Japan
In this section, I refer to the development of printing techniques and the
publishing business in early modern Japan.5 In a theoretical sense, their
development is important in the transition to the modern functionally
differentiated society and the emergence of the autonomous function sys-
tems, including the art system. Drawing on the historical context of
ukiyo-e art in early modern Japan, I point out, firstly, that some types of
ukiyo-e printing emerged as illustrations for popular writings, like so-
called ukiyo-zôshi, as well as later kibyôshi, ninjôbon, and others. Secondly,
ukiyo-e and popular books were enabled by the development of the same
techniques of publishing. Thirdly, the audience for ukiyo-e printing
almost completely matched the readers of the popular writings of the
same time. Finally, it was publishers who promoted and sold ukiyo-e
prints. Publishers and their networks mediated between art and artists’
5
In English, Kornicki (1998) provides an overview of the cultural-historical background of the
book and publishing sector in pre-modern Japan. A juxtaposition of publishing and reading habits
in Japan and the French Ancien régime can be found in Smith (1994). For the situation of historical
media research from the early modern period to the twentieth century in Japan, also see Kanro
(2005) and further literature. In English, Moriya (1990) provides a good overview of the informa-
tion network in early modern Japan.
168 T. Morikawa
workshops on the one side and the audience on the other side and con-
nected them.
Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s6 failed conquering expedition against Korea
from 1592 to 1598 (Imjin War) brought the Japanese into contact with
the new book printing technique (cf. Konta 2009 [1977], 12–13).7 With
the help of the new typography techniques from Korea, the Japanese
made print versions of a variety of traditional texts from poetry and prose
texts to Buddhist and Confucian writings. Until the middle of the seven-
teenth century, however, printed books sold exclusively within the nar-
row circle of samurai, court aristocracy (kuge), priests, doctors and
merchants. In general, each edition reached a maximum of 100 copies. A
market-oriented publishing business emerged in Japan for the first time
in Kyoto8 during the Kan´ei years (1624–1644).9 At that time, printing,
publishing and distribution activities were typically combined in a single
house (cf. Suzuki 1980, 44; Suwa 1978, 51f.). From a cultural-historical
point of view, two highlights are particularly striking in the Edo period;
the first occurred in the second half of the seventeenth century (especially
between 1688 and 1704), while the second cultural-historical peak took
place in the first half of the nineteenth century until about 1840. The two
epochs are referred to in regnal years as the Genroku era and Bunka/Bunsei
era (often abbreviated as the Kasei era). The permanent establishment of
such a publishing business occurred in the Genroku era (1688–1704) (cf.
Suzuki 1980a, 119). Simultaneously with the establishment of the pub-
lishing houses, reading for entertainment purposes (extensive reading)
gradually prevailed (Nagatomo 1982, 167–168; Nagatomo 2010).
A book catalogue that gives an overview of all printing works was first
published in Japan in 1666. It was aimed at publishers, carried 2589 titles
and can be seen as evidence for the commercialisation of literature in
progress. The total number of titles increased in the following years to
6
Japanese names are written in the original order (first family name, then given name) in this
chapter.
7
For this cf. Turnbull (2002).
8
Until the seventeenth century, Kyoto was considered as Japan’s cultural centre (cf. Moriya
1990, 114f.).
9
Almost simultaneously, Jesuits began to print Japanese texts and other texts using the typographic
technique. The corresponding scriptures are called kirishitan ban. Cf. Kornicki (1998, 125ff.).
3866 titles in 1670 and 5934 titles in 1685. In the catalogue-edition of

1692 the number of registered works was already 7181 (cf. Nagatomo
1982, 10).10
The printing press, which was limited to typography, was practised
until the 1620s, and then it was replaced by woodblock printing around
1626 (cf. Konta 2009 [1977], 35). This alleged technical regression is due
to the increase in printed circulation and the resulting market pressure.
Publishers had to be able to react more flexibly to the demand of the
reading public and, if necessary, to put further editions of a popular text
into print in a timely manner. Due to the peculiarities of the Japanese
writing system, the use of wooden panels proved to be more practical
than the ever-new typographic composition of the texts.
Konta (2009 [1977]) identifies the following text genres, which can be
assigned to favourite book titles that went to press during the Kan’ei years
(1624–1644)11: (1) Buddhist texts, including their commentaries (the
printing of these texts, which had previously been carried out in temples,
was now taken over by secular publishers who sold the texts commer-
cially—this example shows how the dissemination of religious content
gradually slipped from religious authority); (2) classic Japanese prose and
poetry collections12; (3) classical Chinese literature, which includes not
only the older and newer Confucian texts such as Four Books and Five
Classics, but also chronologies and fiction on Chinese history as well as
works of practical knowledge like medical, administrative, arithmetic,
and astronomical books. Customers of these three genres were mainly the
well-educated “upper classes”. In addition, classical literature, for which
no authors’ fees accrued, was one of the major sources of revenue for the
10
Smith assumes an average of 1000 new titles a year just before the Meiji Restoration. By compari-
son, in France, just before the outbreak of the revolution, there were about 1500 new titles a year
(cf. Smith 1994, 335f.).
11
Also see Nagatomo (2010).
12
For this, the Genji Monogatari (History of Prince Genji), which was created at the beginning of the
eleventh century, can be cited in a representative manner. Further examples of this genre are
Tsurezuregusa (essays, written in the fourteenth century), Heike Monogatari (history of the war
between two clans towards the end of the twelfth century, written in the thirteenth century),
Taiheiki (history of the fall of the first and the founding of the second Shôgunate and the interven-
ing civil war, written in the fourteenth century), Ise Monogatari (narratives and poems of poets
Ariwara no Narihira, originated around the middle of the tenth century) and Yamato Monogatari
(collection of narratives and poems, written in the middle of the tenth century).
170 T. Morikawa
publishers (cf. May 1992, 25). Two other genres are (4) dramas and nar-
ratives that popularise Buddhist teachings (kojôrui and sekkyô seibon) and
(5) a new form of entertainment literature, kanazôshi, which helped to
increase the popularity of leisure-time reading and thus effectively helped
to cope with increasing leisure contingency.13 Works of this genre were
not addressed to the upper classes, but to the commoners with a much
lower educational level.
The writing system of the Japanese language consists of two different
systems: logograms (kanji) borrowed from the Chinese and Japanese
original syllabary (hiragana and katakana). Kanazôshi writings forewent
logogram either completely or made sparing use of this system to make
the content more accessible to people with lower educational attainment.
In this way, the new genre contributed to the popularisation of new,
extensive reading habits and the emergence of the reading society. Their
contents covered a wide range, from essays to fictional writings and travel
descriptions. From 1652 to 1673, 223 kanazôshi books were published
(cf. Konta 2009 [1977], 41). But still, not enough profit could be made.
Konta points out that no publisher could live only from the sale of
kanazôshi writings (cf. Konta 2009 [1977], 42f.). Only the emergence of
the genre of ukiyo zôshi enabled the entertainment literature to reach
economic breakthrough.14
Another major source of revenue for publishers was the subgenre of
guidebook literature, often found under the name chôhôki.15 It provided
knowledge about practical everyday life and ritual acts as well as moral
usage and virtuous behaviour. This example shows that at that time the
mediation and reproduction of social knowledge took place more and
more in the form of written rather than verbal communication (cf. Bohn
2006, 127–158). Communication no longer required the physical pres-
ence of the participants in the conversation. Thus, social communication
13
For kanazôshi, cf. May (1974). For a detailed overview of the literary genres of the Edo period, cf.
Keene (1976) and May (1995).
14
The genre-establishing text is Kōshoku ichidai otoko. Already within the first 20 years after the
publication of this influential text 200 titles—so-called kôshoku mono—were published, which
belong to the genre of ukiyo zôshi (cf. Konta 2009 [1977], 67).
15
Cf., e.g., Sôden (1993); May (1992, 24); Nagatomo (2010, 144 f ). For the modernity of the
genre of advisory literature, cf. Heimerdinger (2008) and Messerli (2010).
overcame the limits of any segmentary and stratificatory subsystems.

Ronald Dore (1992 [1965], 296) summarises this situation: “Citizens of
Edo could read novels written in Osaka; they might even occasionally
receive letters from distant cousins in far-off rural areas.”16
The spread of the custom of extensive reading was helped by commer-
cial book lenders. Networks of publishers and commercial book lenders
mediated between audiences and authors. Critiques and opinions of the
audiences were fed back to authors. We can regard this circuit via a func-
tioning book market as a reflective mechanism of the society. With the
feedback mechanism, some publishers led and promoted arts, culture
and science in early modern Japan. A famous example of a culture-
promoting publisher was Tsutaya Jûzaburô (1750–1797).17 He estab-
lished his company with Yoshiwara saiken (guidebook for the
pleasure-district in Edo-Yoshiwara) and dramas with Tomimoto songs
that were in vogue (cf. Kuramoto 1997, 36f.; Konta 2009 [1977],
142–143). With a new genre of entertainment literature, kibyôshi, often
with a politically satirical slant, he promoted entertainment literature
too. Examples include Bunbu nidô mangoku tôshi (1788) by Hôseidô
Kisanji (1734–1813) and Ômugaeshi bunbu no futamich (1789) by
Koikawa Harumachi (1744–1798). The latter published also kyôka
(“crazy poems”) in a new repertoire in poetry. Kyôka emerged as a new
genre of parodic poetry and language play, which had enjoyed popularity
since the mid-eighteenth century and was characterised by satirical ele-
ments and an ironic sense of humour. Tsutaya used to organise several
salons that served as meeting places for writers, poets, artisans and artists
(painters).18 This circle included such famous writers and poets as Santô
Kyôden (1761–1816), Koikawa Harumachi (1744–1789), Ôta Nanpo
(1749–1823, also known as Yomo no Akara or Shoku Sanjin) and—not
to forget—Juppensha Ikku (1765–1831). However, Tsutaya’s greatest
16
This change in the form of communication is also reflected in the advent of ôrai mono—sample
letters for various practical purposes (cf. Nagatomo 2010, 132f.).
17
For further examples, cf. Kornicki (1998), 207ff; Tsuji (1980 [1915]), 256f., 280f.
18
Those days, a number of salons and clubs were organised for intellectuals, writers, poets, artists
and so on beyond the borders between status groups and feudal states inside of Japan. A famous
salon of intellectuals was held by Kimura Kenkadô (1736–1802) in Ôsaka (Nakamura 2000).
There were publishing houses for academic and scientific books such as the Suharaya group (Konta
2009, 120–136).
172 T. Morikawa
achievement in Japanese cultural and art history was the promotion and
publication of ukiyo-e prints by Kitagawa Utamaro (1753–1806) and
Tôshûsai Sharaku, whom I will mention in the next section.
Individualisation in ukiyo-e Arts

In the following I will show four representative pictures of ukiyo-e print
graphics. As I wrote in the last section, the Genroku-era is the first peak
of the cultural development in early modern Japan. The genre ukiyo-e
emerged at that time. The word ukiyo has its origins in the Buddhist con-
text. Until the sixteenth century, the word was given the kanji charac-
ters「憂き世」 and referred to this worldly and suffering world, which
faces the afterlife as a paradise freed from suffering. This meaning can be
traced back to the twelfth century. At the beginning of the seventeenth
century, the word experienced a positive change and became secularised.
It has been marked with kanji characters「浮世」. Usually translated as
“floating world”, ukiyo points out that the order and “to be so” of reality
do not exist forever in this world. The change of connotation in the con-
cept shows that the citizens of Edo were more and more conscious of the
contingency of the world at that time. In addition to that, the word ukiyo
expressed—in contrast to that of earlier times—the temporality of the
present. Other idioms are associated with ukiyo: Ukiyo-uta meant “songs
in vogue”, ukiyo-odori meant the “modish dance” and ukiyo-dôfu referred
to a new kind of tôfu that was sold as a product on the market. At last,
ukiyo-e originally had the meaning “pictures of the contemporaries”.
Hishikawa Moronobu’s (1618–1694) “After a Tune” 「低唱の後」 ( ) is
a good example of the early works in the genre. Moronobu, famous for
“Mikaeri bijin”, is recognised as a founder of the genre ukiyo-e. His “After
a Tune” (Fig. 7.1) was originally an illustration for a book. The flushed
cheeks of the figures indicate their act, and an instrument like a guitar
symbolised their rendezvous. However, the figures play only a typified
role in a patterned situation. We find little sign of the individuality of
figures (Fig. 7.2).
Over the course of time, artists became more and more interested in
the real world and the people there, especially townspeople. They focused
Fig. 7.1 Hishikawa, Moronobu. “After a Tune” (「低唱の後」), ca. 1673–81, in the
collection of Keio University Libraries
increasingly on unique incidents and persons, not patterned situations.

O-Sen was a favourite model for painters and graphic artists in the 1760s.
A painting by Suzuki Harunobu (c. 1725–1770) (“Tea-stall of Osen”:
pic. 2) is a representative example showing her. The greatest and most
innovative merit by Harunobu lies in the fact that he introduced mul-
ticolour publishing to ukiyo-e art. This new technique won a great accep-
tance by the audience of those days and drove out the familiar black and
white format. Illustrators and painters signed or stamped their name on
their work for the authorisation. However, we can see not only the name
of the illustrators but also the name of the models, which is evidence for
the increasing interest in unique individuals and their individuality
(Fig. 7.3).
The general tendency is quite clear: in the later works, we can see a
greater interest in individuality. From the end of the eighteenth century
174 T. Morikawa
Fig. 7.2 Suzuki, Harunobu. “Tea-stall of O-Sen” (「おせん茶屋」), ca. 1764–1772,

in the collection of Tobacco and Salt Museum in Tokyo
into the beginning of the so-called Kasei-era, the interest in individuality

was enforced. This tendency is also visible in the facial expressions of the
figures which increasingly show individual features and internal emo-
tional moves. Today, Kitagawa Utamaro (1753–1806) is recognised as
the representative artist not only for the Kasei-era but also for ukiyo-e sui
generis. He was one of the painters promoted by Tsutaya mentioned ear-
lier. His work “Eight Views of Famous Teahouse Beauties: The Beauty
Okita Looking into a Mirror” (「名所腰掛八景鏡」 ca. 1800–1806) is
Fig. 7.3 Kitagawa, Utamaro. “Eight Views of Famous Teahouse Beauties: The
Beauty Okita Looking into a Mirror” 「 ( 名所腰掛八景鏡」), ca. 1800–1806, in the
collection of Keio University Libraries
a good example of this development of increasing interest in individuality

(pic. 3). In the print, Okita is looking into her hand mirror. The audience
can ask themselves what she is thinking or what is bothering her.
Not only famous young girls but also actors of Kabuki Theatre were
beloved motifs in those days. The exaggerated individual personality was
to be seen especially in works by Tôshûsai Sharaku19 (Fig. 7.4). His pic-
tures were promoted by the publisher Tsutaya.
Here without life data. For as is well known, Sharaku was an anonymous painter, and scholars can
19
only guess who he really was until now.

176 T. Morikawa
Fig. 7.4 Tôshû-sai Sharaku. “The Actor Ôtani Oniji as Edobei” (「三代目大谷鬼次
の江戸兵衛」), 1794, in the collection of Tokyo National Museum
Conclusion
How can the market have an effect on the arts over the long run? The
secularisation of art is uncontroversial as an observation. With the exam-
ple of changes in ukiyo-e art during the early modern period of Japan that
lasted for 250 years, we can conclude that it evokes not only technical
innovation but also individualisation. The latter is to be understood in a
double sense: individualisation of artists and greater interest in individual
personalities as motifs for art.
The arrival of the printing technique and emergence of a market for

books and printed pictures enabled the participation of the wider popu-
lation in the communication on arts beyond the barriers of status groups
and old, locational geographical as well as political borders between the
territories of feudal lords.20 These conditions contributed to the emer-
gence of the “art audience” as a social role for a modern functional system
of arts and a feedback mechanism from the audience to the artists.21
Because the publishers were oriented to the market at that time, the art-
ists were compelled to react to the critiques, opinions and changing tastes
of the audience as swiftly as possible to survive in the established market.
They had to distinguish themselves from others and continuously make
themselves more visible in the market competition. They had always to
make innovations—either in technique or in aesthetics—otherwise they
would be labelled “boring”, which meant the death sentence for the art-
ists. Here we can see the emergence of the functional system of art that
operates according to its own code of “innovative/boring” (Plumpe and
Werber 1993, 30ff.; Luhmann 2000). Faced with the competition for
distinction and survival on the market, it was only a question of time that
the artists would discover the “inside” of individuals as an unlimited rich
source insofar as it is considered to be non-transparent and unlimitedly
various.
This process of individualisation—of increasing interest in individual
personalities (Einzigartigkeit des Individuums)—also took place in central
Europe, especially in the age of romanticism with the transition of societ-
ies towards functional differentiation (Luhmann 1982, 1989, 1997,
1998, 2012a, 2012b). However, we can assume a similar emergence pro-
cess of “qualitative individualism” (Simmel) may have occurred in early
modern Japan insofar as we have looked back at the history and the socio-
structural conditions of ukiyo-e paintings.
20
See in the central European context Wittmann (2011).
21
It is worth noting here that the coloured pictures of ukiyo-e by wood printing were cheap enough
so that commoners could enjoy them. The price of a colour print picture was only 20 mon, little
more than a bowl of noodle soup which cost 16 mon.
178 T. Morikawa
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8
The Art Market Facing New
Connoisseurship: The Reception
of Pieter Brueghel the Younger
at Auction
Anne-Sophie Radermecker
Introduction
Over the past decades, the market for European Old Master Paintings1
has experienced significant shifts caused by the globalisation of the art
trade,2 and major advances in art history (McAndrew 2016). Corollary to
the art market boom that occurred in the 1970s and 1980s (Wood 1997),
the development of the so-called “new connoisseurship”, based on the use
of scientific technologies to authenticate old paintings, has led to an
1
Artists born before 1821 or 1875, depending on auction glossaries.
2
According to Velthuis (2015), the globalisation of the art trade has been caused by the appearance
of new buyers from countries like China and Russia developing an interest in art, both old and new,
and emerging countries entering the art market. The author also points out that diversification in
terms of artistic production and buyers’ behaviours are the main consequences of this process.
A.-S. Radermecker (*)

Université Libre de Bruxelles, Brussels, Belgium
e-mail: Anne-Sophie.Radermecker@ulb.be

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6_8
184 A.-S. Radermecker
in-depth reassessment of a traditional connoisseurship––for which the

authentication process mainly consists in giving names to anonymous
paintings (Alpers 1988, 2)––and a better understanding of the inner
workings of artists’ studios as collective enterprises. More importantly,
new connoisseurship has significantly challenged the view that art histo-
rians long had on authorship,3 and the belief that each painting is neces-
sarily executed by one single hand (e.g. Van de Wetering 1992; Guichard
2010; Tummers 2011). New connoisseurship now assumes that the
search for the artist’s hand is virtually anachronistic, especially for six-
teenth- and seventeenth-century paintings, and that large-scale produc-
tion prevents scholars from concluding on one definitive name. As a
consequence, greater attention has been paid by scholars and academics
to non-autograph paintings, and workshop outputs in particular (e.g.
Faries 2006; Ainsworth 2017), whose artistic interest has since been
acknowledged by the scientific field, despite the fact that the identity of
the author remains unknown.
As gatekeepers of the art market, and key intermediaries between the
supply (sellers) and demand (buyers) sides, auction houses are particu-
larly concerned with authenticity issues,4 especially because the market
value of art is strongly determined by authorship (Friedländer 1942, 180;
Grampp 1989; Onofri 2009; Renneboog and Spaenjers 2013). Salesrooms
have to deal with thousands of works of art that need to be authenticated
before being auctioned, in order to avoid financial and legal damages
(Bandle 2016). Facing these new scientific and economic conditions,
salesrooms had to adapt their policies to reduce information asymmetry
and to uphold their reputation, especially since price indexes and easy
access to scholarly information have made the public more knowledge-
able, and art experts are more inclined to travel across the world to
authenticate pieces of art (Hope 2005, 207). In the light of these muta-
tions, it is reasonable to wonder whether or not the epistemic shift that
occurred in the academic field has affected the art market. According to a
3
According to Cambridge Dictionary, ‘authenticity’ and ‘authorship’ are defined as “the quality of
being real or true”, “the state of fact of being the person who wrote a particular book, article, play”.
Cf. Cambridge Dictionary [online: https://dictionary.cambridge.org). Page accessed on 7 July 2018.
4
Auction houses, or salesrooms, are companies that run auctions. Many of them are specialised in
the sales of artworks.
8 The Art Market Facing New Connoisseurship: The Reception… 185
Bourdieusian perspective, the segment of old masters is at the crossroad

of two subfields related to the art field in the broader sense, namely,
academia and the art market (Bourdieu 1992, 1994). Although each of
them has its own finality––the study and the sale of art, respectively––
both subfields share common interests in the works of art. From a socio-
logical point of view, the close connections that link both the scientific
field (art historians, scholars, academics, experts, curators, scientists,
restorers) and the art market (buyers, sellers, salesrooms, dealers) have
been investigated by Moulin (1992), who argues that scholars proceed to
the legitimation of art, while actors of the market play a crucial role in the
revision of cultural values and buyers’ preferences. Reciprocal interac-
tions between these actors are thus necessary to contribute to the renewal
of artistic values.
Interestingly, concrete evidence of these interactions can be detected in
the promotional discourse of major salesrooms. This is notably the case of
Christie’s that explicitly claims its academic positioning on its online
website:
Christie’s beautifully illustrated, in-depth and scholarly catalogues pro-
vide comprehensive and meticulously researched information, indispens-
able to both new and established collectors. Christie’s prides itself on
producing the most academic and visually stimulating catalogues in the
auction business, and we invite you to explore these publications.5
In the light of this statement, and since new connoisseurship can be
viewed as an intellectual emancipation from a nineteenth-century vision
of the artist as an individual genius, the natural assumption is that the art
market has been responsive to this new scholarship. Because of the strong
interactions that occur between academia and the art market, we may
expect that salesrooms have acknowledged the artistic merit and market
potential of non-autograph works such as copies and studio outputs, and
are now more inclined to value and promote these art pieces, long con-
sidered secondary. Such a behaviour would be in accordance with their
academic ambitions, and this assumption is relevant from a market point
of view, since Milgrom and Webber (1982) affirm that auction houses
5

Source: [en ligne] http://catalogues.christies.com/christies-shop/ProductList.aspx?sId=28.
(Accessed online on 23 October 2017).
need to provide reliable information to buyers in order to make profit. It

is, however, necessary to stress that the aim of this chapter is not to argue
in favour of a causal effect; both the academic field and the art market are
indeed autonomous fields of struggle that cannot be directly and totally
influenced by exogenous factors. However, the symbolic struggles
between actors over considerations from peripheral fields––such as the
value given to authorship––are questionable and analysable. In other
words, we seek to analyse the ability of salesrooms to adjust their posi-
tioning to academic advances, and create new market behaviours that
may be revealing of new perception of early modern art. The detection of
such behaviours is made possible since views on art are usually shared by
a large community of people, as a consequence of social conformism in a
particular historical setting (Fehr and Hoff 2011).
To explore this issue, prices are considered as indicators of consumers’
preferences (Reitlinger 1961), following the assumption that individual
preferences are shaped by social interactions, and expressed in the mon-
etary valuation of art for sale (Lyna 2012, 68). The current study focuses
on the market reception of Pieter Brueghel the Younger’s paintings at
auction,6 which offers a relevant analytical framework. Pieter Brueghel
the Younger (c. 1564–1637/38) is indeed known for his extensive work
made of copies after his renowned father Pieter Bruegel (1525/30–1569),
before being himself copied by anonymous followers. In the third-quarter
of the sixteenth century, the master launched his own workshop and ini-
tiated a new system of labour division in order to meet the increasing
demand for Brueghelian pictures and to compensate for the scarcity of
original paintings by his father. One consequence of this innovative sys-
tem of standardisation, commodification, and economisation of art is
that a great deal of pictures of variable quality––directly or indirectly
related to his name through various attribution qualifiers––are still traded
on regular basis. Through a specific case study, the chapter brings new
empirical evidence about how auction houses and purchasers perceive
and deal with the key notion of authorship. While scholars are increas-
ingly questioning the involvement of early modern masters in their own
6
Unlike art dealers, salesrooms publicly provide auction results, which can be used as empiri-
cal data.
works, I find evidence that salesrooms continue to feed the need for auto-
graph paintings. By focusing on the artist’s name and his most p
rototypical
compositions, salerooms maintain the public in a relatively outdated sys-
tem of thoughts that reinforces information asymmetry and implicitly
determines the purchaser’s buying decision.
The chapter is organised as follows. Section “Attributing Early Flemish
Painting: From Traditional Connoisseurship to New Connoisseurship”
briefly traces back the evolution of connoisseurship throughout the twen-
tieth century, with a special focus on Flemish masters, and Pieter Brueghel
the Younger in particular. Section “Methodology” brings some necessary
elements of methodology to investigate both the supply and demand
sides of the market for Brueghel’s paintings. In section “Empirical Results
and Discussion”, empirical results are discussed. We first focus on the
supply side and discourse strategies employed by salesrooms to promote
authorship. Second, we examine the demand side by analysing the buy-
ers’ willingness to pay for autograph and non-autograph paintings, in
applying a hedonic regression analysis on a data set containing 733 auc-
tion transactions to capture the value conferred to each attribution quali-
fier. Conclusions are drawn in the last section.
ttributing Early Flemish Painting:

A
From Traditional Connoisseurship
to New Connoisseurship
By definition, connoisseurship is the ability to ascribe anonymous pic-
tures to a name, in identifying the master’s own stylistic characteristics
(O’Connor 2004; Brainerd 2007). Traditional connoisseurship is mainly
based on the eye’s experience and a long-time acquaintance with paint-
ings of one or several artists. More specifically, the expert’s modus operandi
relies on comparative iconographic, stylistic and material analyses that
allow to characterise the artist’s individual maniera. Among these three
comparative methods, stylistic evidence––resulting from the critics of
style––is considered the most determinant factor in the authentication
process (Jahn 1943; Fincham 2017).
Art connoisseurship finds its origins in the late eighteenth century,

before gaining legitimacy and becoming an autonomous science in the
nineteenth century, under the leadership of Giovanni Morelli (Tummers
2011, 23–69). Autography rapidly became a crucial issue in the art world,
since giving names to anonymous, and often unsigned, paintings was
already an elementary prerequisite to conduct scientific research. The
increasing importance given by connoisseurs to the artist’s name, corol-
lary to the advent of the Romantic movement, largely contributed to
shaping the stereotype of the Saturnian artist as an individual genius,
whose virtue materialises in his artistic gesture.
It is specifically in the first half of the twentieth century that traditional
connoisseurship reached its climax, due to the activity of great experts,
such as Bernard Berenson (1865–1959), and the intense practice of
attributing paintings. Knowledge of early Flemish art would have never
taken such magnitude without the role played by connoisseur Max Jakob
Friedländer (1867–1958) who authenticated, for the first time, hundreds
of paintings executed by Flemish masters. The publication of his fourteen-
volume book Die Altniederländische Malerei (1924–1937), richly docu-
mented and illustrated for comparison purposes, durably affected the art
world, and the foundations laid by the expert have allowed the next gen-
erations of art historians to carry on his legacy and critically reinterpret
his work in the light of new art history research.
Traditional connoisseurship was progressively reconsidered after new
scientific technologies have gradually been applied to the study of paint-
ings. X-ray and infrared photography, as well as dendrochronological and
pigment analyses, have notably improved the authentication process,
with greater attention paid to underdrawings and minor stylistic charac-
teristics that make the idiom of every artist unique. These scientific tools
have also led to a better understanding of the copying process and work-
shop labour division, with two major consequences. On the one hand,
attributions have become more accurate and reliable but, on the other
hand, a lot of presumed genuine paintings have been reattributed and
assigned to assistants or followers, with financial and symbolic damages
for the owners (Ainsworth 2005). In 1968, the Rembrandt Research
Project (RRP)––a new connoisseurship-oriented project—was conducted
to reassess the extensive body of works attributed to the Dutch master
and differentiate genuine from non-genuine pictures, with the help of
scientific technologies (Talley 1989; Grasman 1999; Liedtke 2004; Van

de Wetering 2008). Since then, the workshop inner-workings of several
southern and northern artists have been subject to similar research (e.g.
Leeflang 2004/05; Faries 2006). In this revisionist context, Pieter
Brueghel the Younger was no exception, and his whole work was recently
subject to an in-depth reassessment. In 2000, Klaus Ertz, a German inde-
pendent art historian and expert, published the first catalogue raisonné
entirely dedicated to the artist. Based on a traditional connoisseurship
approach, the two-volume book records more than 1500 pictures and
provides new attributions sorted in three distinct categories: “autograph”
(Echt), “doubtful” (Fraglich) and “rejected” (Abzuschreiben) pictures (see
Ertz 1998/2000). A couple of years later, an international research proj-
ect dedicated to the Brueghel family and based on a new connoisseurship
approach was launched by two art historians specialised in the scientific
examination of paintings. The aim of this project was to reconsider the
creative process of Pieter Bruegel the Elder through the copying practices
of the Younger, and eventually re-examine the work of the father, in the
light of his son’s copies (Currie and Allart 2012). Based on several in-
depth case studies, this major contribution insists on the complexity of
the authentication process and provides appropriate methods to accu-
rately attribute paintings in the twenty-first century. Long disregarded by
scholarship, copies are now in the limelight of art historians who have
acknowledged their artistic and historical importance. In this respect,
several scholars (Gombert and Martens 2007; Henderiks 2016) strongly
encourage the academic field to keep taking a critical view of autography,
especially when dealing with early Flemish masters.
Christie’s and Sotheby’s first obvious attempt to conform to new con-
noisseurship in the late 1970s is the use of a new system of attribution,
no longer based on names,7 but on a scale of authenticity made of seven
7
Christie’s and Sotheby’s used to employ a specific attribution system, based on the name of the
artist. When the last name of the artist was only mentioned in the note (e.g. RUBENS), the work
was, in their opinion, executed by a member of the school of the artist, by one of his followers or
in his style. When the initial of the first name was followed by the last name (e.g. P.-P. RUBENS),
then the work was of the period of the artist and may be in whole or in part the work of the artist.
When the note mentioned both names (PETER PAUL RUBENS), then the work was executed by
the artist himself. Cf. unpublished document consulted at Christie’s archive (London, July 2017).
We are grateful to Lynda McLeod for sharing this document.
attribution qualifiers, for which authenticity is gradually decreasing.

Although the meaning of each attribution can slightly differ from one
auction glossary to another, they can be summarised as follows8:
“By”: a lot without specific attribution qualifier is, in

their opinion, a work by the artist;
“Attributed to”: probably a work by the artist in whole or in
part but with less certainty;
“Studio/workshop of ”: a work executed by an unknown hand in the
studio of the artist that may or may not have
been executed under the artist’s direction;
“Circle of ”: a work by an as yet unidentified but distinct
hand, closely associated with the named artist
but not necessarily his pupil;
“Follower of ”: a work by a painter working in the artist’s style,
contemporary or nearly contemporary but not
necessarily his pupil;
“Manner of ”: concerns work executed in the style of the artist
but of a later date;
“After”: a copy of any date of a work of the artist
This sophisticated scale of authenticity aims at better informing pur-

chasers about the proper nature of the goods put up for sale, and the
actual involvement of the master in the works related to his name to
provide more qualified attributions. “By” theoretically implies that the
picture was executed by the hand of the artist himself, while the six other
qualifiers presumably cast doubt on autography or reject this hypothesis.
“Attributed to” suggests that there is still a slight uncertainty about the
author, while “studio of ” and “circle of ” only guarantee a contemporane-
ity with the master’s period of activity. “Follower of ” and “manner of ”
refer to later pictures with no historical links. “Copies after”, without any
specification, can be included in the two last categories.
8
Detailed information is available in the glossaries provided by Christie’s and Sotheby’s in their
sales catalogues dedicated to Old Masters Pictures.
In is worth noting that these sophisticated identification strategies can

also be put into perspective with the new marketing positioning adopted
by major salerooms in the 1980s, that is mainly reflected in the improve-
ment of sales catalogues, in terms of formal characteristics and content.
From short, narrative and descriptive notes, the content of sales catalogues,
as marketing tools, has slipped towards a more academic positioning that
obviously breaks with traditional connoisseurship.9 Auction catalogues
have become more comprehensive with several-page notes, richly illus-
trated with high-quality reproductions, and supported by expert opinions
and scholarly references, which is revealing of a new kind of relationship
between both the scientific field and the art trade (Boll 2011).
Methodology
The following section analyses how auction houses and purchasers have
reacted to the epistemological shifts that occurred in the academic field,
and seeks to detect new market behaviours towards authorship. From the
supply side, these new behaviours are expected to be reflected in well-
documented lot notes, especially for lower-attributed works (“attributed
to”, “studio of ”, “circle of ”), in accordance with scientific progress. Indeed,
according to Tummers and Jonckheere (2008, 69–95), longer lot notes
can be seen as an indicator of quality on the art market. From the demand
side, we may expect that information provided by salesrooms increases the
buyers’ confidence towards non-autograph works, as well as their willing-
ness to pay, with higher prices paid for those categories of works. These
assumptions are relevant since the reception of art is viewed as an active
process that makes consumers aware of what they consume (Charpentier
2006), and that the price that buyers are willing to pay for a certain cate-
gory of paintings is revealing of the value they give to it (Grampp 1989;
Frey 2003). The last statement is traditionally used by economists as an
indicator of the consumer’s market behaviour and preferences.
9
According to Lyna and Vermeylen (2009), first evidence of sales catalogues is detected in the first-
half of the sixteenth century. At the time, they were already used as marketing tools, to promote the
lots to be auctioned.
The salesrooms’ discourse is explored through a subsample of lots

offered for sale by two leading auction houses, Christie’s and Sotheby’s. In
total, 235 lot notes related to Pieter Brueghel the Younger, and published
between 1998 and 2015, have been processed through a qualitative dis-
course analysis (Wodak and Kryżanowki 2008; Wodak and Meyer 2009)
using TAMS Analyser software. The homogeneity of the data set, com-
posed of materials of similar form and content, all published in English
by two competing firms, offers optimal conditions to carry out the analy-
sis. Conventionally, the typical structure of a lot note begins with a short
datasheet that specifies the main characteristics of the painting (attribu-
tion, name of the artist, title, material, technique, dimensions, signature,
date or inscription), before providing information about provenance,
previous exhibitions and scholarly literature related to the work itself,
when available. Then comes a narrative comment that describes the sub-
ject and insists on some characteristics of the work that could make it
particularly appealing for buyers. These comments have been taken into
account in this study to detect salesrooms’ discourse strategies that may
betray their adherence to new connoisseurship. Indeed, discourse analysis
helps to better understand how commercial firms promote a particular
category of goods and how they attempt to create value. As demonstrated
by Khaire and Wadhwani (2010, 1281), discourse analysis enables
researchers to identify the rhetorical strategies used by art market players
to create meaning and value around new market categories. By reinter-
preting historical constructs, marketers renew the valuation process with
possible effects on prices. But the promotion of products with culturally
powerful knowledge and meaning inevitably requires shared discourses
between both academia and the trade (Thompson 2004; Fitchett and
Caruana 2015).The following research criteria have been defined on the
basis of the main characteristics of art history discourse (Hatt and Klonk
2006) in order to extract from sales catalogues every comment that
refers to:
a) the historical context in which the work was executed;

b) elements of iconography and style;
c) material and technical specificities;
d) references to external voices (experts or art historians);
e) references to other similar pictures executed by Pieter Bruegel

the Elder;
f) references to other similar pictures executed by Pieter Brueghel
the Younger;
g) references to similar works executed by other masters.
Terms related to the vocabulary of certainty and uncertainty have also

been tracked, in particular modal verbs and approximation adverbs.
Secondly, we explore the demand side in considering the buyers’ will-
ingness to pay. To do so, an econometric model called hedonic regression
has been used to determine the economic weight of the scale of authen-
ticity on the art market. Developed by economist Kevin Lancaster (1966),
this model artificially deconstructs every piece of art in a “bundle of
observable characteristics”. Those characteristics are intrinsic (dimen-
sions, material, technique, iconography, signature, date) and extrinsic
(provenance, exhibitions, publications, venue of the sale, year of the sale).
All are regressed on prices to get their own implicit value; the sum of
those implicit prices partly explains the total average price paid for these
artworks. This method has the advantage to allow for a focus on the
authenticity scale, and offers consistent price comparisons for a large set
of heterogeneous pictures. Results will show whether or not the consum-
ers’ purchasing behaviour is still determined by the quest for authorship,
or whether an increasing interest in weaker attribution qualifiers is notice-
able and attests an emancipation from the quest for the artist’s name. The
data set totals 838 observations (paintings only), extracted from the
Blouin Art Sales Index,10 and covers a chronological framework of sixty
years (1955–2015).11 Once buy-ins are removed from the sample, 733
auction transactions remain exploitable for the statistical analysis.
10
The Blouin Art Sales Index is one of the most extensive and exhaustive database recording auction
results from 1922 to date, covering the sales of 425,000 artists and 3000 auction houses. Prices are
displayed for each lot sold, expressed in USD, EUR, and GBP.
N
11
The basic hedonic model is the following: ln pk ,t = α 0 + ∑ α i xi ,k ,t + β t + ε i ,k ,t where ln pk, t is the
i =1
logarithm of the hammer price of a painting k, with k = 1,2,…, K sold at time t, with t = 1,2….T;
xi, k, t is the ith quantitative and qualitative characteristics of a painting k of Pieter Brueghel the
Younger that depends or not of t (the year in which the lot is sold). εk, t is an error term, and α and
β are parameters.
Hammer prices have been deflated using US Consumer Price Index and
expressed in 2015 US dollars. Even while we mainly focus on the attribu-
tion qualifiers (as defined in auction glossaries), other hedonic controls
have been included in the regression, that is, dimensions (height and
width in cm), materials (panel∗, canvas, copper, other materials), tech-
niques (oil∗, tempera), signature, date, provenance, exhibitions, litera-
ture, certificate, technical analyses, subjects (peasantries∗, moralising
genre scenes, religious scenes, landscapes, other subjects), salesrooms
(Sotheby’s London, Sotheby’s New York, Sotheby’s other locations,
Christie’s London, Christie’s New York, Christie’s other locations,
Bonhams, Dorotheum, Drouot, Koller, Lempertz, Phillips, Piasa, Tajan,
other salesrooms∗) and the year of the sale.12 With the exception of
dimensions that are continuous variables, all the others are dummy vari-
ables that take the value of 1 when the characteristic is met, and 0
otherwise.
Empirical Results and Discussion

Analysis of the Supply Side
Figure 8.1 gives the distribution of the attribution qualifiers recorded in

the database. The Brueghel case is unique since two-thirds of the paint-
ings sold at auction were presumed to be autograph, which is rather
unusual on that market segment. Other attribution qualifiers are equally
but lower represented in the sample, with the exception of works in “the
manner of ” that only constitute 0.4% of the data set.
The first step of the analysis is to detect variations in the volume of
information provided by attribution qualifier, in measuring the length of
each lot note. To do so, the total of words recorded in each note has been
computed. Even though this method can lead to some biases (mainly due
to potential outliers in the data set), the results of the lexicometric analysis
show significant differences in terms of informational content provided to
buyers for each kind of attribution qualifier. Figure 8.2 clearly illustrates
Variables followed by ∗ are taken as control group in the model.

12
Fig. 8.1 Distribution by attribution qualifier (n = 733)
Fig. 8.2 Average length of notes (or total number of words) by attribution
qualifier
a regular decreasing pattern that closely follows the scale of values defined
by salesrooms, in terms of authenticity, from autograph paintings (“by”)
to paintings in the “manner of ” (“after” being an exception).
“Autograph pictures” is the most documented category with an average
of 521 words, followed by works attributed to Pieter Brueghel the
Younger with 324 words. A first significant gap appears with the notes
related to workshop outputs, which account for an average of 192 words,
and pictures executed in the circle of the artist with an average of 157
words. Only 102 words are recorded for works executed by later and
anonymous followers, while works painted in the manner of Pieter
Brueghel the Younger, or copies after his prototypes, are almost not con-
sidered in auction catalogues, some of them being not documented at all.
These observations support the assumption that cataloguers maintain a
strong hierarchy in the scale of values. They provide—intentionally or
not, and depending on the availability of information—unequal volume
of informational content by attribution qualifier, and then create product
differentiation. Unsurprisingly, autograph paintings are proportionally
more documented than pictures for which autography is uncertain or
rejected.
The next step of the analysis consists in going through the lot notes in
order to detect discourse strategies used by salesrooms to promote these
heterogeneous paintings, and to see whether or not their promotional
discourse is consistent with new connoisseurship. The main results are
exposed in the following paragraphs but should not be abusively trans-
posed on other market segments, even though similar mechanisms are
recurrently observed in auction catalogues. Amongst the three main
methods traditionally used by art historians to authenticate paintings
(stylistic, iconographic and material comparisons), the comparative anal-
ysis based on formal and compositional patterns is most often encoun-
tered in Pieter Brueghel the Younger’s notes, regardless of the level of
authenticity. Indeed, nearly 90% of lot notes are built on the key notion
of “composition”, namely, the syntactic layout of the components of a
depicted scene. In many cases, ready-made formulas related to the gen-
eral composition are reused for similar paintings but without properly
considering the stylistic characteristics of the lot or its attribution
qualifier.13 Yet, as mentioned before, style criticism is of fundamental

importance to accurately authenticate paintings and, paradoxically, com-
ments based on stylistic or material evidence are limited or even omitted
in auction catalogues. Some works are exceptions, and especially unques-
tionable masterpieces for which there is reliable stylistic, material and
archival evidence of authorship. The notion of composition is moreover
part of a broader reference system that aims at promoting the “Brueghel”
brand above all. In most cases, and regardless of the level of attribution,
references are made to the name Pieter Bruegel the Elder and his famous
prototypes. Cataloguers establish as many connections as possible
between the lot and the original model, in discussing visible similarities
and differences between both pictures. Yet, Bruegel the Elder is not the
only artist to whom cataloguers refer; major paintings by Pieter Brueghel
the Younger himself also serve as benchmarks, as well as those of his pre-
decessors Marten van Cleve and Pieter Balten. This reference system
materialises in the text through a lexicon that insists on the formal links
that exist between those paintings (“derives from”, “is based on”, “known
through”, “known from”, “closely follows”, “differs from”). In this respect,
Garric and Léglise (2012) have argued that referential discourse strate-
gies, typical of expertise discourses, allow salesrooms to avoid discussing
13
See, for example, Pieter Brueghel II, The Wedding Dance in the Barn, Christie’s King Street
(London), 08 July 2005, lot 24: “Instead the direct prototype for both latter types is seen to be the
engraving by Pieter van der Heyden after Pieter I of A Wedding Dance in the Open Air that was
published by Hieronymus Cock; a derivation from the same source is also known by Jan Brueghel
I (Bordeaux, Musée des Beaux-Arts). The earliest known paintings of that subject by Pieter II are
those in the Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore, and the Musées royaux des Beaux-Arts, Brussels, both
of which are signed and dated 1607”; Studio of Pieter Brueghel II, The Wedding Feast: a fragment,
Christie’s (Amsterdam), 03 November 2004, lot 39: “It would appear, however, that for this com-
positional type there is no single prototype, but that instead it is a combination of motifs: many of
the figures coming from the Pieter I composition of The wedding dance in the open recorded by an
engraving by Pieter van der Heyden, and the setting inspired by the former’s celebrated Wedding
Dance in the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna, grouped together and then embellished by Pieter
II himself ” ; Manner of Pieter Brueghel the Younger, A Village Scene with Peasants Dancing outside
an Inn, Sotheby’s (Amsterdam), 04 November 2003, lot 4: “The two dancing couples to the right
here can be seen in several paintings by Brueghel the Younger, and originates, in reverse, in a print
by Pieter van der Heyden after Brueghel the Elder (see Hollstein vol. IX, no. 61)” ; Follower of
Pieter Brueghel II, The Wedding Dance in the Barn, Christie’s King Street (London), 09 December
2005, lot 105: “Instead the direct prototype for both latter types is seen to be the engraving by
Pieter van der Heyden after Pieter I of A Wedding Dance in the Open Air that was published by
Hieronymus Cock; a derivation from the same source is also known by Jan Brueghel I (Bordeaux,
Musée des Beaux-Arts)”.
key issues (i.e. authenticity), in focusing the attention of purchasers on

other topics such as the underlying meaning of the composition (espe-
cially for the Bird trap and Proverbs) or the origins of the prototype (in
particular for the Payment of the Tithes and the Wedding dance). Again,
these digressions do not concern the lot itself, but the general composi-
tion that it shares with many other works. However, to conform to aca-
demic discourse, salesrooms have adopted a modal neutrality. This
neutrality is based on an “enunciative effacement” that materialises in the
use of the passive voice and impersonal pronouns, as well as the rejection
of any subjective comment and value judgement. The low frequency of
superlative adjectives, which might be expected in every marketing-
oriented discourse, confirms that quest for objectivity. High proportions
of modal and stative verbs (“may”, “might”, “can”, “could be”, “would
be”, “seems”, “appears”, “looks”, “supposes”, “has been thought”, “is
likely to be”) and approximation adverbs (“probably”, “possibly”, “credi-
bly”) clearly remind the language precautions of the academic discourse,
but inevitably generate uncertainty. Uncertainty is sometimes expressed
in concrete facts such as the current state of research that prevents cata-
loguers from drawing any conclusion about authorship, the difficulty of
accurately identifying the hand of the artist14 or a lack of information
about the pedigree of the work.
Information about the authentication process is, however, needed to
reduce information asymmetry and support the given attribution, espe-
cially because it significantly determines the buyers’ behaviour. For paint-
ings executed by Pieter Brueghel the Younger, catalogue notes refer to the
opinion of the artist’s leading expert, Klaus Ertz. Most of his opinions are
available in his catalogue raisonné (1998/2000), or through certificates of
authenticity. More specifically, 47% of lots comprised in the data set have
been subject to Ertz’s expertise. For salesrooms, referring to the name of
a leading expert is undoubtedly an ideal case-scenario. References to
14
See, for example: Attributed to Pieter Brueghel II and Studio, The Outdoor Wedding Feast,
Sotheby’s York Avenue (New York), 9 June 2011, lot 36: “(…) The present work appears to have
been executed in Brueghel’s studio. Whether Brueghel himself executed parts of the work remains
unclear, though it is certainly plausible”; Pieter Brueghel I, The Peasant’s Brawl, Sotheby’s New
Bond Street (London), 09 December 2015, lot 29: “(…) The relationship between the various ver-
sions is quite complex, and much argument remains as to what extent Pieter Brueghel the Younger
may have worked with his brother or his nephew (…)”.
external voices (experts, art historians, professors) enhance the market

confidence and allow salesrooms to disclaim responsibility in case of
misattributions. But the polyphonic dialogue, expected in every academic
debate, is rarely attested in lot notes since the main referee is automati-
cally the author of the catalogue raisonné.15 When different opinions
about the attribution were previously discussed amongst scholars, the
debate is rapidly close by the decision of the leading expert in order to
avoid as much as possible dissensus and disagreement, which usually
sends bad signal to buyers since they increase uncertainty about the attri-
bution (Monte and Oger 2015).
Interestingly, workshop output appears to be progressively considered.
In accordance with new connoisseurship, occasional references to under-
drawings and technical aspects of paintings have been detected in the
data set. Lot notes suggest that works executed in the master’s studio
imply a direct access to the original model or, at least, the use of prepara-
tory cartoons.16 For lower-attributed works, some attempts to corrobo-
rate the given attribution are made, but they are far from being systematic.
Predictably, salesrooms’ justifications are occasionally based on icono-
graphic similarities or dissimilarities, but are not concerned with stylistic
features. According to salesrooms, works executed in the circle of the
15
See, for example: Pieter Brueghel the Younger, Peasant Warming themselves beside a hearth,
Sotheby’s New Bond Street (London), 09 December 2015, lot 5. “If these, the version in the Dutch
collection is monogrammed PB at the upper left and was exhibited as Pieter Brueghel the Younger
when it was with P. de Boer in 1939. The exhibition catalogue noted that the panel was previously
ascribed to Marten van Cleve. It was then tentatively given to Pieter Baltens by Georges Marlier, a
view subsequently shared by Stephan Kostyshyn, who dated it to the 1570s. Kostyshyn believed
that the other versions known to him belonged to the workshop of Baltens or were slightly later
copies. Writing most recently in his 2002 catalogue raisonné on Pieter Brueghel the Younger, Klaus
Ertz followed on the whole the views outlined by Kostyshyn and did not believe that any of the
aforementioned versions could be connected to Brueghel the Younger”.
16
See, for example: Workshop of Pieter Brueghel II, Christ on the Road to Calvary, Christie’s King
Street (London), 08 December 2015, lot 3. “The accurate transmission of this and other details
suggests that the author of this work was close to the Brueghel family workshop, who may have had
access to an original cartoon (the width of the present panel corresponds to that of the autograph
versions). However, the handling is quite different from that of Pieter Brueghel the Younger and the
creative initiative which is indicated by numerous small changes, and the vivacity expressed in the
facial types, suggests a talented and independent artist. The work is executed with the use of high
quality pigments—for example, the blues used for the draperies of Christ and of Saint John the
Evangelist. The painterly idiosyncrasies of the brushwork may indicate a greater proximity to the
technique of Jan Brueghel the Elder, Pieter Brueghel’s younger brother”.
artist depict minor differences in comparison with their model,17 while

works executed by followers reveal major compositional variations.18
Pictures “in the manner of ” only offer compositions that vaguely remind
Brueghel’s maniera or plagiarise Brueghelian patterns, without convinc-
ing aesthetic connections.19 Though new connoisseurship is based on a
similar reasoning, it is necessary to stress that salesrooms’ arguments are
generally weak and rarely based on substantial scientific evidence.
Moreover, “minor” and “major” differences are relative notions that are
not sufficiently conclusive for the attribution process. When there is no
available evidence to support the attribution, the reference system (to
peripheral issues, similar compositions and models, scholarly debates on
other topics) is therefore a useful strategy to start a discussion and provide
a minimum of content in the notes.
In brief, the close examination of sales catalogues has revealed unequal
attention paid to works of art depending on their level of authenticity,
and showed an obvious gap between autograph and non-autograph pic-
tures. Though some occasional attempts to warrant the attribution have
been detected, the analysis has demonstrated that lower-attributed works
are still little considered by cataloguers, with no specific efforts to create
value around those lots. Academic pretentions of salesrooms are then lim-
ited and still focus on the most profitable works of art, with lot notes that
are rather based on a patchwork of selective pieces of information than
solid arguments that support or reject (full or partial) authorship. In other
words, we did not find compelling evidence of a significant adherence to
17
See, for example: Circle of Pieter Brueghel II, The Flemish Proverbs, Christie’s King Street
(London), 09 June 2011, lot 10. “Ertz notes that the present picture includes a number of striking
differences from the prototype, and characterizes the picture as the work of a capable, inventive
artist working under the influence of the Bruegels.”
18
See, for example: Follower of Pieter Brueghel II, Figures drawing wine from a barrel outside the
Swan inn, Christie’s South Kensington (London), 11 April 2013, lot 32. “Painted on an oak panel
of typical Flemish, seventeenth-century construction, this composition is not to be found in any
other example known to the cataloguer. It relates closely, however, to a number of compositions
from the repertory of Pieter Bruegel the Elder (? c. 1525/30–1569) and his son and imitator Pieter
Brueghel the Younger (1564/5–1637/8)”.
19
See, for example: Manner of Pieter Brueghel II, A Village Scene with Peasants Dancing outside a
Inn, Christie’s (Amsterdam), 04 November 2003, lot 4. “This painting is based on compositions by
Pieter Brueghel the Elder and the Younger. The left part of the composition is taken directly from
a painting by Pieter Brueghel the Elder, depicting Peasants dancing, in the Kunsthistorisches
Museum, Vienna (inv. no. 1059). The two dancing couples to the right here can be seen in several
paintings by Brueghel the Younger”.
new connoisseurship, despite an apparent academic positioning. In the

opposite case, we would have expected much longer and detailed lot
notes, focusing on the authentication process in order to convincingly
support the given attribution and help buyers to be aware of the visual
and material properties of the work. In addition, descriptions based on
material and stylistic considerations, rather than iconographic ones,
would have been more consistent with new connoisseurship. Providing
informational content based on iconographical and compositional fea-
tures is, however, a rhetorical strategy that enables the market to deal with
an extensive number of anonymous works, particularly subject to uncer-
tainty, in simulating a situation of certainty since this approach does not
require lots of investigations. Recent research conducted by linguists on
expertise discourse has nonetheless pointed out the consequences that
these rhetorical strategies may have on the public. For instance, Garric
and Léglise (2012) denounce an intellectual manipulation that influences
consumers and prevents them from truly making their own judgement.
In this case, the notion of judgement is related to the purchasing decision.
If every buyer, obviously, remains free to purchase what he wants, the cur-
rent discourse strategies detected in auction catalogues are likely to influ-
ence their market behaviour, as suggested in the next section. In deliberately
focusing on commercially appealing goods, and creating a discrimination
between lots that deserve to be documented and those that are left undoc-
umented, salesrooms tempt buyers to pay greater attention to the first
category of goods, for which authorship is presumably guaranteed.
However, non-autograph paintings offer characteristics (e.g. subject, artis-
tic and aesthetic qualities, substitutes to unaffordable/unavailable origi-
nals) that are likely to be valued by buyers, but most of them are rarely
promoted as such. At this point, this is probably because this endeavour
would be time-consuming, but low cost-effective in the end.
Analysis of the Demand Side
After this brief overview of the supply side, the demand for Brueghel’s
paintings is considered to see whether or not old master buyers seem to
adhere to salesrooms’ discourse strategies, and whether or not their
market behaviours reveal a possible emancipation from the quest for the
artist’s name. In this case, changes in the purchasing behaviour could be
reflected in significant buyers’ willingness to pay for non-autograph
paintings. In a previous study, Onofri (2009) applies hedonic regressions
to price authenticity on the market for Old Masters, by splitting her data
set between autograph works (“By”) and uncertain attributions (from
“attributed to” to “copy after”). She demonstrates that uncertainty about
authenticity generates significant negative effects on the market. In our
case, reasonable price differences between autograph and non-autograph
paintings would suggest that purchasers are sufficiently informed about
the artistic value of non-autograph paintings, and have taken some criti-
cal distance towards the notion of authorship, which enables them to
appreciate these works for themselves.
Table 8.1 offers some descriptive statistics based on average and median
prices. The results of interest are displayed in Table 8.2 and Fig. 8.3 (for
a detailed table including all the variables and results, see Appendix). The
coefficients show the average price differences that purchasers are willing
to pay for each attribution qualifier.
The attribution qualifiers are amongst the most valuable variables in
the model, representing one-third of the explanatory factors of prices
Table 8.1 Descriptive statistics—Average and Median Prices by Attribution

Qualifier
Attribution qualifiers Average prices Median prices
By 792,498 379,167
(By and studio) 264,320 170,110
Attributed to 151,991 77,044
Studio of 94,221 75,801
Circle of 57,473 39,398
Follower of 46,846 33,173
Manner of 36,825 17,774
After 47,478 31,09
(Works of collaboration) 388,873 186,110
Prices are expressed in real price 2015 US dollars. “By and studio” and “Works of
collaboration” are not officially recorded in auction glossaries but detected by
the author in some lot notes
Table 8.2 Results of the Hedonic Regression by Attribution Qualifier

Authenticity variables Coefficients
By 0 (−)
(By and studio) −0.895∗∗∗ (0.296)
Attributed to −1.268∗∗∗ (0.161)
Studio of −1.853∗∗∗ (0.145)
Circle of −2.176∗∗∗ (0.140)
Follower of −2.592∗∗∗ (0.150)
Manner of −3.356∗∗∗ (0.568)
After −2.918∗∗∗ (0.266)
(Works of collaboration) −0.938∗∗ (0.398)
n = 733 Dependent variable is log (real price 2015 US Dollars). All other standard
controls are included
∗∗∗ p < 0.01, ∗∗ p < 0.05, ∗ p < 0.1, Standard errors are in parentheses
Fig. 8.3 Price index by attribution qualifier (By = 100)
paid for Brueghelian pictures.20 When autograph paintings are taken as a

reference group, all coefficients are negative and significantly different
from 0, with a 99% level of confidence. The price index (Fig. 8.3) illus-
20
When the attribution qualifiers are solely regressed on prices (excluding all other variables),
r-squared is already 0.340.
trates a sharp drop in market value, which confirms the economic weight
of authorship on the market for Brueghelian paintings. Works attributed
to Pieter Brueghel the Younger are 72% less expensive than autograph
paintings, while works executed in his studio or in his circle experience
an 85% and 89% drop of value. Pictures by followers or painted in the
manner of Pieter Brueghel, as well as copies after his original models,
appear to be 10 times less expensive than paintings by the artist. Median
and average prices displayed in Table 8.1 confirm these price trends and
the value given to the artist’s name. It is also worth mentioning that two
other kinds of attribution—not officially recorded in auction glossaries
but included in Tables 8.1 and 8.2—also present a significant lower mar-
ket value. Both “By and studio” and “works of collaboration” imply par-
tial autography since Brueghel executed those works with the help of
another hand at least (i.e. anonymous assistant(s) of his studio or one of
his contemporaries). Despite partial autography, they both drastically dif-
fer in value (almost 60%). The uncertainty surrounding authorship
therefore appears to be the main reason that explains these price differ-
ences. Buyers rather purchase paintings that are entirely executed by one
single hand and—from a current art historical point of view—still over-
value authorship. These results refute the assumption that purchasers are
truly concerned with new connoisseurship, and it is reasonable to assume
that their purchasing behaviour tend to be influenced by salesrooms’ dis-
course. Interestingly, Figs. 8.2 and 8.3 show a correlation between the
total number of words provided by attribution qualifier, and the average
price paid for these attribution qualifiers. In other words, there are some
obvious connections between the monetary value of each attribution and
the length of the notes. The curves of both graphs follow a very similar
pattern, and each attribution gets exactly the same position in both fig-
ures, with (1) autograph pictures, (2) attributed to, (3) studio of, (4)
circle of, (5) follower of, (6) manner of and (7) copy after. Interestingly,
these rankings (in terms of prices and volume of words) precisely corre-
spond to the scale of authenticity defined by salesrooms. In other words,
the more the certainty surrounding authorship decreases, the more the
prices and the length of notes tend to decrease. Information provided by
cataloguers then seems to affect the amount of money that purchasers are
willing to pay for certain categories of paintings.21 This finding must,

however, be qualified. For instance, “Attributed to” pictures are propor-
tionally well documented, but their market value is unexpectedly low. A
similar observation also applies to works executed inside or outside the
master’s studio. However, it should be borne in mind that the results of
this study are mainly based on a discourse-analytical approach which,
inevitably, induces a one-sided effect, supporting the assumption that the
discourse of salesrooms influences the buyers’ behaviour. But it is also
likely that their discourse is intentionally conceived to anticipate and par-
tially satisfy the buyers’ expectations about authorship. In other words,
the assumption that buyers may influence salesrooms’ discourse should
not be excluded. To further explore this assumption, qualitative research
would be necessary to understand the symbolic value that purchasers give
to the artist’s name nowadays, and what are their incentives when buying
old pictures. Although collectors who purchase old masters are usually
described as knowledgeable buyers (Keen 1971, 82),22 this would also
help to conjecture whether or not buyers are themselves aware of the
change of mentality that occurred in the scientific field. At this point,
however, we can only conclude that, despite some efforts made by sales-
rooms to provide informational content, buyers are still more willing to
pay for autograph pictures than for lower attributions. According to
Grampp and Frey’s assumption, this suggests that buyers do not place
specific value on this category of paintings. The market reception of
Brueghelian art therefore seems to be still strongly conditioned by the
anachronistic obsession of the artist’s name, although such price differ-
ences should no longer be justified, at least in the light of recent academic
research and from an art historical perspective. The current configuration
of the market for Pieter Brueghel’s pictures therefore makes it difficult for
market players to fully understanding the new context in which they are
engaged (Seeman 1959).
21
Note that the purchasing decision might be influenced by presale estimates as well.
22
Here knowledge is related to art history. This does not necessarily mean that buyers will make
their purchasing decisions according to their level of knowledge: other parameters such as personal
incentives and taste can lead to less rational choices, regardless of buyer’s knowledge.
Conclusions
The intellectual emancipation that occurred in the academic field regard-
ing authorship in early modern art has partially been taken over by the art
market. Uncertainty about authorship is the main concern that sales-
rooms have to deal with when selling old pictures, and new connoisseur-
ship has, to some extent, contributed to reinforcing this uncertainty.
Attributing old paintings has become a difficult operation that requires
serious and careful investigations to avoid legal and financial issues. The
use of a sophisticated scale of authentication in auction catalogues, as well
as salesrooms’ academic claims, is a visible consequence of the advent of a
new paradigm in art scholarship. But a closer look at sellers’ discourse
strategies indicates that the auction market does not entirely conform to
new connoisseurship. Even though catalogues refer to several attribution
qualifiers to mitigate the notion of authorship, and provide notes based
on selective pieces of scholarly information, they avoid dealing with sub-
stantial issues such as authorship and authenticity. Their lot notes often
lack scientific arguments to support the given attribution, especially for
lower-attributed works. They still value the artist’s name by promoting
above all a brand (Brueghel) and focusing on high-potential pictures as
any other commercial firm would do. Accordingly, hedonic results con-
firm that buyers still rather pay for autograph pictures, which are in aver-
age 70% higher-priced than non-autograph pictures. To some extent, in
a field in which the artist’s name contributes to the aura of the work of art,
it would have been surprising to conclude that buyers do not care about
authorship and authenticity. But the current situation of the market for
Old Master Paintings, analysed through the market reception of Pieter
Brueghel the Younger, is more globally revealing of a general inclination
to prize the artist’s name before the material object itself, namely the work
of art. Price indexes, rankings focusing on superstars, and strong media
coverage of price records fetched by modern and contemporary artists,
more generally, contribute to fuel the quest for the artist’s name in the
market, with presumably inappropriate transposals on the market for Old
Masters. If the identity of the artist can be easily certified for contempo-
rary and modern art,23 the situation considerably differs for early modern
Note that fakes must not be excluded on these market segments either.
23
art, which consequently provokes distorted market behaviours. Obviously,

as for-profit companies, auction houses have no obligation to educate the
public on new scholarship. But the information provided by cataloguers
is often incomplete and not always concerned with the picture itself,
which reinforces information asymmetry. Providing scholarly informa-
tion is indeed time-consuming and requires highly qualified experts, as
well as serious research, without guaranteeing immediate financial
income. Even though auction houses have the ability to create value and
redirect demand to other categories of works (Smith 1989), they do not
seem to be willing to spend time and money on works they continue to
view as secondary. In doing so, they support the belief that authorship
and authenticity are what truly matter on the market for Old Masters.
Salesrooms have nevertheless obvious reasons to adhere to new connois-
seurship since the authenticity scale offers a large range of opportunities
for making product differentiation and real price differences. But in the
light of recent research in art history, some categories of works should be
reconsidered to raise buyers’ awareness to their artistic and historical
value, with potential gains for salesrooms as well. As argued by Moulin
and Quemin (1993, 1442), a renewed interest in categories of (pre-exist-
ing) works is needed to ensure the long-term renewal of the supply. This
is particularly consistent with the market for Old Masters that is increas-
ingly experiencing the scarcity of masterpieces and autograph pictures.
Appendix: Results of the Hedonic Regression
Independent variable = log
(real price 2015 US Dollars) Coefficient Standard error
By and studio −0.895∗∗∗ (0.296)
Attributed to −1.268∗∗∗ (0.161)
Workshop of −1.853∗∗∗ (0.145)
Circle of −2.176∗∗∗ (0.140)
Follower of −2.592∗∗∗ (0.150)
Manner of −3.356∗∗∗ (0.568)
After −2.918∗∗∗ (0.266)
Works of collaboration −0.938∗∗ (0.398)
Signed 0.494∗∗∗ (0.0939)
(continued)
(continued)
Independent variable = log
(real price 2015 US Dollars) Coefficient Standard error
Dated 0.0596 (0.112)
Provenance 0.0964 (0.102)
Literature 0.178 (0.109)
Exhibitions 0.245 (0.122)
Certificate −0.184 (0.173)
Scientifically investigated 0.283 (0.285)
Canvas −0.140 (0.133)
Metal 0.509∗∗ (0.223)
Other media −0.154 (0.241)
Tempera −0.356 (0.967)
Moralising genre scenes 0.103 0.0847
Religious scenes −0.316∗∗∗ (0.122)
Landscapes −0.990∗∗∗ (0.291)
Other subjects −0.819∗∗ (0.383)
Christie’s London 0.645∗∗∗ (0.143)
Christie’s New York 0.503∗∗∗ (0.174)
Sotheby’s London 0.763∗∗∗ (0.144)
Sotheby’s New York 0.710∗∗∗ (0.181)
Christie’s other locations 0.308 (0.217)
Sotheby’s other locations 0.619∗∗ (0.253)
Bonhams −0.532 (0.342)
Dorotheum 0.0800 (0.222)
Drouot 0.427∗∗ (0.186)
Koller 0.747∗∗∗ (0.277)
Lempertz 0.370 (0.445)
Phillips 0.813∗∗∗ (0.251)
Piasa 0.372 (0.317)
Tajan 1.029∗∗∗ (0.261)
Constant 9.773∗∗∗ (0.669)
Time dummies Incl. Incl.
Observations 733
R-squared 0.735
∗∗∗ p < 0.01, ∗∗ p < 0.05, ∗ p < 0.1
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9
Collective-Artists: Actors on the Margins
of the Global Field of Contemporary Art
Séverine Marguin
In the sociological literature of the last 20 years, the figure of the artist has
been considered as the precursor of new forms of work which value flex-
ibility, individual initiative, and creativity (Chiapello 1998; Menger
2003). One consequence of this subjectification process is the shift from
collective responsibility to individual responsibility (Zimmermann 2011)
with the direct implication of questioning the traditional mechanisms of
solidarity and regulation of the wage labour society. Many sociologists
have uncovered the social problems resulting from these transformations
of work, such as precariousness, disaffiliation, and social exclusion
(Bourdieu 1999; Castel 2009).
In my PhD, I aimed to identify existing collective responses to these
problems resulting from the individualisation of work in our Western
societies. Artists, as precursors to these new forms of labour, have been
particularly affected by precarious situations as well in the past (Bourdieu
1996; Heinich 1996) as in the present (Abbing 1999; Lahire 2006;
S. Marguin (*)
Technische Universität Berlin, Berlin, Germany
e-mail: severine.marguin@tu-berlin.de

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6_9
214 S. Marguin
Manske and Schnell 2008; Bureau, Perrenoud and Shapiro 2009). My

general question was: do they have imagined collective responses to the
uncertainty inherent in their profession (Menger 2009)? How can one
put social ties and solidarity back into their individualised work prac-
tices? I based my approach on the analysis of an exemplary case, namely
the visual artist as paragon of individualism, and analysed the collective
practices of these individualised workers.
This chapter, taken from my doctoral thesis, looks more specifically at
the reception of such collectives in the field of contemporary art. I will
focus on one of the most radical forms of an artists’ collective: the
collective-artists, which appeared at the turn of the 1960s in the context
of the questioning of the author’s figure. By collective-artists, I mean a
group of two or more artists producing singular artwork with several
hands and signing it collectively. I would like to explore the “success” of
these groups: are they recognised? Certainly, the contemporary history of
art has been punctuated by success stories of collective-artists: for exam-
ple, General Idea, Gilbert & George, Fischli/Weiss, IRWIN, or Gelitin.
Are these examples exceptions? What is the degree of acceptance of col-
lective formats in the field of contemporary art?
In order to analyse the level of the consecration of collective-artists, the
theory of the artistic field, which Bourdieu developed in his analysis of
the French literary field at the end of the nineteenth century, represents a
relevant theoretical frame for examining the structure of the globalised
contemporary art field of today. Several authors (notably Wuggenig 2012;
Buchholz 2012; Zahner 2006; Schultheis et al. 2015) have contributed
to its actualisation and implementation for the current period and the
visual arts sector.
The question of sources has proven to be problematic, as there is no
census of collective-artists nor federation or listing of any kind. It was
only after several years of research in the field, by word of mouth with
actors well established in the field, that I could gather contacts eventually.
This experience informed me about the confidentiality of these groups.
Unable to determine where the collective-artists are positioned, I instead
decided to highlight where they are not. I have, in fact, searched through
the consecrated zones of the global field of contemporary art for potential
collective-artists. For this specific search, I decided—following several
9 Collective-Artists: Actors on the Margins of the Global Field… 215
authors such as Quemin, Wuggenig, Moulin, and Buchholz, also in their

critical approach of these instruments—to use rankings of artists such as
Artprice, ArtFacts, and Kunstkompass so far as they give a relevant insight
about these high spheres of the global art field. In addition to these tools,
I have set up two databases to determine the place accorded to collective-
artists by the consecrating actors Art Basel and Documenta of Kassel, two
unmissable events of contemporary art at the international level.
The results of this analysis are plain with minimal ambivalence:
collective-artists are absent from the consecrated zone at the heterono-
mous pole and almost absent from the consecrated zone at the autono-
mous pole of the global art field. How can we explain this two-speed
marginality? I hypothesise that this rejection of the collective refers to the
sacralisation of individuality, which has been elevated to the rank of
nomos in the art field (Bourdieu 1996, 187). The introduction of the
dealer-critic system (White and White 1993) led to a paradigm shift from
focussing on the artwork to focussing on the artists. This placed artists as
a lever of economic speculation and elevated them as a support for con-
secration. I will first present the empirical results before showing how this
nomos of individuality is imposed by the art.
heoretical Framework: The Global Field

T
of Contemporary Art, Quo Vadis?
Because of the availability of the sources (rankings, databases), I decided
to lead this investigation of the social space of contemporary art at a
global level. I am following Buchholz’s theoretical approach and embed
my analysis in the field theory. Quemin (2001), but also Moulin (2009),
studied the process of internationalisation that has affected contempo-
rary art since the late 1990s and early 2000s. In (critical) dialogue with
these authors, Buchholz proposes a convincing analysis of the current
formation and structuring of the global art field (2008, 2012). She distin-
guishes three institutional transformations, partially intertwined, that
have led to the emergence of a global artistic field: the formation of global
institutional circuits since the late 1980s, the rise of field internal global
discourse since the 1990s, and the institutionalisation of global forms of
216 S. Marguin
communication as well as artistic valuation (with the rise of global artist

rankings) since the 2000s (Buchholz 2012, 55). According to her, the
process of globalisation of the art field has been based on globally organ-
ised, imagined, and evaluated cultural flows (idem, 56), which open it to
a worldwide space of exchanges and competition. Buchholz highlights
the formation of a worldwide exhibition space and the establishment of a
global auction market. She shows the gap separating the discursive pole,
that is, the world circuit of exhibitions, from the commercial pole, that
is, the international art market.
Several authors have questioned the dichotomy between the two spheres
of values, one economic and the other symbolic, as thought by Bourdieu
and taken up by Buchholz. Indeed, in Bourdieu’s field theory, the forma-
tion of value is explained exogenously. It is not particular to the artwork
itself but derived much more from the field’s dynamics. The value is attrib-
uted by the actors with consecration power, that is, occupying a dominant
position in the network of objective relations that squares the space of the
field. The determination of these positions is based on the volume of
(symbolic, economic, social, and cultural) capital available to the players.
Bourdieu forms his antagonistic model on the opposition between art and
economics: on the one hand, the relatively autonomous pole of the field,
referred to as the subfield of restricted production, in which the judge-
ment of peers and a very specific audience is the only judgement that
counts; on the other hand, the heteronomous pole of the field, referred to
as the subfield of large production, in which artworks, purposefully cre-
ated in response to a demand, are judged by the mass audience. Bourdieu
observes a principle of reverse economics: artworks, appointed as autono-
mous artworks, do not enjoy any economic success, insofar as economic
success would mean a symbolic loss of value (Bourdieu 1996, 85).
This dichotomy between economic and symbolic value is challenged by
various scientific works advocating a current heteronomisation of the art
field, particularly under the influence of the growing power of the art mar-
ket. The authors describe the process of economisation of the art field
towards speculative tendencies (Quemin 2002; Zahner 2006; Graw 2008;
Crane 2009). They argue for a convergence of the symbolic and economic
values, particularly visible through the figure of the artist-star (Zahner
2006; Quemin 2013). As Buchholz points out, these diagnoses of
heteronomisation have been relevant to recent realities since the 1970s.

They are based on the growing role of auction houses, and thus on the
financialisaton of the art market (Graw 2008), but also on post-modernist
discourses, questioning the boundaries between noble and popular art
(Zahner 2006). Buchholz (2012), but also Wuggenig and Rudolph (2013),
test these hypotheses of heteronomisation empirically. Buchholz proves
through a cluster analysis of the transnational careers of the global elite of
artists from 1998 to 2007 that there is a wide gap between the exhibition
circuit, that is, the discursive pole of the art field, and the art market, that
is, the commercial pole. This gap separates two spheres of values, charac-
terised on the one hand by status, charisma (in the Weberian sense), and
expert judgement, and on the other by the market and collectors’ deci-
sions. Wuggenig and Rudolph (2013) focus their empirical investigation
on the perception of artists and their works by art experts. They cross-
check this data with that from the ArtFacts and Artprice rankings and thus
demonstrate the inconsistency of an artist’s symbolic and economic value.
I place this investigation in line with these empirical works: I raise the
question of a different treatment of collective-artists depending on field
actors, which could as well reveal the gap between the two spheres.
An Investigation on the Collective-Artists

he Perspective of the Art Market:
T
An Undeniable Marginality
Let us start with the consecrated area of the heteronomous pole of the art
field, the international art market. A distinction must be made between
the primary art market, on which artworks are sold for the first time
when they leave the artist’s studio by galleries, and the secondary art mar-
ket, on which works are sold at auction.
In order to sift through the primary market, I looked at the composi-
tion of the Basel art fair. Art Basel is recognised as the world’s most pres-
tigious international contemporary art fair (Quemin 2002, 64). A jury of
experts from the art field selects 285 from among the 1100 candidate
galleries, representing 4000 artists from the twentieth and twenty-first
218 S. Marguin
centuries.1 The following criteria are central: the gallery must “present a
diversified set of emerging and more established artists, prove that it pro-
vides production support, and actively promote its artists”.2 Therefore,
Art Basel represents a summit for the primary art market, bringing
together the most accredited galleries in the global art field.
Do the galleries exhibiting at Art Basel 2014 represent collective-artists?
The meticulous analysis of each portfolio of the 285 galleries present at
Art Basel 2014 shows that 104 of the 285 galleries represent one or more
collective-artists, that is, more than a third of the galleries. However, sev-
eral observations put this first impression into perspective:
• Out of the 104 galleries, 65 have only 1 collective in their portfolio.

• Some collective-artists are present in the portfolios of several galleries;
for example, Gilbert & George, represented by 7 different galleries; or
Elmgreen & Dragset, represented by 6 different galleries. The absolute
number of collective-artists represented by all the galleries at Art Basel
is 93. As Art Basel talked of 4000 artists, this means that only 2.3% of
the presented artists are collective-artists.
• Concerning the nature of the present collective-artists, the majority of
them are duos; out of 93 collectives, 67 are duos, while 26 groups have
more than 3 individuals. Collective-artists with more than 3 individu-
als represent less than 1% of the artists represented at Art Basel.
Artprice is a French company, recognised as the international leader in

the quotation of the art market on the Internet, founded by the artist
Thierry Ehrmann. It has set up a database of over 500,000 artists,3
including quotations, sales indexes, and biographies. Artprice publishes
the top 500 of the most highly rated contemporary artists in its annual
report, “The Contemporary Art Market”, every year. The classification is
based on the proceeds of sales between 1 July 2012 and 30 June 2013,
which were auctioned off: the classification depends only on auctions
1
2014 figures from the website of Art Basel https://www.artbasel.com/galleries?showId=1, accessed
23.10.2018.
2
From “Art Basel—Forty Years in the Storm” [archive], 27 April 2009 article by width.com,
accessed 23.10.2018.
3
See its website: http://artprice.com, accessed 23.10.2018.
carried out in auction houses, that is, only concerns artworks in circula-
tion on the secondary market—which excludes works in museums or
collections withdrawn from the market.
Within this top 500, there are only 3 collectives (0.6%) at rather back-
ward positions: Bruce High-Quality Foundation (rank 186), Fischli/
Weiss (rank 215), and Os Gêmeos (rank 247). While some works by
collective-artists may have been sold in the primary market, they are not
resold in the secondary market. Does this mean that they do not consti-
tute an investment target? I will return to this issue in the second part of
this chapter.
These results demonstrate the absence of collective-artists at the conse-
crated heteronomous pole. What is their treatment at the relatively
autonomous consecrated pole?
he Perspective of the World Exhibition Space:

T
A Marginality in Question
In order to understand the place accorded to collective-artists in the

international exhibition space, I examined the Kunstkompass and ArtFacts
rankings, as well as the archives of Documenta since its foundation. This
new empirical material has allowed me to uncover variations over time,
and indeed factors of inclusion and exclusion of collective-artists, which
I will study in detail in the 3th part.
Marginality Confirmed by Rankings
Kunstkompass
Kunstkompass, a “reputational barometer”, created by the art journalist

Willi Bongard, has been published annually since 1970. To measure the
resonance of some 11,000 artists, several criteria have been developed
within a weighted system: according to the number of solo exhibitions in
more than 250 museums of international stature (such as Tate Modern in
London); according to the number of participations in nearly 150 major
group exhibitions (such as Documenta in Kassel); according to the
220 S. Marguin
number of reviews written in specialised magazines (such as Flash Art);

according to the volume of purchases in some important collections;
according to the volume of price and distinctions (such as the Goslarer
Kaiserring). The rank and reputation of the artists are calculated apart
from any commercial success.4 Kunstkompass is a highly respected ranking
in the global art field, despite its undeniable German connotation and
focus, which represents a real methodological limitation. Indeed, if one
looks closely at the construction of the indicator, one observes an “over-
representation of Germany in the construction of the indicator and that
of German artists in the final ranking” (Quemin 2002, 38).5
Despite this methodological limitation, widely known to the actors in
the global art field, Kunstkompass still enjoys great attention—or even a
power of self-fulfilling prophecies for the 100 chosen artists. The review
of the “reputation barometer” from 2012 confirms the absence of
collective-artists among consecrated artists and the weak advantage of
duos as in the art market.6 Only four duos appear in the top 100: Fischli/
Weiss (rank 26), Gilbert & George (rank 27), Ilya and Emilia Kabakov
(rank 37), and Bernd & Hilla Becher (rank 53).
ArtFacts: A Peer Ranking
Based on a database of 418,465 artists,7 ArtFacts offers a ranking of visual

artists on the basis of their success in terms of exhibitions: the founders
of ArtFacts have developed an econometric method in order to predict
artists’ careers. They have been evaluating exhibitions of international
4
Several researchers have written about the relevance and the difficulties of such a ranking (Verger
1987; Moureau and Sagot-Duvauroux 2010).
5
Quemin’s analysis relates to the Kunstkompass of 2001: “The 149 institutions whose personal
exhibitions brought in 650 points were installed in the following countries: 59 in Germany (!),
21 in the United States, 11 in Switzerland, 10 in France (CAPC de Bordeaux, Magasin de Grenoble
and Musée de Grenoble, Musée d’ art contemporain de Lyon, Centre de la Vieille Charité à
Marseille, Musée d’ art moderne et Musée d’ art moderne et Musée de Grenoble, Musée d’ art
contemporain de Lyon, Centre de la Vieille Charité à Marseille” (Quemin 2002, 41). Kunstkompass
has since evolved and integrated new institutions. However, German over-representation is still
relevant.
6
See the Kunstkompass in Manager Magazine of 20.04.2012, Nr. 5, page 136.
7
Based on data extracted from the ArtFacts web page, February 13, 2014: http://www.ArtFacts.net/
fr/artistes/top100.html [page consulted 13.02.2014].
standing since 1996. According to them, the theoretical basis of the art-
ists’ classification system pays homage to Franck’s economics of attention
(Franck 1999). Recognition is measured according to various criteria: the
artist’s relationship to an institution and the nature of that relationship;
the number of countries in which he or she is represented; the number of
galleries and museums showing and collecting his or her work and the
ranking of those galleries and museums; and, finally, the type of exhibi-
tions in which he or she has participated, whether solo or group exhibi-
tions, and with which other artists. Based on the information for each
criterion, the artist earns a certain number of points and is assigned a
position in the ranking. The criterion of recognition by peers is of pri-
mary importance: it is precisely according to whom the artist is exposed
that the points are counted. ArtFacts ranking operates in a closed circuit:
institutions are valued according to the artists who exhibit within them,
and vice versa. The ArtFacts database is permanently updated with com-
ings and goings of institutions. This principle of self-correction of the
system certainly has some advantages, even if this model of the snake that
bites its tail may tend to perpetuate the initial errors.
ArtFacts uses different attributes to characterise collective-artists such
as “artist group”, “artist couple”, or “collective art”. While the denomina-
tion “artist couple” traditionally (or even reactionarily) refers to duos
composed of one man and one woman, the term “artist group” refers to
duos of same-sex persons and larger groups; the term “art collectives”
refers to groups of three or more people. The difference between the last
two notions is not explicit and remains unclear: why is Art & Language
a group of artists while IRWIN is characterised as a collective? It can be
assumed that these categorisations have been done by different people at
different times and that the system has not yet been standardised. This
lack of clarity demonstrates a lack of reflection or even of interest in the
phenomenon of artists’ groups or collectives.
According to ArtFacts’ database, out of 418,465 artists, 120,000 are
individual artists and 2183 (or 0.52%) are collective-artists, while the rest
have no attributes.8 Among the first 1000 listed artists, there are:
8
I interpret the lack of attributes as a lack of interest in other forms than that of the individual art-
ist. It is not relevant for my analysis insofar as I had only a look on the first 1000 listed collective-
artists which are all attributed.
222 S. Marguin
• 15 duos
• 10 groups of artists (3 persons or more)
• 2 master studios (Atelier van Lieshout; Tim Rollins & K.O.S.)
that is, 27 collectives in total, which corresponds to 2.7% of the top

1000 listed artists.
Looking in detail at these 27 collectives, it appears that the first 7 col-
lectives are duos in which the names of the protagonists appear: Fischli/
Weiss (rank 18); Gilbert & George (rank 56); Bernd & Hilla Fischer
(rank 114); Ilya & Emilia Kabakov (rank 118); Elmgreen & Dragset
(rank 145); Allora & Calzadilla (rank 174). The seventh duo is Claire
Fontaine (rank 222), whose collective name takes the usual patronymic
form consisting of a first and last name. Then comes the Atelier van
Lieshout (rank 285), organised around a key personality, van Lieshout.
The first collective-artist (of more than three people), who asserts collec-
tive authorship even in his name, is Superflex (rank 311).9 The observation
of the classification gives an insight into the low presence of collectives
(especially those of three people or more). If one analyses the differences
in ranking points, as calculated by ArtFacts, then one really measures the
progress of the leading pack: when the top artist Andy Warhol has 78,991
points, the first duo Fischli/Weiss has only 24,848 points, and the first
collective-artist with 3 people or more Superflex has only 9146 points. It
shows an exponentially decreasing level of recognition.
Collective-Artists at Documenta: A Roller-Coaster Career
A final source completes my search for collective-artists through the con-

secrated autonomous art field: the archives of Documenta, a contempo-
rary art exhibition held every five years for 100 days in Kassel, Germany.
Created by painter and art teacher Arnold Bode in 1955 to enable the
9
Then follow Jake & Dinos Chapman (rank 312); IRWIN (rank 375); Art & Language (rank 409);
General Idea (rank 414); AES+F (rank 445); Janet Cardiff & George Bures Miller (rank 455);
Gelitin (rank 468); Muntean/Rosenblum (rank 475); Raqs Media Collective (rank 594); Teresa
Hubbard & Alexander Birchler (rank 600); Los Carpinteros (rank 629); João Maria Gusmão &
Pedro Paiva (rank 669); Gerd & Uwe Tobias (rank 740); Jane & Louise Wilson (rank 763); Anna
& Bernhard Blume (rank 769); Tim Rollins & K.O.S. (rank 969); and Chto delat? (rank 985).
German public to reconcile with international modern art after years of

Nazi dictatorship, it has become one of the most important international
exhibitions of contemporary art in the world (Quemin 2002).
The analysis of the list of artists invited to one of the 13 editions of
Documenta between 1955 and 2012 allows me to measure the presence
of collectives at this major event of modern and contemporary art over
time. The treatment of collectives during this period is in line with the
genealogy of collectives’ forms from the artistic movement to the
collective-artists (Marguin 2016). As far as the hypothesis of marginality
is concerned, it is validated for the majority of the editions of Documenta,
except for three of them: for Documenta 10 and 11, where collective-
artists represent respectively 18% and 14% of the invited artists, and
especially for Documenta 8 of 1987, where collective-artists reached the
peak of 28% of the invited artists.
The archives of Documenta are organised by a librarian software in
which all the artists who participated in one or more editions of Documenta
are registered. Each artist has an individual sheet with the following
information: artist’s name (with possible spelling variations), date and
place of birth, country of birth, place of residence, country of residence,
date and place of death (if applicable), country of death, gender, and
participation in Documenta with the used medium. For some artists, one
or more memberships in groups or movements are also mentioned
(Fig. 9.1).
Baumeister, Willi
Date of birth: 22.01.1889 in Stuttgart
Country of birth: Germany (FRG)
Place of residence: Stuttgart
Country of residence: Germany (FRG)
Date and place of death: 31.08.1955 in Stuttgart
Country of death: Germany (FRG)
gender: m
Exhibitions: Documenta 1/painting
Exhibitions: Documenta 2/graphic art/painting
Exhibitions: Documenta 3/painting/drawing
Member of: ZEN 4
Fig. 9.1 Example of an artist file in the archives of Documenta from Kassel
224 S. Marguin
In the first two Documenta-exhibitions (1955 and 1959), some affilia-

tions to avant-garde movements are registered. For the first Documenta,
11 can be found (Zen 49, Abstraction Creation, Novembergruppe, Die
Blaue Vier, Die Brücke, Der Blaue Reiter, De Stijl, Corrente, Fronte
Nuovo delle Arti, Pittura Metafisica, Atelier Gemeinschaft Klosterstraße),
whereas for the second Documenta, there are 17 (Cobra, Zen 49,
Abstraction Création, Novembergruppe, Die Blaue Vier, Die Brücke,
Der Blaue Reiter, Reflex, Krakauer Gruppe, De Stijl, Independant Group,
Devetsil, Corrente, Fronte Nuovo delle Arti, Espace, Jeune peinture
belge, Nouveaux Réalistes).
From the third Documenta (1964), in addition to the potential affilia-
tions of each guest artist, cartels dedicated to groups of artists acting col-
lectively as a duo or as a group of three or more people appear (Fig. 9.2).
Bayrle & Jäger

Other name: Bayrle und Jäger
Date of birth: founded 1961 in Bad Homburg
Place of residence: Bad Homburg
Date and place of death: separate. 1966 in Bad Homburg
gender: g
Exhibitions: Documenta 3/graphic art
Members: Bayrle, Thomas
Members: Jäger, Bernhard
Zero
Other name: Gruppe Zero
Other name: Mack-Piene-Uecker
Date of birth: founded 1957 in Düsseldorf
Place of residence: Düsseldorf
Date and place of death: separate. 1966/67 in Düsseldorf
gender: g
Exhibitions: Documenta 3/installations
Members: Mack, Heinz
Members: Piene, Otto
Members: Uecker, Günther
Fig. 9.2 Examples of collective-artist’s file in the archives of Documenta from Kassel
The date of birth refers to the date of the founding of the group, the
date of death to the date of dissolution, and (sex = delete) gender to the
format of the group: “g”. This categorisation of Documenta is a clear sign
of the recognition of the collective creation by artists’ groups: here a
group of artists is considered as “one” artist, as a collective-artist. In fact,
in the total number of artists exposed at Documenta, a collective-artist
counts as one artist. For example, in the third Documenta, out of the 363
artists exhibited, 6 are collective-artists, that is, 2%: Bayrle & Jäger
(1961–1966), GRAV (1960–1968), Lewitt-Him (1933–1955), Michel +
Kieser (1953–1963), Steinbrenner Hans & Klaus (1958–1963), and,
finally, ZERO (1957–1993). Out of the six, four are duos. In most cases,
the collective-artists were created a few years before the Documenta.
Over time, the percentage of isolated artists with a collective affiliation
tended to decline, while the percentage of collective-artists among the
invited artists tended to increase. One can clearly see a shift from one
form of the artistic collective to another among the invited artists to
Documenta: from the artistic movement to the group with collective
authorship (Table 9.1).
Table 9.1 Collective membership in the various editions of Documenta from

Kassel (1955–2012)
Percentage Percentage
Total number of artists with of collective-
of artists mention of artists among
(single and movement the invited
Edition (year) collective-artists) membership (%) artists (%)
Documenta 1 (1955) 148 13 0
Documenta 2 (1959) 338 8 0
Documenta 3 (1964) 361 8 2
Documenta 4 (1968) 151 13 1
Documenta 5 (1972) 218 4 5
Documenta 6 (1977) 622 3 2
Documenta 7 (1982) 182 3 3
Documenta 8 (1987) 150 12 28
Documenta 9 (1992) 189 5 2
Documenta 10 (1997) 120 9 18
Documenta 11 (2002) 118 6 14
Documenta 12 (2007) 114 9 5
Documenta 13 (2012) 187 3 5
226 S. Marguin
In this table, the evolution of the proportion of collective-artists among

the invited artists can be retraced: in the majority of cases, this rate oscil-
lates between 0 and 5%, which tends to confirm the hypothesis of mar-
ginality for the collective-artists. However, three editions of Documenta
have defied this assessment: Documenta 8 (d8) with a 28% breakthrough,
then Documenta 10 (d10) with 18%, and, finally, Documenta 11 (d11)
with 14%. How can we explain this roller-coaster career of collective-
artists at Documenta?
I put forward the hypothesis that the d8 has opened a breach and
allowed greater acceptability of collective-artists in the near future, dur-
ing the d10 and d11—a breach that had already closed when we observe
the collective-artists’ share of the last two Documenta (5% for the d12
and d13). The context of the d8 was unique, so far as the curatorial work
has been spontaneously assumed by Manfred Schneckenburger, who
already curated the previous Documenta, d7. He agreed at short notice to
replace Harald Szeemann and Edy de Wilde, who quarrelled and sepa-
rated, and had to curate Documenta 8 in two years instead of five. He
chose to invite artists working on the themes of war, power, utopia, and
the loss of utopia. Should one draw the conclusion that artists acting col-
lectively are animated by utopian research? Furthermore, if we look at the
media used by collective-artists, a concentration on performance (50% of
invited collective-artists) and video (26% of invited artists) can be
observed. The medium of performance, through its affiliation with the
theatrical art, lends more to the group format.
If one summarises these different results, a divergent trend can be
observed between the market and the exhibition spheres. At the heter-
onomous pole, collective-artists are absent from the auction market
(0.6% of the top 500 best-rated artists in Artprice in 2014) and very
marginal among the artists represented by the most consecrated galleries
in the art field (2.3% of the artists represented at Art Basel in 2014). At
the relatively more autonomous pole, the marginality of collective-artists
is not so obvious: according to the rankings, collective-artists are mar-
ginal (4% of the top 100 artists in Kunstkompass) or very marginal (2.7%
of the top 1000 artists in ArtFacts), but this finding is partially put into
perspective by the examination of the artists exhibited at Documenta: on

average, the participation of collective-artists is less than 5% apart from
the d8 with 28%, d10 with 18%, and d11 with 14%. From this differen-
tiated result, I deduce the following hypothesis: the d8 has put a spotlight
on an existing but largely dominated practice in the field. The exceptional
participation of collective-artists in three editions of Documenta testifies
to their presence at the autonomous pole of the field of art, marked by an
attention to discursive and immaterial production formats (such as per-
formance). In addition, the results show us a clear advantage of duos over
collective-artists of at least three people. The duo is the most consecrated
collective form compared to the groups of three people, which seem more
discriminated.
nderstanding a Dominated Position:

U
Individuality, the Fundamental Law
of the Field, Imposed by the Art Market
How can we explain this rejection of collective-artists by the dominant
actors in the field of contemporary art? I hypothesise that these rejections
are linked to the figure of the modern artist, as it has been modelled
within the dealer-critic system (White and White 1993). The field is
structured around the belief (nomos) in the figure of the artist as a creative
genius, inspired, pursuing an original project (Bourdieu 1996, 308). The
figure of the modern artist, centred on individuality, taking its roots in
the vocational regime (Heinich 2005), is one of the pillars of the art field:
within the dealer-critic system, the artist is posed as a lever for economic
speculation.
The empirical results show that this understanding of the artist is char-
acteristic for both poles, autonomous as well as heteronomous. The slight
difference between the two marginalisations, more pronounced at the
heteronomous pole, can be traced back to the development of the current
art market towards a starification of the artist emphasising the individual
personality.
228 S. Marguin
The Birth of the Modern Artist in a Vocational Regime
Various authors (Kris and Kurz 1981; White and White 1993; Bourdieu
1996; Heinich 2005) have well documented the birth of the modern art-
ist at the edge between the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. In her
book Elite artiste, singularité en régime démocratique, Heinich (2005)
analyses the emergence of the figure of the modern artist in the light of
Balzac’s short story Le chef d’oeuvre inconnu. Indeed, according to her,
“the figure of the modern artist built by Balzac takes all its meaning only
because it has become the model for thousands of artists for several gen-
erations, and that it continues to widely inform the common sense of
normality in art”10 (Heinich 2005, 22). According to the author, the fig-
ure of the modern artist is placed under the vocational regime, which
succeeds the professional regime of the neo-academic system. In this
vocational regime, the characteristics attached to the artist’s figure are as
follows: “As an attenuated form of mystical possession, this typically
romantic enthusiasm makes artistic work a purely individual affair (this
is art in person), dazzling (this is the convulsion of genius, as opposed to
the slow maturation of technique), elective (only those who are born
gifted) and almost pathological, singular to madness” (idem, 17).
The transition to the vocational regime has involved a greater person-
alisation of artistic production, or, in the words of Kris and Kurz, a grow-
ing subjectification of artistic creation: “In the European artistic evolution
we can speak of an increasing subjectification of artistic creation, of a
penetration of the work with traits of character, which are derived from
the artist’s singularity. This evolution, which only took place at the end of
the nineteenth century, leads to the view that the work is increasingly
seen as a power of the artist’s soul” (Kris and Kurz 1981, 145). Indeed,
Heinich highlights the double process of incorporation and spiritualisa-
tion of the artist’s qualities: “incorporated, because individualized
(founded in person) and naturalized (founded in nature); spiritualized,
because invested with a quasi-divine “breath” transcending the human
will—and it is indeed the theme of inspiration” (Heinich 2005, 18). The
All quotes from Heinich are own translation.

10
artist is, therefore, an inspired individual overwhelmed by his creation

that he cannot control, for it is a matter of inner necessity. The regime of
“vocation” implies that the artist’s talent is not acquired, but innate,
inherent to his own person, present in Sartre’s words in the form of an
“original project”: “the vocation [is] this feeling of being called, which
transmits the profession into a mysticism… And the purely artistic form
of vocation is the gift, that innate disposition, thus constitutive of the
person, as opposed to technique or knowledge, learned and interchange-
able” (Heinich 2005, 19).
This subjectivation of artistic creation unconditionally couples the
production of artwork to an individual, a personality, an uncommon,
genial soul. The collectivisation of the creation implemented by collective-
artists is a radical and unquestioning challenge to this psychological per-
sonalisation: the creation is no longer personalised but plural; it is no
longer fast as lightning, but rather laborious because it is constantly sub-
ject to discussion and the influence of external factors. What critics base
their interpretation of artworks on, namely the intention, is no longer
truly identifiable: “the short-circuit of the usual critique, and artistic
interpretation does not work for works produced collectively, because
they do not allow themselves to be explained or interpreted by the mani-
fest intention of an individual” (Rötzer 1991, 206).11 With their plural
nature, collective-artists separate the production of the person and reori-
ent the focus from the individual artist towards the artwork, a return that
finds little echo in the field of art.
The Individual Artist, a Lever for Economic Speculation
This lack of echo can be explained by the incompatibility of these radi-

calised forms of collective with the dealer-critic system (White and White
1993),12 which was established during this transition from “canvases” to
11
Own translation.
12
The loss of critical power of critics has been the subject of various studies: Moulin and Quemin
thus speak of a dealer-curator system (1993), where the curator would replace the critic in his role
of validating artists.
230 S. Marguin
“careers” during the process of autonomisation of the art field. Recent

developments in the art market have only reinforced this tendency to
individuality.
The Dealer-Critic System and Its Injunction to Individuality
The autonomisation of the art field is a “process in which the universe of

artists ceases to function as a hierarchical apparatus controlled by a body
and gradually becomes a field of competition for the monopoly of artistic
legitimacy: the process that leads to the constitution of a new body of
artists” (Bourdieu 1996, 222). Thus, the monotheism of the central
nomothete, which was the Academy, gives way to the competition of
many uncertain gods. The autonomisation of the field is reflected in the
rise of new players, that is, dealers and critics. This dealer-critic system
triumphs because it is able to control an important market, on which
many fragmented players—artists and collectors—gravitate.
This dealer-critic system confirms and reinforces the assignment of
artistic production to an individual, insofar as it promotes a “culture of
the self, that is, the exaltation and concentration of sensitive and intel-
lectual capacities” (Bourdieu 1996, 134). Dealers have a vested interest in
treating the artist as a whole rather than focusing solely on one work of
art: economic interest justifies this transition from the canvas, a fleeting
commercial object, to the career, which allows the development of long-
term advertising strategies (White and White 1993, 179). Also, this focus
on career is explained by the need to have a monopoly on an artist’s pro-
duction in order to be able to conduct speculative operations. This is also
in keeping with the wishes of the artists themselves. Indeed, dealers guar-
antee a regular salary to artists in exchange for the monopoly of a fixed
number of works of art per year. However, “insofar as all the principles of
the academic system encouraged him to pursue a bourgeois lifestyle, the
artist wanted above all a predictable income, which was the mark of a
successful career for the bourgeoisie” (idem, 179). This complies with the
demands of dealers.
The dealer-critic system emerging in the nineteenth century has since

largely been developed into a force that is unprecedented in the field of
art. I hypothesise that this model was influential for the logic of recogni-
tion at both poles, autonomous as well as heterogeneous, and explains the
structural marginalisation of artists-collectives.
Over the last 30 years or so, we have witnessed a process of economisa-
tion and commercialisation of the visual arts field. The art market has
become more and more acquainted with a speculative economic logic
(Graw 2008), which is based on the cult of certain personalities: this
represents the shift from a “culture of the self ” to a “cult of the self ”,
which puts even more emphasis on the individual personalities of artists.
As the dealers put it, “the more individual, the better” (Russel 1982, cited
after Copet and Jones 1984). This process of starification (Quemin 2013)
is associated with the figure of the artist as an extraordinary personality,
embodied in the artist’s surname: “only the signature, which connects a
work to an individual artist, determines the market value of a work of art”
(De Bruyne and Gielen 2011, 5). This explains why collective-artists are
even less present in the dominant segment of the heteronomous pole of
the field.
The Group with Uncertainty
The individual is the basis for the value of the artwork. The group, on the
other hand, is fraught with uncertainty and arouses the reluctance of the
economic agents in the art field, the galleries. Already in the context of
the emergence of the dealer-critic system, White and White observed
that the concept of school was quickly abandoned by dealers, because of
the differentiated management of careers of the represented artists:
“Impressionist group exhibitions, for example, soon gave way to personal
exhibitions. […] Indeed, just as the paintings considered in isolation did
not meet the requirements of the trade, neither did group exhibitions
correspond to ever diverging careers. The group exhibition continued to
be used by the young painters as a means of advertising, but only before
they found a good dealer” (White and White 1993, 181). Belonging to a
school does cast a mimetic shadow on the expected singularity of artistic
232 S. Marguin
production: not for the school leader who benefits from the aura of a
charismatic leader, but rather for the followers in a secondary position of
creativity.
As far as collective-artists are concerned, it is often argued that groups
can separate at any time, which would mean the loss of his investment for
the gallery owner. Rötzer notes for the collective-artists King Kong
Kabinett that only his perseverance has allowed him to gain access to a
semblance of success in the art market: “even if Kabinett has a certain
success in the art market, which he presumably owes to its continuity, it
is necessary to make the observation that, in general, artworks, done by
individuals “please” more. One reason for this is that the existence of a
group is not acquired, the expected identity commonly expected between
work and author is lacking” (Rötzer 1991, 206).
It would be interesting to ask why this fear of the group’s or band’s dis-
solution is not discouraging in the music sector, while it seems almost
impossible to break down for the collective-artists in the visual arts sector.
One reason is likely to be economical, as the economic benefits from
record sales allow for a return on investment that is potentially more
profitable than those from the sale of single works. Beyond this economic
explanation, the difference is also due to the figure of the author occupied
by visual artists, which differs from that of performers in the musical sec-
tor, which refers to this strong link between the work and the individual.
Conclusion
One can observe a growing discourse in the art studies pleading for a
“collaborative turn”: collaboration within art academy (Goudinoux
2015), collaboration among artists (Green 2001; Mader 2012), and col-
laboration as the basis for a new relationship between art and society
(Kester 2011). This discourse seems paradoxical here on the basis of the
presented empirical results. Indeed, the analysis of the consecrated sphere
of the art field, at its autonomous as well as heteronomous poles, leaves
no ambiguity about the position of collective-artists in the field: they are
largely left in the shadows and only a very small minority of them enjoy
a certain level of recognition. And still, these collective practices do exist.
How to explain in this context the dominated position of artist c ollectives?

I illustrate this marginalisation of groups of artists sharing the same
authorship by defending the figure of the modern artist, centred on indi-
viduality. The artistic field is structured around the belief in the figure of
the artist as a creative genius, inspired, pursuing an original project: this
belief is one of the foundations of the dealer-critic system, insofar as it
places the artist as a lever of economic speculation, even more so at the
present time of the artists-stars.
This primacy of individuality, beyond the sphere of the art market, has
been formalised and institutionalised by French and German legislators
in legal rules, deploying itself in various measures for individual artists.
Individuality, without being a legal requirement, is the basis for the rec-
ognition of the rights of artists as workers in a large number of European
countries, notably France13 and Germany.14 The format of the collective
may be considered, but only as an exception. The specificity of the statute
establishes various rights relating to the protection of the artist as a
worker, but also to the exercise of his artistic practice: these rights are
always considered at the level of the individual and not the group. Thus,
visual artists are recognised as authors. Copyright is recognised as an
exclusive property right, enforceable against all, attached to the “person”
of the artist. This reference to the individual then becomes a legal norm
which reinforces its primacy. One manifestation of the artist-author’s pri-
macy in the visual arts is the central importance attached to the name and
format “first name–last name”. In addition to this special status of the
artist, cultural policies, which supplement support for the production
and dissemination of works, also follow selection criteria based on the
individual: it is one of the conditions for awarding grants, residencies,
prizes, purchase of works, etc. This legislative formalisation around the
artist’s individuality reinforces the primacy of individuality and, in fact,
tends to make collective recognition almost impossible.
13
The recognition of the specific character of the visual artist’s activity is relatively recent: droit de
suite, invented in France in 1920 (Kancel and Raymond 2004, 1), was supplemented in 1964 by a
law on the social protection of visual artists.
14
In Germany, it was not until 1983 that the Artists’ Health Insurance Fund (Künstlersozialkasse)
was created.
234 S. Marguin
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Part IV
Marketable Art: Galleries and
Gallery Owners as Central
Intermediaries
10
Hierarchies and Divisions in the Subfield
of Gallery Owners: A Research on Art
Galleries in Milan
Anna Uboldi
Introduction: Inside the Art Galleries

A question that was to prove central for my research was introduced to
me on one of the first occasions I went into a gallery. I met a man in a
peculiar office, immersed in works of art, prints, catalogues and dust-
covered books. When I had presented my study and given the reason for
my request for an interview, the man asked me in return a curious ques-
tion. He asked me whether the study was on gallerists or on art dealers,
because in that case he could not have helped me very much. In my
attempt not to miss an opportunity for an interview, my prompt answer
was the option of gallerists. This casual conversation marked the effective
start of my research.
The arguments developed in this chapter are part of a study on gallery
owners carried out in the city of Milan, the Italian capital of
A. Uboldi (*)
University of Milano, Milan, Italy
e-mail: anna.uboldi@unimi.it

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6_10
240 A. Uboldi
contemporary art (Bodo and Spada 2004, Poli 2007).1 I aimed to explore
some fragments of the subculture of the gallery owners (Van Maanen and
Barley 1984), to investigate their representations, activities, roles and
practical knowledge.
It is a qualitative research conducted using in-depth, discursive inter-
views2 and informal conversations with 33 gallery owners (about 10% of
Milan’s galleries) and with some critics, curators, artists and collectors. I
also conducted participant observations in the galleries, in the private
studios of artists, collectors and gallery owners and during the main
Italian art fairs. The gallery owners were chosen through a process of
selection through the progressive consolidation of a chain of contacts. In
selecting the galleries, I followed a criterion of space and time: I chose
recent, consolidated and long-established galleries in the city of Milan, in
central, historical, gentrified and peripheral parts of the city.
The considerations, developed in the following pages, emerge from a
more extensive analysis of the occupational boundaries of the world of
gallery owners. It includes reflections on the primary and secondary habi-
tus of the gallery owner (Bourdieu 1998) and on the dynamics of compe-
tition for assignments and licences à la Hughes (1984) with art critics,
artists, and collectors. The wider study3 also includes an analysis of the
practices and the ritual occasions of fairs, exhibitions, and inaugurations.
However, only some accounts of interviews with gallery owners will be
examined below.
1
Milano has the highest rate of private activities, i.e. art galleries and auction houses, whilst it is less
significant at public level, as it lacks important museums of contemporary art.
2
The interviewees were men and women aged between 31 and 74. These data were also collected
through participating in three editions of the Milan fair Miart, one edition of the Fair of Verona
and one of Bologna. I attended these fairs both as an external observer and as a collaborator for a
gallery of Milan. During the observations and the interviews, conducted over several years
(2010–2012), I took on various roles: from that of simple external observer to active collaborator,
first for an art critic and then for a gallery. In addition, catalogues and specialised journals were also
consulted and the classifications drawn up by art experts, and the data offered by the national
association of modern and contemporary art gallery owners were taken into consideration.
3
The empirical research was developed during the 2010–2012 period. The complete results are not
yet published, but a first reference of the research output is Uboldi (2017).
10 Hierarchies and Divisions in the Subfield of Gallery Owners… 241
The Theoretical Framework

The gallery owner occupies a particular intermediate position (Bourdieu
1994, Peterson 1997), between production and cultural consumption in
the art field (Moulin 1992, Alexander 2001, Velthuis 2003, Quemin
2013). I aim to examine gallery owners as a subfield of the field of con-
temporary art (Bourdieu 1996) and to integrate the analysis with some
interactionist suggestions (Becker 1982). In short, I propose an interac-
tionist re-reading of Bourdieu’s relational theory. The field is an explana-
tory metaphor of some dynamics characteristic of the world of Milanese
galley owners (Bourdieu 1996, Hilgers and Mangez 2015).
In the relational perspective of Bourdieu (2000), the field addresses a
relatively autonomous structured arena of practice, with its own stakes,
and functioning according to peculiar rules, logics, hierarchies and rela-
tions of force. These elements are linked to the different capital resources—
cultural, economic, symbolic and social—invested by the subjects
(Bourdieu 1994). The field defines a dynamic social space in which each
agent acts, taking up a position and assuming specific stances. The posi-
tions and stances refer, in the final instance, to a sense of the investment,
to sharing a doxa of functioning of the field (Bourdieu and Wacquant
1992). I will try to develop a qualitative use of the notion of field (Schultz
2007) aimed at reflecting on the different ways in which each gallery
owner interprets his or her activity. From Bourdieu’s perspective, it is
from the position occupied by each subject in the social space that the
practical sense, understood as the set of visions of the world, the cogni-
tive, motor and evaluative patterns, ways of thinking and acting, takes
shape. My analysis is focused on attitudes, opinions and values of gallery
owners. I refer to Bourdieu’s explanations on fields of cultural production
and, in particular, on cultural enterprises such as art galleries and publish-
ing companies (Bourdieu 1996). In this frame, the constitutive principle
of the art field refers to that law of art which “has no other end than art”
(Bourdieu 1998, 83) and which makes reasonable the rejection of the
commercial value. The basic ambivalence which structures the art world
as an upside-down economic universe thus allows interpreting some ele-
ments (Sects. 2 and 3) of the “esprit de corps” of this occupational
242 A. Uboldi
community and its symbolic divisions. According to Bourdieu, all fields

of cultural production are organised in two poles, referring to the market
values and those of pure art, independent of economic logics (Bourdieu
1996). In the art field, gallery owners are situated close to the most het-
eronomous pole, linked to the ambivalent loyalty to the market and its
laws (Moulin 1992). The economic dimension enters the field of art with
full entitlement through the role of the gallery owner, who constantly
tends to undermine its autonomy linked to the principles of art for art’s
sake. However, the analysis of the interview material allows identifying
various facets which, taken as a whole, reflect a much more complex pic-
ture. They permit to distinguish, inside the work of the gallery owner,
between the role of the gallerist and that of the art dealer (Sect. 2).
Through an exercise of structural homology with the wider field of art,
the gallery owners are interpreted as a specific subfield, in which the same
constitutive ambivalence between art and market is reflected. This leads
to question the representations, values and rationalisations used by the
gallery owners to claim with pride (Hughes 1984) an ambivalent occupa-
tional identity.
This perspective of research with Becker’s work opens up a micro-
sociological attention to daily life experiences. It allows focusing on the
everyday practices through which meanings are created, shared, negoti-
ated and challenged. In particular, the notion of occupational commu-
nity developed by Hughes and picked up by Becker and systematised by
Van Maanen and Barley (1984)4 allows studying the interactional dynam-
ics of marking the boundaries and internal hierarchies in the occupation
of gallery owners. As Becker and Hughes suggest, each occupation can be
understood as a set of bundles of activities, which refers to the processes
of negotiating meanings in the everyday contexts of interaction. It refers,
in essence, to the part interpreted by “an individual in any ongoing sys-
tem of activities” (Hughes 1984, 286). The concept of occupational
community therefore allows us to question the basic elements that form
4
The authors explain how the concept of occupational community is a heuristic tool “to know what
dentistry, firefighting, accounting, or photography consists of and means to those who pursue it is
to know the cognitive, social and moral contours of the occupation” (Van Maanen and Barley
1984, 295).
a particular work culture and to investigate its rules, shared values and
distinctive practical knowledge.
In the analysis that follows, I propose a critical use of the conceptual
tools relating to these two perspectives. I will try to confront some intu-
itions of Bourdieu’s thought with a purely qualitative sensitivity, attentive
to the ordinary experiences of the everyday routine of the gallery owners,
referring to the legacy of interactionist studies. In short, this work is
based on an integrated use of the lenses of Bourdieu (1996) with the
micro-sociological perspective of Becker (1982) and Hughes (1984),
which allows thematising every occupation as the outcome, continuously
renegotiated, of social interaction (Bottero and Crossley 2011).
A Well-Formed Society of Honour

As a first step, we can reflect on the game of definitions in the field of
gallery owners, which reveals the “internal visions and divisions” and the
underlying nomos (Bourdieu 1996, 108). In the interviews, there emerged
a pervasive concern on the self-definition of gallerists. The distinction,
claimed by the interviewees, between gallerist and art dealer refers to
something more than a simple division between a job of selling works of
art and one of scouting for talent. From the interviews, there emerges a
connotation in value of the two terms, which goes beyond the identifica-
tion of tasks and refers to a concern of a moral order. As Bourdieu
explains, the notions “employ to define themselves or to define their
adversaries are weapons and stakes in struggles” and the categories used
“are nothing more than classificatory schemes issuing from these strug-
gles and then more or less skillfully disguised or transfigured” (Bourdieu
1996, 297). The duplicity of values of the economy of symbolic goods is
reflected in the job description of the gallery owner.
In addition, following Hughes and Becker, we can observe how the
claim of the title of gallerist reveals some internal hierarchies, in terms of
dilemmas and contradictions of status.5 In the narratives of the
5
According to an extended meaning of dilemma of status but recognised by Hughes himself, who,
for example, observes how, in the role of the personnel officer, there is “an essential contradiction
244 A. Uboldi
interviewees, the distinction of the work tasks is explicitly inscribed in a

register of evaluation, for example:
I think there are few gallerists and many shops. […] There are many shops
that sell art, but they are still shops, like the ones that sell posters, do you
know what I mean? Posters… but a gallerist is something different […].
There are lots of gallery owners who are dealers so it’s better one who says
so, do you understand? Who says I am a dealer, full stop. (Carlo, gallery
owner since 2007)
As the words of the interviewee show, the difference between art dealer
and gallerist refers to a game of defining the internal boundaries of this
occupational community. Although to different degrees, in all the inter-
viewees, there emerges a concern in defining themselves as a “real galler-
ist”, in contraposition to the image of the art dealer, used to describe, in
disparaging terms, some competitors. In the words of the interviews, the
shift from the mere identification of tasks to the moral level is recurrent,
for example:
The basic difference today is not so much looking for talent because […]
you have to recognize it as well […]. Today if you want to open a gallery,
all you have to do is open it, everyone has seen “9 ½ weeks” and think that
it’s a hobby for the wife, but if you do it seriously, I can guarantee that it is
not that easy […]. There isn’t even a book in incompetent galleries […]
how can you be a gallery owner without even one book, there’s an empty
space and a desk, a computer and that’s it. (Matteo, second-generation gal-
lery owner)
I think that they are ruining the world of art […] there’s little poetry, only
economics […] there ought to be a little more poetry and fewer materials.
(Carlo, gallery owner since 2007)
In these narratives, the recourse to the “art dealer” is aimed at identify-

ing the person who not only simply sells art but, in the first place, does
between the various functions which are united in one position. The personnel man is expected to
communicate the mind of the workers to management and then to interpret management to the
workers” (Hughes 1984, 147).
not keep informed, has no critical spirit, and is concerned only by his
economic interest, an objective which, on the other hand, is negated by
every good and above all genuine gallerist. As Hughes observes, the defi-
nition produced by each about his work not only tends to identify or
underline their main task (Hughes 1984) but also has a powerful sym-
bolic value: “The names are tags, a combination of price tag and calling
card” (Hughes 1984, 338). The hierarchies and the competitive dynamics
in this art field therefore take shape in the use of these two fundamental
classifications, which operate as “signs of distinction” and “marks of
infamy” (Bourdieu 1994, 500). In the words of the interviewees, there is
a continuous reference to the contraposition, of a moral nature, between
gallerist and art dealer. These assertions reveal how the imperative of dis-
interest forms an identity element of the world of gallery owners, under-
stood as a “well-constituted society of honour” (Bourdieu 1998, 87).
Therefore, in the narratives collected, the art dealer is represented as
totally different and identified in the register of impure, like the one who,
in the words of the interviewee, “ruins art”. Furthermore, overall, these
objectives and means, linked to mere economic success, define by con-
trast, the “noblesse oblige” of the real gallerist (Bourdieu 1998, 86). For
example, one interviewee expresses the diversity of his business, com-
pared to any other type of store, underlining his indifference to the eco-
nomic aspect:
They are not gallerists […]. They are people deluding themselves that they
will make money and bask in glory […] that they want to sell but they
need a signature, unlike those who, like me, have not made choices based
on the signature but on the quality and content. […] Whereas I am inter-
ested in this work […] they are instinctive activities […] another job
because you recognize values in the other person and you support them, it
is more proposing than promoting. (Giovanni, gallery owner since 1970)
These brief narrative accounts restore the idea that the label “gallerist”
is at stake in this occupational community (Van Maanen and Barley
1984),6 which reveals visions but also internal divisions (Bourdieu
6
Van Maanen and Barley stress that: “by occupational community we mean a group of people who
consider themselves to be engaged in the same sort of work; who identify (more or less positively)
with their work; who share with one another a set of values, norms, and perspectives that apply to,
246 A. Uboldi
1996)—divisions which can be understood as results “of a long series of

exclusions and excommunications” (Bourdieu 1996, 224). They refer to
doxa of the art field, as a “place of art for art’s sake” (Bourdieu 1996, 295).
In the next paragraph (Sect. 3), a deeper analysis of the narrative accounts
will allow observing in detail how this opposition of values takes shape in
the everyday work of the gallery owner.
Positions and Oppositions in the Field

The analysis of the different ways of living and of giving meaning to the
artistic intermediary work allows identifying some profiles of gallery
owners. The classification proposed also resumes some suggestions from
the typology produced by Becker in reference to the ways in which artists
interpret their activity and weave social relations in the artistic field
(1982). Becker proposes a classification made up of four types of artist,
distinguishing among: “integrated professionals, mavericks, folk artists
and naive artists” (Becker 1982, 247). This classification is based on the
degree of insertion and participation, in terms of reciprocal interdepen-
dence, of the artists in that organised network of activities which define
an art world.7 This classification allows reflecting on the social organisa-
tion of the gallery owners, focusing attention on the relations of each
member with other gallery owners, collectors, artists and with the sup-
porting personnel. This perspective is different, but not necessarily anti-
thetic to that of Bourdieu, who problematises the picture allowing
different degrees and forms of adhesion of the artistic game to be identi-
fied. In this definition of the field as above [part 1], the dual internal
stratification has to be considered, linked to the coexistence of
but extend beyond, their work related matters; and whose social relationships meld the realms of
work and leisure” (Van Maanen and Barley 1984, 299).
7
The “integrated professional artist” identifies a relationship of full adhesion to the world of art, its
social networks and its norms. The “maverick artist” expresses a relationship of opposition to some
standard canons, matured in the same art world. The “folk artist” produces art works as the result
of daily activities carried out for practical ends and as the expression of belonging to a social world
that is different and extraneous from the artistic one. Lastly, the activity of the “naive artist” is the
expression of a personal need, indifferent and without any type of relation, formative and social,
with the art world (Becker 1982).
autonomous and heteronomous principles of hierarchisation. There is a

first distinction between the dominating and the dominated positions,
and it refers to the resources at disposal. The ways of experiencing and
interpreting their work can be considered as different stances (Bourdieu
1996) in the art field. The interviewees’ way of perceiving their activity
reflects different positions and allows outlining a field as a hierarchical
social space, characterised by cooperative and conflicting relational
dynamics. These are positions, however, which are examined only in a
purely qualitative form. Here the objective is not to produce an accurate
description of the field—through an analysis of the distribution of forms
and resources of capitals at stake—but to reflect on practical logics
(Bourdieu 1998) which define some aspects of this occupation.
A second division, transversal to the previous one, concerns the dis-
tinction between the two poles of “commercial art and pure art” (Bourdieu
1998, 84). The subfield of galleries can be divided into regions which are
more autonomous and those which are more heteronomous with respect
to the influences of the economic field. These are different areas which,
following Bourdieu, call out the effect of refraction exercised by the field
of power (Bourdieu 1994). These elements are translated, in the inter-
views examined, into different orientations of values. This aspect recalls
the basic distinction of Becker between integrated professionals and non-
professional artists, but the economic dimension remains implicit and it
is not clearly thematised as a key dimension.
I propose a classification of gallery owners: integrated, radical, histori-
cal, aspiring and quasi gallery owners. It takes into account the principles
of hierarchisation of the field of art but also picks up some suggestions
from Becker’s work. The integrated gallery owners, similarly to the cate-
gory identified by Becker, represent the conventional way of working and
are marked by the search for a balance between artistic and market values.
The radical gallery owners, like Becker’s “mavericks”, share most of the
norms, but oppose some of them. However, their position is only of rela-
tive marginalisation, rather than of exclusion and innovation, and it is
close to the artistic pole of the field. The historical gallery owners are in
an intermediate position between the integrated and the radical gallery
owners and closer to the artistic pole. They have once belonged to the
integrated owners but their career (Becker 1982) has led them to develop
248 A. Uboldi
some distance from the trends in vogue among the current integrated
gallery owners. Lastly, in a dominated position in the field are the latest
arrivals, that is, the quasi gallery owners, young people without an educa-
tional background or network in the field of art, and the aspiring gallery
owners, with high educational background, on the strength of their train-
ing and social relations with art professionals, who aspire to become inte-
grated gallery owners.
The integration of the Bourdieusian perspective and the interactionist
one requires some clarifications. In Becker’s perspective, the marginalisa-
tion of the maverick artist indicates an avant-garde position, as an inno-
vator who sets himself apart from the conventional ways of action.
Conversely, in the Bourdieusian approach, the avant-garde seems to be
able to occupy a central position, of the restricted pole who refers to the
ideal of art for art’s sake. He represents the heart of the field and guaran-
tees its autonomy, even though relative.
In addition, the proposed classification considers the specificity of the
subfield of gallery owners as those who promote the economic logic in all
art field, considered as economic actors, which introduce the idea of
commercial interest within a network of relations with artists (Moulin
1992). Therefore, the relative dependence of the subfield of gallery own-
ers on commercial logics makes problematic the artistic principles of
internal structuring in the field. We have to reflect on the category of the
radicals and, for certain aspects, of the historical gallery owners. In the
wake of Becker, it is possible to identify in this group those contrasting
positions with respect to the conventional attitudes maintained by the
integrate gallery owners. On the other hand, the position of the radical is
fundamental in the field and takes on a different dignity with respect to
the quasi and aspiring gallery owners, distinguished by a more explicit
commercial concern. In an almost similar way to the historical gallery
owners, it is possible to observe how the ideal reference to art for art’s sake
allows obtaining a prestige different from economic success. The radicals
therefore occupy a position of semi-marginalisation, that is, a semi-
marginal position but at the centre of the field. The most central position
is occupied by the integrate gallery owners who represent a perfect syn-
thesis between the two antinomic logics.
Lastly, it is opportune to specify how the distinction between the dif-

ferent types of gallery owners takes on tones which are much less clear-
cut than the original model of Becker, especially where the author
identifies groups that are situated outside the institutional world, to
which the owners of the art galleries examined belong, although to differ-
ent degrees.
The Noblesse Oblige of the Integrated Gallery Owners
The dominant positions in the field would seem to be represented by the

integrated gallery owners. This group belongs to the elite of the art galler-
ies, from different points of view. The art gallery is an activity handed
down from one generation to the next and is experienced by the inter-
viewees as a natural consequence of their life trajectory. In addition, these
gallery owners are active in the main national association of modern and
contemporary art galleries and weave close relations with the other play-
ers in the art world. Lastly, their galleries are located in the centre of the
city. Like Becker’s category of “integrated artists”, the members of this
group are perfectly inserted and recognised in the organised world of
legitimate art. Their work expresses the consolidated conventions; that is,
they share a canonical set of appropriate ways of acting, of using means
and reaching ends recognised as legitimate by a consolidated tradition.
For example, the interviewees do not deny the need to take into consid-
eration the demands of collectors.
So we are obliged to choose the works on the basis not only of our taste but
also on the basis of the taste of our potential clients and this, unfortunately,
is a constraint. So, how do I select: the works are selected according to
terms mainly of quality and, secondarily, in terms of objectives of sale or,
possibly, objectives of investment. (Paolo, second-generation gallery owner)
The narratives of the integrated gallery owners stand out by a peculiar

“noblesse oblige” (Bourdieu 1996, 323), due to a strategic synthesis
between loyalty to art and the market. It is the most important and
prominent galleries that reveal a clear, but conflicting, “umbilical cord of
250 A. Uboldi
gold” (Fine and Rothenberg 2008, 35). Their way of working, in compli-
ance with the pre-established conventions, brings clear advantages of an
economic nature. Economic success is considered an inevitable conse-
quence of the seriousness and professionalism of the work done rather
than as an openly pursued objective. Commercial success is described as
a complementary aspect to the dedication put into the activity of looking
for and promoting artists, which is the phase that distinguishes the work
of the gallerist from that of the art dealer. For example:
There is a difference, a great difference, between gallerist and art dealer: the
art dealer deals only and exclusively with selling the works whereas the gal-
lerist also plans and puts on exhibitions, promotes artists and, above all,
increases the attractiveness of the works. For example, we are in our library
where there are more than five thousand books […] and for us it is an
instrument of work […]. We consider this a discourse of enhancement of
the work and when we put it on the market again it is enriched by all this.
(Paolo, second-generation gallery owner)
This group recalls the category of the art for art’s sake school already
described by Bourdieu in terms of “movement gallery” (1996, 150). In it,
the closeness to the commercial pole can be seen in the confidence that
the activity meets a “pre-existing demand, and in pre-established forms”
(Bourdieu 1996, 142). At the same time, the idea of the gallerist as “cre-
ator and anticipator” of artistic trends reflects the attraction exercised by
the value of art for art’s sake. This tension is expressed in the words of one
interviewee, who sees the essence of his work as a gallerist, unlike that of
an art dealer, in the skill of anticipating artistic trends:
I always want to make this very clear: gallerists are those who should not
follow fashions but anticipate them, propose instead of living on what
people want […] that’s not a gallerist but a seller who could sell anything
whatsoever […]. I have chosen […] to collect and offer artists I believe in.
And to propose them before the others, unlike many art dealers, who do
not really deserve the name gallerists, who work on what they sell. (Matteo,
second-generation gallery owner)
In these statements, the requests of the potential purchasers are inter-

preted as a constraint, a limiting element but also one that is necessary
and cannot be eliminated. The ability to listen to the needs of potential
buyers also takes on a positive nuance revealing a sense of entrepreneur-
ship. They would appear skilful in obtaining two results in one fell swoop
(Bourdieu 1998). For example, they describe their work as entrepreneurs
and intellectuals, as sellers and connoisseurs. As it emerges from the
accounts of the interviews, the claim to the title of gallerist is based on an
artistic passion. This passion allows the interviewees to transform obliga-
tions and limitations into opportunities to express an artistic sensitivity
and realise their vocation as gallerists.
he Cult of Art: The Historical and Radical

T
Gallery Owners
In the field of Milanese art galleries, the profiles of both the historical and
the radical gallery owner stand out for a position of marginalisation in
the centre (Sect. 2). It recalls the constitutive ambivalence of the art fields
and indicates the position dominated in the wider field of power
(Bourdieu 1998). In this sense, these positions are characterised by a
clearer reference to pure art, or by an almost literal interpretation of the
principle of art for art’s sake. These two groups of gallery owners can,
from some points of view, be assimilated with the reflections already
developed by Bourdieu on avant-garde galleries and those of the conse-
crated avant-garde (Bourdieu 1996).
The Radical Gallery Owners
The radical gallery owners are oriented towards the pole of art for art’s
sake and by a scarce acknowledgement of the importance of economic
gain. The economic interest is not recognised as driving their work. They
are gallery owners who are fairly young and mainly the first generation.
They are characterised by an attitude of severe selection both of their
social relations and of the quality of the artists they represent. For
252 A. Uboldi
example, such gallery owner criticises how the art world is pervaded by
economic logics dictated by a small monopolising group of
professionals:
[T]he fact that a work is not original, but banal and stupid, i.e. the major-
ity of works of contemporary art, is in front of everybody’s eyes […]. It is
preferable to follow a path of your own […] which entails presenting new,
but good, people, and today this is something that is no longer found. Also
because in the common world of the experts of the sector, there is the idea
that the artist […] is someone who can do absolutely nothing and who has
an idea, generally a very stupid one, and passes it off as art. (Eugenio, gal-
lery owner since 1993)
These gallery owners recall in part the category of Becker’s “mavericks”.

They would seem to disassociate themselves from some common norms
in the artistic world, claiming other ways of being gallery owners com-
pared to those most in vogue. In addition, they show a relative indiffer-
ence with respect to social networkss and the major events in the field of
art. Similarly to Becker’s “mavericks”, these gallery owners, by question-
ing some norms, aspire to appear, from certain points of view, particu-
larly innovative. Their opposition is effectively translated into a
radicalisation of stances perceived as “out of fashion”: a sort of mission in
opposition to the dominant logics. As this gallery owner explains:
It would be enough for me to reach the end of everything […] knowing

that I have left something in the history of art. (Orio, gallery owner
since 2003)
Let’s say that the work of a gallerist, of a conscientious gallerist, at the
moment is that of ferrying art through a dark period just as the amanuen-
ses did in the Middle Ages, copying Aristotle and all the rest of classic
culture […]. The proper gallerist is one who contributes to creating the
history of art and, therefore, to identifying good and talented artists, which
is what the great gallerists have done, what Leo Castelli did in America,
what Picasso’s gallerist did. (Eugenio, gallery owner since 1993)
In claiming forms of independence, they seem to occupy a margin-

alised position, but not outside the field of art. They try to strongly claim
their independence from the constraints of the market typical of contem-
porary art world. They refer to the history of art and to “classical” role
models. Therefore, this kind of gallerists do not understand themselves as
outsiders but on the contrary—in the best case—as history makers. For
example:
There is a little of this sense of speculation, this mechanism that I was tell-
ing you about […] of the negotiation, of ‘buy this artist and you’ll become
important’. I don’t reason that way […] so I don’t make any conditions.
(Carlo, gallery owner since 2007)
These gallery owners identify the specificity of their work, with respect
to that of the art dealer, in the discovery and promotion of young artists.
Their niche choices are aimed at presenting only works they believe in. In
their narratives, the decision to make the gallery a reflection of their own
artistic tastes and of their skills in discovering talent is emphasised. These
are rationalisations which allow keeping the economic aspect, perceived
in negative terms, in the background. In this way, they are engaged in the
“a game of loser takes all” described by Bourdieu (1996, 21). Consequently,
their everyday life, and that of their artists, is sometimes characterised by
economic difficulties coped through family supports and, also, trough
forms of mutual aids among the social network of gallery owners. For
example, one interviewee states:
Usually when I hold an exhibition and I sell everything by an artist straight

away there is something that is not right; while strangely enough, when I
don’t sell I think there is something interesting that is going on. (Carlo,
gallery owner since 2007)
Furthermore, for the interviewees, the ability to leave their personal

mark on the gallery reveals the same artistic competence and critical skills
that make the gallery owner a genuine gallerist. A passion for art is there-
fore presented as the only motivation underlying their professional
choice. Fundamentally, for these interviewees, the gallery owner plays a
254 A. Uboldi
key role in the art system as a critic, collector and talent scout. The label
of gallerist allows calling these aspects taken as a whole. A small circle of
expert art lovers, artists, collectors and critics has formed around this
category of galleries. It is a niche public that is self-selective. As an inter-
viewee argues:
the public of this gallery is made up of people, not very many, but all of
whom are very competent in art […]. Those who have to come in, come in
[…] there are artists who are very well established who have no chance of
exhibiting here […]. I would be embarrassed because I could not organize
anything with them […]. It’s a question of an ecological niche, isn’t it? It’s
a sort of… it’s a sort of specialisation, there we are. So, this way I select the
artists, a work to be beautiful has to be intelligent, beauty without intelli-
gence is nothing. (Eugenio, gallery owner since 1993)
The idea of elective position is crucial for the definition of one’s niche
in the field. It is a marginal but “intellectual” position, capable of pro-
moting quality without listening to the sirens of the trends of the art
market. For this type of gallerist, peer feedback and recognition by artists
seem to be particularly important, what could be interpreted as symbolic
capital in Bourdieu’s terms. The personal skill of developing subjective
critical thought and expertise in relation to art is what defines and dif-
ferentiates the gallerist.
The Historical Gallery Owners
Between the radical and the integrated profiles, the historical gallery
owner is also representative of the artistic pole of the field. The condition
of relative marginalisation evokes the idea of having left “their mark”
(Bourdieu 1996, 157). In this sense, these gallery owners would seem
similar to the group identified by Bourdieu in the consecrated avant-
garde galleries. This profile includes the long-established galleries which
have not had a real family generational changeover, which is characteris-
tic of the group of integrated professionals. They are distributed in the
historical parts of the city centre and have played a fundamental role as
the meeting places of the city’s intellectual elite, appearing as places of
sociality, a reflection of the climate of social excitement in the 1960s and

1970s. As the interviewees recall, the very opening of a gallery had an
intellectual and critical flavour:
At first, […] create a space where there could be meetings, […] alternative
newspapers […], chat with collectors, […] artists […]. There still is,
because everyone comes here, they sit down, they have a coffee… there still
is this habit […]. The best memories are the prolonged times, the long
conversations with artists. (Carla, gallery owner since 1965)
So, we started with the gallery with five points of commitment with the
public: to take art outside […] museums, to create debates, meetings…
[guests] found in the gallery a point of reference and a meeting place with
artists. A bond, a chain, was created, not something detached, I cannot
conceive of someone saying I and not we. (Giovanni, gallery owner
since 1970)
A lukewarm disassociation emerges in this group of interviewees from

the ways in which integrated gallery owners operate. It is, however, very
different from that shown by the radicals. It is an opposition which has a
character of distinction that asserts a position of detached indifference,
more than obstinate opposition, towards economic concerns and the
need to keep social relations alive. It is a position which from certain
points of view is elitist that characterises elderly gallery owners whose
names have now entered the history of Italian art. They assert their differ-
ence from the dominant stock exchange logics (Moulin 1992) through
nostalgic reference to the past. The words of these interviewees highlight
how adhering to artistic values lays the foundation for their working
experience and the decision to devote themselves to the art world:
More than a job, it’s a passion. Yes, I’m self-employed, it’s a job but that
doesn’t mean anything, it’s a passion that can’t be defined any other way. It’s
also a passion to possess but also to exhibit, do you understand? In my case,
it is this passion. (Alain, gallery owner since 1973)
256 A. Uboldi
In this perspective, the diversity of one’s work with respect to that of

mere art dealers evokes a different meaning attributed to professional suc-
cess, as an elderly gallery owner states:
I refuse doing only the big names. You must never forget to promote the
others because every generation has its best ones, it’s about being able to
understand that or not. The gallerist must have this function […]. My
experience […] was not motivated by things like interest, but love for art.
(Giovanni, gallery owner since 1970)
The work of the gallerist is mainly interpreted as an intellectual activ-

ity, the mission of which is to discover talent. The choice of the artistic
style to represent refers to a personal need, rather than to an adaptation,
more or less calculated, to the demands of the market. As this gallery
owner explains:
Before […] I was a collector and then I realized that [becoming a gallerist]
was the best way to be a collector so as to […] do my own exhibitions and
only those that I like. […] I never went because the public wanted this
[…]. I have never exhibited something I did not like, absolutely never.
(Alain, gallery owner since 1973)
In this group too, the interviews underline how the authenticity of the
gallerist is linked to the capacity to discern and evaluate artists. Passion is
claimed as the only driving force which can lead a gallerist to the history
of art, by discovering artists who can enter museums. The values of
knowledge, of criticism, and of passion also emerge in this group as reg-
isters that allow designating work which is differentiated from the art
dealer in search of ephemeral fame.
evotion to the Market: The Aspiring and the Quasi

D
Gallery Owners
Lastly, the profiles of the quasi and the aspiring gallery owners stand out
for a dominated position in the field and for a vicinity to the economic
pole. They reflect some characteristics of the galleries defined by Bourdieu
such as sale (Bourdieu 1996, 145) as they are oriented towards a clear
concern of an economic and commercial nature. They seem to be inter-
pretable according to the metaphor of the Trojan horse offered by
Bourdieu (1996) to describe the coexistence of antinomical logics, as they
are vehicles of the commercial logic that undermines the autonomy of
the subfields of artistic production.
Aspiring Gallery Owners
This profile identifies the marginal galleries and, mainly, recently opened
ones, aspiring to enter the circle of leading galleries. They are located in
the parts of the city that are the object of gentrification dynamics. These
gallery owners stand out for an inclination towards the market logic and
for a need to weave social relations with other people in the art world.
Opening the gallery is interpreted as entering a central dimension of the
artistic world. As one interviewee explains:
I realized that […] sale is such an important aspect in the art world […]. I
don’t know, it was like being in a world a little from the outside, it was as
though I wanted to enter this world really […] if I wanted this passion to
bear fruit I had to measure up to commercial dynamics and so […] I set
out on this adventure. (Silvana, gallery owner since 2008)
Among these gallery owners, the logic of selection of the artists follows
commercial principles. The public is identified primarily as a client,
whose wishes the gallery owner has to know and anticipate. Theirs are
places oriented to finding and promoting artistic products very similar to
the demand coming from the collectors. They are therefore characterised
by an eclecticism of the artistic movements represented, which clearly
reveals following economic logics. According to the interviewees, a good
gallery owner has to know and be able to anticipate the needs of clients.
For example, one gallery owner maintains that her work consists of good
selling skills:
258 A. Uboldi
Answering the demands of potential clients but also going to discover […]
areas of potential clients. For example, the artist of that painting is a former
biologist, so […] we promoted him [with] the pharmaceutical companies,
doctors, university professors […]. There is real work, let’s say, to identify
the potential client and present the work. (Silvia, gallery owner since 2006)
In this group of interviewees, the ways of life and of giving a meaning

to one’s business reveal a priority attributed to the ability to meet the
needs of the market. In them, an inclination towards sound and short-
term investments can be seen, linked to works that are closely related to
the requests already coming from clients. The profile that emerges is of a
gallery owner different from the one identified by other groups, focused
on a work of criticism and art lover, and who is closer to the idea of the
dealer who is capable of selling anything at all.
Quasi Gallery Owners
The definition of this last category is inspired by the Becker’s “naïve” and
“folk artists”. Unlike Becker’s classification, these gallery owners share a
community of practice but occupy an extremely marginal position and
enjoy little recognition by the integrated members of the artistic field.
They include those who have followed a partially atypical path in becom-
ing gallery owners with respect to the others and who have improvised as
such. It is true that a wide variety of educational and professional back-
grounds are quite typical for the gallery owners. Nevertheless, the absence
of any previous interest, training, or socialisation in art characterises their
biographies and makes them atypical. They are characterised by a mar-
ginal position and are not fully recognised by the occupational commu-
nity. For example, they do not belong to the main occupational association
and they do not take part in art fairs.8 In addition, alongside the sale and
promotion of the artists there are other cultural activities, of an associa-
tive or commercial nature. This is the case, for example, of a young gallery
8
Participation in fairs takes place through a process of selection by the organising committee.
Paraphrasing some reflections developed by Sapiro (2016) on the literary field, the art fairs play a
key role in the dynamics of consecration in the field of art.
owner whose work is characterised by the sale, including online, of works

of art but also of prints of dubious or limited artistic value and of various
second-hand furnishing items. However, these gallerists do not sell only
items; they have also mainly very young artists. In addition, they work
over a longer period of time with some artists engaged in secondary jobs
as art teachers. Sometimes, they rent their gallery spaces for cultural
events. Exemplary of this group of gallery owners is their improvised and
self-taught nature, which seems to characterise the working experience of
an interviewee, who argues:
[You have to] be slightly multi-faceted […] and I have been able to create
something nice all in all and then you have to have the ability to purchase
works of art […]; that is, being able to sell a work of art is not simple, you
have to get 5, 6, 7 or 10,000 euro and even more out of someone. But nor
is it easy to sell him a print of euro 100, it definitely takes a certain skill.
(Leandro, gallery owner since 2008)
In addition, their marginal position in the field seems to reflect the

same relative quality of the public they address, which activates a circuit
of exchanges of “second-hand” artistic items, characterised by an inclina-
tion to arts and crafts. Lastly, the location of the gallery itself on the side-
lines of the city reflects the peripheral position they occupy in the
art world.
Conclusions
This study aimed to review the antinomy between the heuristic models of
the field and of the world of art, in favour of their freer but wise and
meditated use. The reflection on the basic ambivalence of the art field as
a peculiar upside-down economic universe (Bourdieu 1998) leads to
questioning the occupational culture of the gallery owner. The tools of
Becker and Hughes thus allow studying the analysis in greater depth,
rather than determining a radical change of perspective.
The narrative accounts examined in the preceding pages show how the
orientations of values of art and the market (Bourdieu 1996) are two
260 A. Uboldi
antithetic but coexisting elements in each gallery owner, although with

different degrees of partial conflict and harmony (Sect. 2).
This ambivalence is condensed in the definition, maintained and
claimed by each interviewee, of the gallerist in its semantic opposition to
the idea of the art dealer. In the wake of Bourdieu’s theory, according to
whom definitions are revealing weapons of social antagonisms, and at
times also represent what is at stake (Bourdieu 1996, 297), it can be
observed how the definition of the gallerist acts as a crucial representation
of identity. It is at the heart of this occupational group revealing some of
the dilemmas and contradictions of its status (Hughes 1984) as it distin-
guishes and limits the world of authentic gallerists from that of the art
dealers. Although the claim of the title of “gallerist” is common to all the
interviewees, it refers to a set of classifications which gives shape to some
competitive dynamics in this same occupational community (Sect. 3).
This analysis ends with a classification of the different groups of gallery
owners. It makes no claims to being exhaustive but aims to account for
some differentiations. In conclusion, the analysis reveals some struggles
of classification in the subfield of art galleries. We have to specify that
although the hierarchies and the distinctions proposed above may seem
clearly opposed, they are in actual fact far from appearing as clear-cut
divisions. The intrinsic ambiguity in the economy of symbolic commodi-
ties blurs the border between the two poles and fuels the contradictions
examined.
Lastly, this work raises further research questions. First, it raises a
deeper analysis of the gallery owners. In this perspective, it could be inter-
esting to examine more in detail the marginal positions within the field
and, specifically, how the art galleries that reject a commercial logic sur-
vive economically and how they manage their symbolic capital. Second,
but strictly linked to the previous one, the research on gallery owners
opens to the exploration of social class disparities in cultural labour
(O’Brien et al. 2016).
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11
Mapping the Professional Self-Concepts
of Gallery Owners: A Typology
Michael Gautier
The gallery owner advocating contemporary art is a key actor in the artis-
tic field (Bourdieu 1996). The discovery and validation of new artistic
positions are hardly conceivable without the involvement of commercial
galleries. As a gatekeeper, the modern art dealer participates in making
art visible; she is involved in the process of consecrating and, therefore,
of selecting the art that is considered worth being preserved for posterity
(Moulin 1987; White and White 1993). In a recent study, I investigated
how and why individuals become art dealers and how they cope with the
delicate tasks of this peculiar profession—interacting with artists, collec-
tors, and curators; creating a discourse around their programmes; facing
economic downturns; and so on (Gautier 2019). I have been particularly
interested in the dealers who occupy a central position in the field,
namely representing artists whose work is exhibited in museums and
other non-commercial venues of renown that are main “instances of
I thank Greg Michael Sax for his meticulous reading of the text.
M. Gautier (*)
University of Bern, Bern, Switzerland

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6_11
264 M. Gautier
consecration” (Bourdieu 1993, 121), and is included in museum collec-

tions and may change hands for considerable amounts of money.
he Makings of the Gallerist: Question

T
and Data
Despite the importance of the phenomenon of the art gallery since the
late nineteenth century (White and White 1993, 94–99, 124–129),1
what one needs in order to become a dealer committed to contemporary
art has not yet been systematically studied. I identified some of the pre-
requisites by reconstructing typical profiles of gallery founder-owners or
gallerists, as they are increasingly called in English,2 with regard to their
dispositions and interpretative patterns. Pierre Bourdieu (1990, 53–54)
refers to such dispositions as “habitus”.3 In order to succeed (profession-
ally), an individual’s dispositions have to encounter compatible
institutions and rules, and such a match is made likely by the habitus’s
self-immunising property of tending to find suitable circumstances
(occupations, positions in a field, et cetera).
Dispositions and interpretative patterns operate at different depths—
the former elude consciousness, but the latter are within the reach of
awareness, and, unlike the former, may change through confrontation
with an incompatible reality. An interpretative pattern functions like an
1
See Wuggenig (2007) for a nuanced discussion of the modern art dealer’s role in the early stages
of the (relatively autonomous) artistic field. See Bourdieu (1996, 217–221) for the “degree of
autonomy of a field of cultural production”.
2
As of 2005, the president of the Art Dealers Association of America ridiculed the denomination:
“Frankly, I’m not acquainted with it. I hope anyone calling himself a gallerist has a medical degree.”
(The New York Times, 24 December 2005). “Gallerist” omits, as does “gallery owner”, the com-
mercial aspect of the role and emphasises its public function. “Art dealer”, which captures the dual
nature of the profession, is still very common in English and denotes gallery owners active both in
the primary and the secondary markets. However, “gallerist” is increasingly used – notably by actors
who advocate contemporary (“cutting edge”) art – to distinguish innovative gallery owners com-
mitted to living artists and pure, that is, secondary market “dealers” (see Sect. 2). This introduction
of a new denomination, meant to suggest distance from the commodifying role associated with
“dealer”, is similar to an earlier evolution in other languages, such as French and German (Gautier
2019, 37–38; Loichinger 2014).
3
See also Bourdieu (1990, 52–65; 2010 (1977), 72–87).
11 Mapping the Professional Self-Concepts of Gallery Owners… 265
implicit, collective theory that has been corroborated over time and
whose accuracy is rarely considered (Oevermann 2001, 45–49).
Interpretative pattern refers to “the linkage between thinking and know-
ing on the one hand, and existence on the other” (Seinsgebundenheit allen
Denkens und Erkennens) that Karl Mannheim (1986, 31) identified as the
key object of the sociology of knowledge.4 The question whether there is
a systematic relationship between certain kinds of biographical back-
grounds, and, so, dispositions, on the one hand, and the demands of the
gallerist’s professional practice, for which no formal training prepares
one, on the other, was a focal point of my research. That is, I investigated
what motivates the choice of this occupation, and what produces and
nurtures the calling for it. What are “the schemes of perception, thought
and action” (Bourdieu 1990, 54) that structure gallerists’ practice? How
do they manage to reconcile a passion for art with business acumen?
Where does the charismatic self-confidence in their prophetic gift for
recognising early on a promising artistic potential, which justifies their
investment in the long run, originate?
In answering these questions, I conducted semi-structured interviews
with influential American and European gallery owners whose biographi-
cal data I collected. The influence of a gallerist, in other words, the cen-
trality of her position, resides in her “power of persuasion”, which is a
product of her symbolic, social and economic capital. That influence
reveals itself most clearly in museums’ selections of her artists’ work for
shows or acquisitions and its inclusion in temporary large-scale group
exhibitions, such as biennials. The emergence of the art fair since the
1990s as a major institution in the primary market (Schultheis et al.
2015, 32–37), that is, for the distribution and reception of art, allowed
for a shortcut in sampling. Instead of surveying museum collections and
exhibition programmes in order to identify as potential cases the gallerists
4
“Even where the experiencing subject believes that ‘insights’ and ‘designs’ come to him from him-
self alone, ‘inspirationally’ and ‘in a flash’, they nevertheless originate in collective fundamental
designs, which are alive in him as well, although he is not self-reflectively conscious of it. It is,
however, one of the most important tasks of the sociology of thinking to press on to the level of
collective designs – which sustains itself, as it were, behind the individual’s back, not entering into
self-reflective consciousness – and to bring out the deeper contextures of discrete individual obser-
vations which come about within an age or current” (Mannheim 1986, 51).
266 M. Gautier
representing the exhibited artists, I focused on the participants in the

Basel instalment of Art Basel, which is widely considered the most pres-
tigious art fair for modern and contemporary art. Presence at art fairs has
become a crucial “position-taking” (Bourdieu 1993, 131) for galleries
advocating contemporary art, for major art fairs are temporary manifesta-
tions of the centre of the artistic field (Schultheis et al. 2015, 65–91). The
resulting sample of 23 consisted of 8 men and 15 women all of whom
were born between 1925 and 1975, opened their galleries between 1965
and 2005 and had participated at least once in Art Basel. Twelve are based
in the USA, three in the UK, seven in Germany or Switzerland, and one
in China. Fifteen are European and eight are American. Six run their gal-
leries with a partner. At the time of interviewing (2007, 2009/2010),
four galleries had an additional showroom in another city (ten in 2018);
three of these were in another country (six in 2018) of which two were
overseas (five in 2018). Two galleries have since closed, one after more
than 30 years and the other after more than 25 years in business. The
reconstruction of ideal types (Weber 2012, 124–133) requires an explor-
ative, iterative research design aimed at theoretical saturation. To outline
a spectrum of motivations, dispositions and professional self-concepts in
a series of case studies, I combined grounded theory (Corbin and Strauss
2015) and objective hermeneutics (Oevermann 2000; Wernet 2014,
235–238). Theoretical sampling allowed for a sample as diverse as possi-
ble, thus ensuring wide variation in the data. Coding the interview tran-
scripts and sequential analyses (Wernet 2014, 238–244) of chosen
segments led to the identification of significant traits and concepts.
A Hybrid Profile
The professional practice of the gallerist is determined by the hybrid
function of the gallery, which is simultaneously to initiate the processes
of the reception and the commodification of art. The belief (Bourdieu
1990, 66–67) that the symbolic and the monetary value of art are incom-
mensurable creates a tension at the core of art dealing: “Marketing for-
mally transforms art into a commodity. Yet works of art are genuinely
unique. Therefore, they ‘strive against’ any standardisation whatsoever

associated with their marketing” (Oevermann 1997, 80–81).5
Gallerists are dealers as well as entrepreneurs in Schumpeter’s sense of
being committed to “carrying out new combinations” (Schumpeter
2011c, 57).6 In order to fulfil their “obligation to innovate” (Oevermann
1997, 85), they have to take significant risks, as the symbolic and eco-
nomic returns of their venture are very uncertain. As one gallerist sum-
marises the challenge, “To gain the trust, in the first place, of people who
are supposed to spend a lot of money on something that doesn’t look like
it is always difficult” (Roland Klemperer, Germany, 2007).7 Thus, the
practice of the gallerist is charismatic, that is, it depends on “specific gifts”
(Weber 2013, 1112) not possessed by everybody, for making new art, art
not yet validated, visible requires sensing a potential, anticipating a value
that can only be recognised in the future and, therefore, on convincing
others of the reasonableness of one’s prediction. Accordingly, gallerists
also need a “disposition to act” (Schumpeter 2011a, 122–123) since they
have to be willing to decide upon courses of action whose outcomes are
uncertain. Hence, “they cannot, and do not, wait for history to speak;
they actively try to persuade the others whose actions will make history”
(Becker 2008, 110).
The “charismatic mode of decision-making” manifests itself in situa-
tions in which proven patterns of problem solving—routines—fail, that
is, when “normality” appears to be in crisis (Schallberger 2002, 10). In
such circumstances, a charismatic orientation, first, enables “the identifi-
cation of crises” or convincing others of their existence, and, second, it
ensures “the necessary readiness to take risks for trying out possibilities”
(Oevermann 1991, 332). A charismatic orientation aims at strengthen-
ing the individual’s “charismatic self-confidence” (Oevermann 1991,
332) and at confirming it time and again (Schallberger 2007, 64–65). To
achieve that, the charismatic individual deliberately exposes himself to
critical situations by finding new challenges. This sort of entrepreneur
5
All translations of quoted German are by M. G.
6
See also Schumpeter (2011b, 241–246).
7
The interviewees’ names have been changed; the country indicates a gallery’s location.
268 M. Gautier
sees himself as a provider of novel ideas, and he wants to gather a follow-

ing and make the product he generated charismatic.
Applied to the gallerist, this means making ignored or overlooked art
visible; gaining the approval of critics, curators and collectors and using
her power of consecration, together with the artist’s reputation, to confer
value on works of art. Finally, the charismatic orientation also has a “mes-
sianic” streak, for the goal is not to add another variation to what already
exists but, rather, to expand substantially, through innovation, the scope
of what is then possible. In its radical form, charismatic orientation is not
about the rational assessment of future benefits (Schallberger 2002,
39–45; Schallberger 2007, 64–73). According to Max Weber (2013,
244), “Pure charisma is specifically foreign to economic considerations.
Wherever it appears, it constitutes a ‘call’ in the most emphatic sense of
the word, a ‘mission’ or a ‘spiritual duty’”. One dealer, who opened her
gallery during the recession of the early 1990s, articulates both the self-
attribution of the extraordinary capacity to see what others cannot and
the calling, the self-assigned task, that gave her the impulse to act:
In reflection of all this questioning of whether the art world is ending I sort
of saw, became witness to what was my generation, really, of artists, of the
next generation of artists. And, you know, sort of almost to a point of dis-
appointment, I thought, like, “Oh God, I have to open a gallery!” I was
sort of, you know, it wasn’t, like, “Oh great, I’m gonna open a gallery!”
(Edna Pride, USA, 2010)
Pure dealers, the gallerist’s historical precursors and competitors on the

secondary market, focus on particular consecrated works that they do not
need to exhibit. Unlike them, gallerists focus on living artists, entering
into long-term working alliances with a limited number of them and
dis-play-ing their works in venues open to the general public.
As a consequence of the hybrid function of the gallery, its owner oscil-
lates between value-rational and instrumentally rational action. Value-
rational action is “determined by a conscious belief in the value for its
own sake of some ethical, aesthetic, religious, or other form of behaviour,
independently of its prospects of success”; instrumentally rational action
is “determined by expectations as to the behaviour of objects in the
environment and of other human beings; these expectations are used as

‘conditions’ or ‘means’ for the attainment of the actor’s own rationally
pursued and calculated ends” (Weber 2013, 24–25). In order to be a
trustworthy ally of the artist and a credible intermediary for the collector,
the gallerist must be, on the one hand, passionate about art regardless of
its commercial appeal, and, on the other hand, she must have the strate-
gic aptitude, the business acumen, necessary to sell art and get it placed
in collections and thereby keep her gallery afloat.
Four Types
The enduring working relationship with the artist, which distinguishes
the innovative gallerist from the pure dealer as a “dealer-entrepreneur”
(Moulin 1987), is generally instituted through an oral agreement and
therefore founded on reciprocal trust. One interviewee employs the fre-
quently used metaphor of “marriage”: in the beginning, there is mutual
love, but it gives way over time to the realisation that it has abated and
that too many diverging opinions make it impossible to maintain the alli-
ance (Roland Klemperer, Germany, 2007). Another describes initiating a
relationship with an artist in terms of wooing, recalling how he was
“rejected” several times and, by “persisting”, finally “admitted” (Alfred
Rückert, USA, 2009).
This relationship, which in principle is more than an explicit arrange-
ment about a set of services, was my point of entry into how gallerists
understand and practise their profession, their modus operandi. Following
Ulrich Oevermann’s revised theory of professionalisation (1996,
109–113), I conceive of it as a working alliance because, as in profession-
alised practices, specific and diffuse elements interfere with each other.
Oevermann distinguishes professions from other occupations primarily
in terms of the structure of the interaction between professional and cli-
ent, rather than in terms of their particular traits and institutions (Garz
and Raven 2015, 107–135; Münte and Scheid 2017, 2–5). Central to his
concept is one of Talcott Parsons’s five basic pairs of pattern variables:
specificity-diffuseness. “[A] pattern variable is a dichotomy, one side of
which must be chosen by an actor before the meaning of a situation is
270 M. Gautier
determinate for him, and thus before he can act with respect to that situ-
ation” (Parsons and Shils 2008, 77). The specificity-diffuseness variable
determines:
role-expectations, that is, rights and obligations vis-à-vis others …

Therefore, a ‘specific’ role is one in which obligations are expected to be
confined to the specifically defined relational content, while in a ‘diffuse’
role the expectation is that no claim to obligation arising out of a contin-
gency of the situation will be a priori irrelevant. (Parsons 1991, 82)
The orientation of social action is specific, as epitomised by individuals

interacting over a store counter, when those involved in the relationship
are replaceable and only a limited number of topics may be addressed; it
is diffuse when the relationship, as that between parent and child or lov-
ers, is personalised in that it depends on the particular individuals partici-
pating, and any topic may be addressed. The practice of the gallerist, as
that of the psychotherapist, physician or lawyer, requires her to adopt
both a specific and a diffuse type of orientation towards the artist.
The types of gallerist that I reconstructed are the operator, the com-
panion, the curator-gallerist and the adviser. Though each is classifiable as
a type, none of the cases that I considered are pure examples; rather, each
has characteristics of more than one type. In terms of their interpretations
of the working alliance, the operator and the companion are the extreme
positions of a continuum. Whereas the relationship that an operator
maintains with an artist is the most specific—it is particularly sober and
matter-of-fact—the companion cultivates the most diffuse relationship,
which involves a considerably stronger affective attachment on both sides
and a larger (emotional) range of addressable issues. The curator type and
the adviser are between these extremes. Before I discuss the two extreme
positions—the operator (four cases) and the companion (nine)—I will
describe some defining features of the curator-gallerist (six) and the
adviser (four).
“… a marriage of ideas”: The Curator-Gallerist
The curator-gallerist is the type most akin to the charismatic sort of cura-
tor who rose to prominence with the proliferation of biennials and who
“realises projects instead of ” merely “showing works” (Belting 2010). The
most ostentatiously charismatic of the interviewees describes her begin-
nings as an entirely value-rationally motivated venture on the edge,
pairing her economic negligence and recklessness with boldness and
in-tran-si-gency about art:
And there was no business; it was just, “Let’s make art!” … I ran it like a
Ponzi scheme, like Madoff, like, just taking money from one thing, making
production, not paying my bills, like, just doing it because all I wanted to
do was projects. It was an obsession. … I was always quasi-bankrupt, …
had to leave my apartment, you know, crazy shit! And it wasn’t like a real
gallery, and it’s still kind of not. (Selma Sharrock, USA, 2009)
No calling more than the curator type’s originates in a revelation that

launches her on a mission: “I felt like there is this generation. I can see it
in a way that other people don’t perceive it. I see that they exist” (Edna
Pride, USA, 2010). She aspires to be the perceptive witness of the present
who has figured out the complex power dynamics structuring the artistic
field and is able to detect the rare work that counts: “The way you deal
with it is you brutally edit it, okay? You take everything out that doesn’t
matter and you do the things that do matter. And the rest of it has to go”
(Stanley Lowell, USA, 2010).
The curator-gallerist perceives herself as a co-author and her gallery
programme as a kind of Gesamtkunstwerk that reflects her insight into art
and society. She conceives of herself as an intellectual, a polymath and a
visionary whose understanding reaches beyond the art world. In times of
lamenting that the economic appraisal of art has superseded the symbolic
as the dominant mode of validation (Graw 2015; Zahner 2017), she
remains resolutely optimistic and predicts that the truly relevant art will
ultimately assert itself. Her operation is self-perfecting and an educa-
tional, quasi-philanthropic endeavour. The curator type’s relationship
with the artist is not one of love or friendship but of respect. It is an
272 M. Gautier
intellectual alliance, that is, a shared understanding of artistic practice

and art history, which she will not hesitate to terminate for programmatic
reasons: “There’s a kind of marriage of ideas, marriage of vision, marriage
of approach … [T]hey allow you to show something that expresses what
the gallery’s principles are” (Carrie Whitehead, UK, 2010). Who can
endow a gallery with “principles” if not the curator-gallerist strictly and
carefully selecting the art she considers significant?
“… a conversation”: The Adviser
The adviser’s self-concept is the most similar of the four to a profession-

alised one in that neither the specific nor the diffuse elements of the
relationship between gallerist and artist dominate; her significant empa-
thy with the artist and his vulnerability does not exclude a certain dis-
tance towards him. At its core, the relationship is a conversation between
two autonomous, mature individuals who are not bound together by
necessity. They joined forces out of mutual appreciation and a shared
understanding of how to promote the artist’s work, which is primarily
through a network of reputable non-commercial institutions that provide
the essential historical context for its symbolic validation. Only through
such conversations could an aspiring Western gallerist visiting artists’ stu-
dios in search of works to exhibit in a booming East Asian metropolis in
the early 1990s, when this region was on the periphery of the artistic
field,8 have proceeded. Acquainted with the culture and fluent in the
language but largely ignorant of the history of the artistic practices, such
conversational encounters over months, or even years, were the informal
self-education that eventually enabled him to assess what he saw. At the
same time, they were the artists’ introduction to the institution of the
commercial art gallery. “It was a paradise,” says Jakob Pitsch (China,
2010), explaining that such an unexplored territory meant that he could
ask artists about pieces that were up to 20 years old and, so, gain an
8
See Schultheis et al. (2016), especially pp. 20–23, 54–56 and 247–255, as well as Velthuis and
Baia Curioni (2015), pp. 20-23, for an insightful discussion of the artistic field’s expansion and
shifting morphology and of the extent and limits of its “globalisation”.
appreciation of their practices. “And all these works were here, and the
artists had time, just like only in films. Nobody came by.”
The goal of the adviser is to foster the artist’s empowerment. She con-
siders the installation of his exhibition to be a critical moment for him,
when her patient, attentive and serene presence is indispensable, and she
is mindful to intervene as little as possible in his decisions: “What I can’t
stand is feeling that I would ever indicate to someone that they should be
doing this because they’ll do better if they do that” (Frances Avery, UK,
2010). She respects the artist’s autonomy and adjusts herself to his needs,
even if that entails a financial loss or threatens his reputation. As much as
she is intent on easing the pressure inherent to an artistic trajectory, she
equally means to embody the reality principle in order to protect the art-
ist from the illusion that the validation of his practice is a process that
once begun with a gallery exhibition will inevitably culminate in its con-
secration. She is less the artist’s accomplice than his partner and sup-
porter, who is able not to involve herself with his every need: “So I feel
that I have to be a different person for everybody that I work with. … But
I need to be able to sort of be attentive, and try not to bring any of my
things to it. And I have to kind of step back and just be a good listener”
(Avery). Distance (“stepping back”) and empathy (“attentiveness”) guide
Pitsch’s practice, too. He is reluctant to discuss upcoming art fairs with
artists, although he concedes that these days the fair regime sometimes
forces him to infringe on their autonomy by inviting them to produce so
as to meet a fair’s schedule.
Another adviser, who is more distant towards the artist and favours
re-la-tion-ship based on “respect”, emphasises the self-responsibility he
ex-pects from his counterpart:
But if an artist absolutely wants to be in the Saatchi collection, I just call

him. I ask the artist and I say [he switches to English] “to make a lot of
money right now? And it’s gonna come back at the market at some point?
[But] it’s your choice, whatever you wanna do!” [he returns to German]
Well, the thing is the artists do have to think a little bit, together with us,
about what they actually want. (Alfred Rückert, USA, 2009)
274 M. Gautier
Pitsch, for whom “commerce is crap” but who does understand why
artists who have existed on the margins of society for a long time make
opportunistic decisions, maintains a similar detachment when contem-
plating the impact of the Chinese art boom on artists, some of whom
have gone in just a few years “from zero to Ferrari”. “Each has had some
experiences”, he says, adding that those who “took part [in the
boom]…suddenly realised” that it put their practice “under enormous
pressure”. Despite the diversity of their demands, Rückert distinguishes
his artists into two types whose differing expectations he describes, in
effect, in terms of Parsons’s specificity-diffuseness variable. The relational
content of his alliances with some of them is largely limited to economic
considerations and that of others encompasses a wider range of concerns:
“For some artists, [the gallery] is really actually a money machine, that is,
a kind of household, if you will. For others, it’s really very intense the
decision that the gallerist makes together with the artist.” Rückert’s char-
acterisation suggests the operator’s and the companion’s modi operandi.
“… a matter of organisation”: The Operator
The operator is analytical, strategic, circumspect and methodical. An

interviewee comments on her opening a subsidiary gallery in another
country, years ago, as “first of all” a way “to demonstrate power”. As she
explains, she could present what she was “interested in” “in a little gallery
in the backyard. But in this way … you’re not sufficiently heard anymore,
nowadays” (Marie Feldmann, Germany, 2007). However, in the purely
pragmatic version of the operator the strategy is less methodical and
essentially opportunistic. Sensitivity to “opportunity” explains and legiti-
mises much of what the most pragmatic case in the sample, Lena Crumb
(USA, 2009), observes and does, notably, beginning and ending working
alliances. She has comparatively little symbolic capital and proceeds by
trial and error. Accordingly, Crumb has the least personalised orientation
towards the artist of all those in the sample. For Crumb, maintaining the
working alliance, which she regards as precarious, depends chiefly on the
economic benefit it yields. Still, the typical operator’s modus operandi is
predominantly rational and methodical. Relying, similarly to the
curator-type gallerist, on her self-ascribed analytical competences, she

applies a set of explicit “criteria” (Feldmann, Haufler) or categories, such
as “topic” (Haufler), “execution” (Haufler), “generation” (Crumb, Haufler
and Shelley) or “society” (Feldmann), to evaluate rationally contempo-
rary artistic practices and identify artists who promise to become seminal.
As a gallerist, says Feldmann, “essentially, one isn’t more than a service
enterprise”. Asked how her collaboration with artists has evolved over the
last two decades, she replies, “Well, our closeness was actually only a dis-
cussion about art, and that, in addition to that, I always offered these
services. … [M]y closeness with the artists is just content-related.” That
is, the operator’s working alliance with the artist is the most specific. It is
a mainly strategic association of convenience. The relationship’s diffuse
components are diluted not least because of a greater division of labour.
In the operator’s gallery, much of the relevant work is assigned to so-
called directors, who are essentially the gallerist’s proxies (though they
may, depending on their amount of autonomy, be the gallerist’s agents,
rather than her proxies, in that they develop privileged relationships with
artists and collectors). “Yes, you have to delegate, don’t you?” reasons one
interviewee:
That’s very clear. Well, formerly, I used to talk to every artist once or twice
a week at least. That’s not the case anymore because … it’s not necessary. I
talk a lot with the artists, but I don’t talk about each and every detail any-
more. … And, then, there are artist caregivers, we have a lot here. …
Everything coming from the artists or from the outside is allotted to the
people who are in charge. (Ida Haufler, Switzerland, 2007)
This soberer, less intimate alliance can be thought of as what Max

Weber called an “associative relationship” (Vergesellschaftung), where
the orientation of social action within it rests on a rationally motivated

adjustment of interests or a similarly motivated agreement, whether the
basis of rational judgment be absolute values or reasons of expediency. It is
especially common … for the associative type of relationship to rest on a
rational agreement by mutual consent. (Weber 2013, 40–41)
276 M. Gautier
This type of relationship may result from a longstanding professional

practice and a longstanding working alliance. It can also stem from the
age gap between the gallerist and the artist since the operator takes pains
to expand her gallery’s programme beyond the work of her own genera-
tion and, so, recruits continually younger artists. Besides serving as an
organising (historical) category, generation is also effective as a normative
concept. For, in order to fulfil their obligation to innovate, gallerists try
early on to forge a reputation for advocating artists who share “a common
location in the social and historical process” (Mannheim 1952, 291) and
may be part of “a generation as an actuality” or of even closer knit “genera-
tion units” (Mannheim 1952, 303–304, author’s emphases).9 Gallerists
further, and only durably, prove themselves when, in addition to their
generational competence, they succeed in recruiting artists from other
generational locations, an activity in which other actors, such as gallery
artists and directors, critics and curators, are typically involved. The best
outcome may be, to quote a curator-type interviewee, “a picture of what
I believe in, across several generations” (Mildred Bancroft, USA, 2009).
However, complying with the ethos of innovation becomes more dif-
ficult the longer one’s professional practice lasts. An interviewee active
since the 1980s, who represents some highly esteemed contemporary
positions and whose programme was early on identified as a generation
unit of artists, equates attaining such an exclusive position with losing
one’s grasp of the cutting edge because of one’s lack of membership in
subsequent (actual) generations and, consequently, a less diffuse bond
with younger artists.
[Y]ou never have that same feeling because … you all listened to the same
music, read the same things, are interested in the same ideas. And it gets
harder and harder, the older you get, to get in the mindset of a younger
9
“Whereas mere common ‘location’ in a generation is of only potential significance, a generation
as an actuality is constituted when similarly ‘located’ contemporaries participate in a common
destiny and in the ideas and concepts which are in some way bound up with its unfolding. Within
this community of people with a common destiny there can then arise particular generation-units.
These are characterized by the fact that they do not merely involve a loose participation by a num-
ber of individuals in a pattern of events shared by all alike though interpreted by the different
individuals differently, but an identity of responses, a certain affinity in the way in which all move
with and are formed by their common experiences” (Mannheim 1952, 306).
generation. … [A]nd it doesn’t really make that much sense for us to show
an artist at the very beginning of their career. It just doesn’t, because we’re
not the gallery that people come to see new art. (Diane Shelley, USA, 2009)
So, the transformation from a communal to an associative relationship

tends to be a property of lasting, that is, proved, alliances: the thriving
practices and growing reputations of both the artist and the gallerist bring
additional actors into play, who, in turn, tend to weaken the initially
strong reciprocal bond between the two parties at work in a young gallery
still in need of vital symbolic capital. At the same time, the artist’s depen-
dency, which shaped the alliance in its early stages, decreases. Such a
shift in power manifests itself financially, for established artists pay their
gal-leries a smaller percentage on sales than do younger, lesser-known
artists.
The operator’s rational sort of organisation tends to be found in
gal-leries with big programmes. However, it does not necessarily indicate
that a gallerist favours economic over symbolic returns. To the contrary,
rational organisation is a manifestation of holding a central position in
the field and a consequence of professional “proof ” (Bewährung; Weber
1976, 126), since the growing reputations of the artists that she repre-
sents and the increasing demand for their works require her to dedicate
more resources to managing them. This includes investments in the pro-
duction of work, its documentation and storage, the costly transporta-
tion to and from exhibitions or fairs and monitoring the secondary
market. The operator represents prominent, consecrated, contemporary
positions, and, as a result, she is especially attentive to the destination of
the works she sells and acutely aware of their properties as commodities.
She is more engaged than the other types in placing artworks in collec-
tions to consolidate the artist’s reputation and in tracking and document-
ing their whereabouts; consequently, she tends to be more active than the
others in the secondary market. She is therefore also confronted to a
greater extent with “heteronomous” forces (Bourdieu 1993, 45–46), that
is, phenomena related to art as a luxury good, object of speculation, asset
and means to social distinction (Veblen 2009, 49–69).
278 M. Gautier
“… people I genuinely like”: The Companion
The companion’s operation involves little delegation of the tasks in the

working alliance. It is generally a smaller gallery with little division of
labour, but that does not necessarily mean that she shows a small number
of artists. One interviewee appears to suggest that any kind of delegation
amounts to an improper intrusion into the alliance: “It’s not our concept,
strangers looking after artists” (Hans Bertschi, Switzerland, 2007). Face-
to-face interaction with the artist, his physical presence, is important to
the companion, who tends to perceive geographical distance from the
artist as an obstacle to their working relationship, threatening to weaken
the mutual commitment and provoke an “estrangement” (Bertschi).
According to another interviewee, “If we begin to be like a huge firm,
where we don’t speak personally with the artists anymore, then it becomes
impersonal, and, then, the artists really don’t see anymore why they
should show with us” (Roland Klemperer, Germany, 2007). The gallery’s
programme is like an extended family or a community of artists, in the
sense of a “communal relationship” (Vergemeinschaftung; Weber 2013,
40), that has evolved organically and not according to a plan. So, “this
kind of social coherence behind the gallery” (Emmett Cole, USA, 2010)
is not only a feature of galleries run by artists. Within the companion’s
gallery, “the orientation of social action … is based on a subjective feeling
of the parties, whether affectual or traditional, that they belong together”
(Weber 2013, 40).
For the companion, artists are individuals to whom she is emotionally
attached. An interviewee reminiscing about her early years relates how
she quickly recognised that she wanted to surround herself with people
she “genuinely liked” and “wanted to be close with”: “As much as I respect
an artist’s work, I have to like him as a person as well. And that makes it
a more harmonious relationship because, you know, I really like my art-
ists and really care for them” (Sylvia Newman, USA, 2010). Similarly,
another says, “It was always important for me that it wasn’t just the work.
It was the artist. And I realised very early on that … one had to have, you
know, mutual respect and have a good relationship with the artist first”
(Rebecca Mayfield, UK, 2010). In this way, the companion’s (diffuse)
relationship with the artist is the opposite of the operator’s, like

Feldmann’s, the relational content of which tends to be confined to art
and sales, or the curator-gallerist’s, like Whitehead’s, who understands
her role as “a kind of commitment to his practice”, and not to the artist
“as a person” (Newman) to whom she has to feel “attuned” (Mayfield) if
they are to form a working alliance. But even the companion acknowl-
edges limits. Mayfield initially planned to live at the gallery and tempo-
rarily host exhibited artists there, who would produce work on site.
Nevertheless, she soon realised, “it was too much. … [T]he relationship
was too close. You can’t be living with the artist and being their gallerist
and having breakfast with them” (Rebecca Mayfield, UK, 2010).
The assertion that a very personal, unmediated relationship between
gallerist und artist (Klemperer), or an emotional connection with the art-
ist (Newman), is an indispensable prerequisite for a functioning alliance
is not accurate. For, on the one hand, artists who are offered lucrative
arrangements and the prospect of symbolic and economic gains well
might leave a companion’s gallery to join an operator’s; on the other,
emotional alliances can be more prone to conflicts and tension and less
functional than ones based mainly on respect or intellectual affinities.
However, Klemperer’s and Newman’s statements do not reflect miscon-
ceptions or clumsy attempts to idealise a relationship by hiding its more
calculated aspects and the fact that it is largely governed by expectations
of benefits. Rather, they articulate the motivations and self-concepts of
the sort of professional practice distinctive of the companion, for whom
the gallery programme represents a community founded in elective affin-
ities. The companion doesn’t exert much pressure on artists to produce.
“I also want to be true to the artists that I represent. And I want to give
them as much time as they need,” says Mayfield. She is sensitive to their
idiosyncrasies and refuses to intervene in their production process in
order to accelerate the work’s reception and market it more effectively.
Correspondingly, the artist has to accept the companion’s unobtrusive-
ness and unhurried “particular pace” (Mayfield) of doing business.
Klemperer points out one way that a companion can accommodate the
unpredictability of slow creative processes and other vagaries of artistic
practices: maintaining a big roster of artists. “We have so many because
they all make so little,” he says, adding, “A few have died, a few are very
280 M. Gautier
difficult, and a few work so slowly that we need a few more artists than
others.”
Alone of the four types, the companion includes cases who combine
their gallery with a second activity. Bertschi, together with his partner,
runs a bookstore; Klemperer sells used books and Cole is also an art critic
and a member of an artist collective, in which role he pursues “collective
practices” (Cole) and works in a space that alternately serves as studio and
showroom. Hence, among the companions one finds those in the sample
with the strongest local anchorage, that is, the gallerists to whom the local
resonance of their practice, which may include readings, screenings and
workshops addressing an exhibition or issues related to art and society in
general, matters most and who consider their practice to be an expression
of the local identity.
The companion is a gatekeeper in a strict sense, especially in compari-
son with the operator, who runs a consecration agency. Working alliances
with a strong diffuse orientation do not imply comprehensive support for
the artists. Rather, the first tends to exclude the second once an artistic
practice has gained recognition, for a rational organisation like the opera-
tor’s is better suited to meet the demands of an artist approaching a cen-
tral, consecrated position in the field. Having a lot of symbolic but
relatively modest economic capital, the companion tends to end up as the
victim of her own proofs of herself as an innovator, since artists who, with
the support of her gallery, were able to create a dynamic of consecration
may, despite their affective attachment, defect to a gallery that offers
comprehensive services and has more power of consecration. As the
New Yorker Cole notes, “Almost as soon as we opened our doors to the
public, the Chelsea dealers were coming down to see what was happening
and then walking away with ideas, but also artists that we showed”. In
this way, the companion type includes an internal contrast between gal-
lerists who periodically lose artists to more potent galleries and those who
manage to retain their artists, thus accepting a less diffuse, that is, a more
specific, relationship with them. The companion doesn’t necessarily want
her gallery to become bigger. Hence, recruiting new artists, that is, fulfill-
ing her obligation to innovate, increasingly poses a conundrum as she
wants existing, sometimes decades old, working alliances to continue.
Conclusion
Though I have discussed the self-concepts of gallery owners in terms of
their interpretations of the working alliance with the artists they repre-
sent, my interview data suggest that the same typology also categorises
gallerists in their relationships with collectors. However, a brief look at
the educational and professional trajectories of centrally positioned gal-
lerists reveals a more homogeneous picture than the typology suggests.
(1) The curator type generally studied art history and/or was once an
artist herself, but she abandoned her artistic practice; before opening her
gallery, she was typically a director in an established gallery. (2) The
adviser also studied art history but didn’t begin, and fail, as an artist. (3)
The operator has a degree in art history, and/or dabbled at being an artist,
but she didn’t persist at it as long as the curator-gallerist who started out
as an artist. She quickly chose to work in a gallery because it seemed to
offer greater promise. (4) The companion has the most heterogeneous
profile among the four types; her trajectories encompass vocational edu-
cation, lateral entries, and autodidacticism.
Typology and transformation are not mutually exclusive (Oevermann
1991, 273–276). Professional self-concepts, that is, interpretative pat-
terns, may evolve (dispositions, typically, do not), and types aren’t always
fixed, as with the companions Bertschi, Cole, Mayfield, and Klemperer;
the operator Crumb; and the curator-gallerists Whitehead and Lowell. A
transformation of type in the course of running a gallery may occur.
There is ample evidence that a gallery owner can start out as a curator-
gallerist and become an operator (Feldmann and Haufler) or begin as a
companion and become a curator-gallerist (Pride and Sharrock) or an
operator (Shelley). Because most young gallerists begin by showing young
artists belonging to their (actual) generation, if not their generational
unit, elective affinities are often important in a gallery’s early stages. At
the same time, the older a gallery gets, the less intimate and the soberer
the working alliances tend to become.
One’s deeper-lying, more constant dispositions, “the active presence of
past experiences” (Bourdieu 1990, 54), are more conditioned by one’s
background than are one’s interpretative patterns. In this respect, one of
282 M. Gautier
the two most striking features in the backgrounds of the gallerists in the
sample is an entrepreneurial tradition in the broad sense of a family his-
tory of self-employment. At least 18 out of the 23 gallerists have self-
employed fathers; 6 have self-employed mothers and at least 12 have
self-employed grandfathers. In seven cases, among them an art-dealer
dynasty, self-employment goes back at least to the grandparents. The
other feature is the transmission and strong presence of cultural capital.
Only four of the gallerists in the sample have lower-middle-class or
working-class origins. Two-thirds of the sample’s fathers and nearly half
of its mothers have completed their tertiary education, which goes for
almost three-quarters of the interviewees. Close to four-fifth of the latter
have received formal training in art (five) or the related fields of art his-
tory (ten), antiques (one), architecture (one) and the art book trade (one).
That is to say, the backgrounds of gallerists in the centre of the artistic
field combine entrepreneurship and an appreciation of education, that is,
predispositions to strategising and to passion, both of which are inti-
mately associated with the two orientations of social action, the instru-
mentally rational and the value-rational, that structure the hybrid
professional practice of the gallery owner.
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12
The Diffusion of Galleries in China
(1991–2016)
Linzhi Zhang
Introduction
The rapid growth of art markets in China has attracted increasing jour-
nalistic and academic interests. Together with art markets in Brazil, India,
and Russia, Chinese art markets are commonly referred to as emerging
ones in a growing body of literature. Whether these emerging art markets
result from the diffusion of Western market models or “local activation”
(Komarova and Velthuis 2017) is a central topic here. However, this line
of discussion tends to equate diffusion with the replication of Western
practices (Velthuis and Baia Curioni 2015; Kharchenkova 2019).
Consequently, it remains a puzzle as to how local dealers solve problems
non-existent in the Western established markets. Furthermore, the juxta-
position of Western influences and local activation presumes a dualism
between Western and local practices by neglecting Western-inspired local
practices. This dualism prevents a better understanding of how the
L. Zhang (*)
University of Cambridge, Cambridge, UK
e-mail: lz337@cam.ac.uk

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6_12
288 L. Zhang
market of contemporary Chinese art develops in China, a process that is

driven by both Western and Chinese market actors and takes place pre-
cisely at the intersection of local and global markets.
As a remedy, this chapter studies the diffusion of galleries in mainland
China as institutional transformation that is triggered by the introduc-
tion of exogenous practices and mediated by the decision making of
Chinese gallery owners. By galleries, I mean here commercial galleries
that deal in the primary market and contribute to the making of contem-
porary art. In my framework, although galleries originated in the Western
modern market and were introduced to China by Western expatriates,
the diffusion of gallery practices depends on Chinese gallery owners’
adoption, adaption, and even rejection of Western standards, given the
specific market situation and normative expectations from the local art
professionals. Under this framework, I observe two gallery models that
emerged from the around 25 years-long diffusion of galleries in China.
The first is the so-called “Chinese model”, which brought Chinese galler-
ies into the spotlight between 2006 and 2008. It proves to be a price-
centred model that developed from Chinese dealers’ imitation and
modification of Western practices. It thrived with the booming market
and languished after the economic crisis of 2008. The second is what I
call a model of for-profit exhibition space, which developed from the slow
adoption of Western standards in the post-crisis Chinese art world.
Through the elaboration of the two gallery models, this chapter offers an
in-depth analysis of the development of a primary art market in China.
This chapter begins with an overview of existing studies of emerging
art markets. I highlight the need for a framework that does justice to the
agency of local dealers while acknowledging the influence of Western
markets. I then explain what impact the diffusion of gallery practices in
my framework, drawing upon a rich body of literature in diffusion stud-
ies and studies of Western gallery practices. In the third section, I explain
how I collected data through interviews, participant observations, private
conversations, and synthesis of secondary resources. Before I go on to
unpack the two gallery models, I introduce briefly contemporary Chinese
art (CCA) and its market history over three decades. I conclude by sum-
marising my research findings and how they contribute to diffusion stud-
ies and the understanding of emerging markets.
12 The Diffusion of Galleries in China (1991–2016) 289
The Puzzle of Emerging Art Markets

The art markets in China, India, Russia, and Brazil are often referred to
as emerging ones. Whether these emerging art markets result from the
diffusion of Western market models or “local activation” (Komarova
and Velthuis 2017) is a central topic in a growing body of literature.
Assembling studies of Chinese, Indian, Russian, and Brazilian markets,
the editors of the anthology Cosmopolitan Canvases: The Globalization of
Markets for Contemporary Art aimed to address this issue. The contribu-
tors have identified various practices different from Western ones and the
existence of important local dealers and art organisations (Kanzaki Sooudi
2015; Vermeylen 2015; Brandellero 2015; Kharchenkova et al. 2015).
Drawing upon these findings, the editors Velthuis and Baia Curioni
(2015) concluded that the development of emerging art markets cannot
be seen as the diffusion of Western models.
However, this conclusion seems to equate diffusion with institutional
homogeneity. Indeed, diffusion is often studied as the adoption of an
innovation or foreign practices by a recipient population (e.g. Coleman
et al. 1957; Tolbert and Zucker 1983; Guler et al. 2002). Yet it must be
clarified that variations or even rejections of the transmitting practices or
innovations, which result in new practices, also occur in the process of
diffusion (c.f. Palloni 2001; Kaufman and Patterson 2005; Liu 2006;
Boxenbaum and Jonsson 2008; Hollerer et al. 2017). Hence, diffusion
should be better understood as an institutional change that involves the
adoption, modification, and rejection of exogenous practices. Consequently,
the thesis of diffusion cannot be rejected by the existence of market prac-
tices that are different from Western standard practices.
In fact, existing studies, including the ones in the above-mentioned
anthology, have clearly observed the diffusion of Western practices in
India and Brazil, mediated by local dealers and Western art professionals
(e.g. Komarova 2015; Brandellero 2015).
China is no exception. In a country without a modern history of art
markets due to the elimination of markets in Mao’s regime (1949–1976),
Chinese dealers could only begin by imitating Western practices when art
sales were allowed again in 1978. Although the trading of art has a long
history in imperial China, galleries—together with auction houses—were
290 L. Zhang
imported concepts for Chinese. It must be noted, however, that while

auction houses were quickly adopted by Chinese art merchants in the
market of ink painting and calligraphy, the diffusion of galleries in China
was much slower and only succeeded in the market of contemporary art.
With this said, the two art forms—one is indigenous to China and the
other is Western-inspired—are traded in two different markets in China.
The two markets have different institutional foundations and need to be
analysed separately (L. Zhang 2019).1 I study here the diffusion of
Western practices in the market of contemporary art only, which is driven
by Western practices from its commencement. The first galleries of con-
temporary art in China were founded exclusively by Western expatriates
in the 1990s (Wu and Wang 2010; Lü 2012); Chinese gallery owners
often referred to Western gallery practices, of which they tend to see the
positive side only, as the touchstone (J. Zhang 2009; X. Wang 2009;
T. Wang 2010). It is undeniable that a gallery system in China developed
as the diffusion of Western gallery practices. The questions then remain
which practices are adopted, which are modified, and which are rejected
in China.
To answer these questions, I need to first clarify three important points
about the diffusion process. First, much as diffusion does not equal insti-
tutional homogeneity, institutional isomorphism (DiMaggio and Powell
1983) is not the only mechanism for diffusion. As highlighted by Beckert
(2010), it is often neglected that market competition also shapes
institutional changes.2 According to DiMaggio and Powell (1983), organ-
isations adopt certain practices driven by the need for legitimacy, which
can be obtained from mimicking a successful example—mimetic isomor-
phism—or adopting what is widely considered the standard practices—
normative isomorphism. This thesis draws upon the cultural and symbolic
1
In the market of ink painting and calligraphy, galleries of the Western model hardly work, given
the aggressive auction houses that deal in the primary market. Moreover, artists who belong to the
official art organisations, which are legacy of the Mao’s regime (Andrews 1994) and now have the
legitimacy to set high prices for their members, have good control of their own markets. Therefore,
Kharchenkova et al.’s (2015) study of these official art organisations, although they failed to clarify,
concerns only one of the Chinese markets, not the market of contemporary Chinese art.
2
Although DiMaggio and Powell’s (1983) conceptualisation of isomorphism includes a type of
competitive isomorphism, this type of isomorphism that draws upon market competition is much
neglected in the later discussion of isomorphism (Mizruchi and Fein 1999).
aspects of organisations, which are not always after the most economical
solutions. By contrast, market competition motivates organisations to
adopt cost-effective practices (Williamson 1994) or practices that enable
them to differentiate from their competitors (Chamberlin 1933; White
1981). This argument draws upon the economic aspect of organisations,
which need to compete for recourses for survival. Certainly, as organisa-
tions need both legitimacy and economic resources, their actions to
adopt, adapt, or reject the diffusing practices are subject to both isomor-
phic and market pressures.
Second, the study of diffusion should consider the characteristics of
practices being transmitted, which play an important yet often over-
looked role in the success or failure of their diffusion (Wejnert 2002;
Kaufman and Patterson 2005). For instance, Kaufman and Patterson
(2005) found that the low costs of cricket as a sport contributed to its
wide diffusion among the countries of the British Commonwealth.
Whether a global practice’s underlying values and principles are congru-
ent with those of the receiving country can be a determinant factor for its
diffusion (Zhao and Cao 2017).
Finally, it also becomes clear that diffusion should not be regarded as
some “passive contagion” (Palloni 2001, 70). Rather, the decision-makers
in the organisations play a determinant role in mediating the diffusion
process. Their ability and propensity determine whether they will or can
adopt a certain practice (Palmer et al. 1993; Guler et al. 2002; Kaufman
and Patterson 2005). For instance, although organisations tend to adopt
the most effective model, their success in doing so depends on their
capacity to “unequivocally” evaluate the cost-return rates of different
organisational designs (Beckert 2010, 160).
Given the three aspects of the diffusion process, I regard market compe-
tition and isomorphism—mimetic and normative isomorphism specifi-
cally—as the two institutional forces that shape the diffusion of gallery
practices in China. Yet these two forces only have impact through the
mediation of those who make decisions on the management of galleries.
Chinese gallery owners’ decision-making and whether they can success-
fully implement their decisions, in turn, are affected by their knowledge,
capacities, and power positions in the market. On the other hand, given
the complexity of gallery practices, they may adopt quickly those
292 L. Zhang
practices that are easy to observe and replicate but neglect other practices
that they could not easily mimic or understand. Therefore, a thorough
analysis of the complex gallery practices is necessary before I proceed.
Situating Gallery Practices in Diffusion Theory

Indigenous to the Western modern art market, galleries are not only
dealers but have been associated with major artistic movements (White
and White 1993; Bystryn 1978). Here I draw upon Velthuis’ (2005)
emphasis on the normative base of the Western gallery system. In this
perspective, galleries sell each artist’s artworks as an entity in the primary
market through sophisticated exhibitions of art and strategic promotion
of the artist’s career. This definition therefore excludes certain types of
galleries. Such examples are “point-of-sale galleries” (Moureau and Sagot-
Duvauroux 2012), which only sell artworks for artists without promot-
ing the artists’ careers, and “vanity galleries” (Thompson 2010), which
showcase any artists who pay a fee to use the exhibition rooms.
Consisent with the normative definition of galleries above, gallery
practices involve three major aspects: the exhibition making, the sales of
art, and the management of artists. Regarding each aspect, there are stan-
dard practices to follow. In this chapter, the diffusion of Western practices
refers to the diffusion of these standard practices. Among them, some are
visible and easy to imitate; some can be mimicked, given the expertise
and capacity of the gallery owners; others may diffuse slowly, as the ratio-
nales behind these practices are not immediately intelligible for someone
new to the art market.
First, with regard to exhibitions, the standard exhibition display is
unequivocally clear: artworks are placed orderly in a “white-cube” setting
(O’Doherty 1986; Klonk 2009), where walls are painted white and illu-
minated by unnatural bright lighting; no price tags are attached to works.
Solo exhibition is the dominant format, which serves perfectly the
purpose of selling an artist’s works as an entity, a marketing strategy that
has become sophisticated since the genesis of galleries (White and White
1993; Jensen 1996; Ribas 2015). However, beyond the visual presenta-
tion, exhibition-making in the gallery also entails the drafting of
exhibition narratives and the selection of artworks (L. Zhang 2019). This

task requires the gallery owner’s or the manager’s curatorial ideas and
mastery of “the art language” (Rule and Levine 2013; L. Zhang 2019),
which can hardly be mimicked.
Second, unlike exhibition-related practices, sales in the gallery are not
visible. Still, it is easy to master the principle of “not reducing the price”
(Moulin 1987; Velthuis 2005). However, the reason for controlling the
speed of price rise is not so straightforward. The same applies to the
galleries’ attempts to prevent artworks of young and emerging artists
from being sold in auction houses, which also puzzle Western journalists
(Gimein 2013; Maneker 2013). Indeed, Velthuis (2005) devoted an
entire book to the explanations of these rules for pricing- and sales-related
practices. He argued that these rules serve the function of safeguarding
the artistic and economic value of gallery artists’ works from the volatility
and contingency of the market, which is epitomised by the fluctuations
of prices in auction houses. Gallery owners interviewed by Velthuis
(2005) contend that although auctions can lead to rapid price rise in a
short term, they also add to the long-term probability of price reduction,
which is harmful for an artist’s market prospects. Serious and responsible
galleries follow “the code of honour” and consider their artists’ long-term
career prospects (ibid.).
Sales-related practices also involve necessarily the promotion of artists’
careers, as galleries’ business model resides precisely in creating demands
for artworks that are not yet in demand (White and White 1993; Moulin
1987). Participation in art fair is a straightforward strategy, especially for
the promotion of young and emerging artists (Lee and Lee 2016). Less
straightforward are the efforts to obtain exhibition opportunities for the
gallery’s artists in reputable museums and biennales. The rationale is that
exposure in museums and biennales strengthens these artists’ reputation,
which is an important determinant of prices (Beckert and Rössel 2004),
and may eventually, but not necessarily, boost sales.
Finally, artist-related practices include the selection of artists and the
collaboration with selected artists. The selection of artists entails a series
of decision-making: how many artists to represent, where to look for
artists, and which artists to take in (Moulin 1987; L. Zhang 2019).
Although opinions from trusted artists and curators are important, a
294 L. Zhang
gallery owner’s own artistic judgement is decisive. Seemingly, the collabo-

ration with artists can be ensured by legal contracts and signing exclusive
contracts with artists is the most cost-effective practice, as the gallery can
monopolise supply and gain maximum profits. However, legal contracts
are hardly binding in the primary art market (Moulin 1987). There is
actually also a mutual selection between galleries and artists. Galleries
need to win the trust of artists too. The “code of honour” (Velthuis 2005)
or “personal charm” (Thompson 2010) may help. But eventually, the
relationship between the gallery and its artists is “a power struggle”
(Moulin 1987). Art-oriented honourable galleries will also lose their artists
to economically more successful galleries (Bystryn 1978).
This then leads us to the paradox of gallery practices. Although a gallery
needs to follow normative standards for reputation, it cannot survive on
reputation only. The normative standards are not always in line with
market success. Gallerists may dismiss the mundanity of sales and prices
when talking to researchers or journalists, but must have aggressive mar-
keting strategies, which directly or indirectly boost the prices of their
artists. After all, high prices mean not only great profit but also high
visibility, which has obtained the symbolic power to accredit an artist in
contemporary art (Heinich 2000). To balance between honourable stan-
dard practices and cost-effective, or even deviant, practices is probably
the least visible standard practice.
Methods and Data
I draw upon both qualitative and quantitative data in this chapter. My
qualitative inquiry focused on the perception of gallery owners, while the
quantitative mapping aims to show the scale of the Chinese gallery system.
Above all, a qualitative inquiry is essential for understanding the diffu-
sion of gallery practices as mediated by gallery owners. First, I conducted
two phases of fieldwork in Beijing and Shanghai between 2014 and 2016.
During the first phase, I observed exhibition-related practices in three
museums and three galleries, while I also had conversations with multiple
curators, artists, and gallery owners about the art market. During the
second phase, I interviewed 30 artists and 6 gallerists specifically
regarding their experience with the art market and gallery practices. Some
of my informants could offer personal experiences of the market from
1990s onwards. Second, these personal accounts can be verified and sup-
plemented by publications by major historians of contemporary art. They
have documented the genesis and development of contemporary Chinese
art (CCA) and its market conditions from the 1970s onwards. Finally,
published interviews and journalist reports in art magazines and newspa-
pers were also important sources, particularly so for gallery activities in
the market boom. In my interviews, gallery owners now would hardly
disclose the part they played in the boom, when frauds, speculations, and
deviant practices were common. Articles dating back to 2004 are mostly
available in the online archives of the major art media Artron (est. in
2000), HiArt (est. in 2002), and 99 Art (est. in 2003).
Although statistics of galleries over the years can best illustrate their
development, a quantitative mapping of their early development is diffi-
cult. The difficulty is caused by a lack of reliable quantitative data sources.
Gallery is not a distinct category in the census of National Bureau of
Statistics of China. Although galleries can be identified from art fairs, this
method has limited application here. On the one hand, given the exis-
tence of many different types of art fairs,3 only art fairs specialising in
contemporary art can be a reliable source for the number of galleries.
However, the earliest fair of contemporary art, China International
Gallery Exposition (CIGE), appeared in 2004, more than a decade after
the founding of the first gallery in 1991. On the other hand, many newly
founded galleries, which constitute a large proportion of the gallery
population in an emerging art market, did not participate in art fairs.
Hence, although a gallery boom between 2004 and 2008 was a heated
topic in journalism, I observe the following inconsistency: the number of
China-based galleries in art fairs between 2004 and 2008 hardly exceeded
50, which is far from the number of “hundreds” or even “2,369” claimed
by journalists reporting the gallery boom (e.g. Xiao 2011; Pollack 2008).
3
As noted above, there are at least two markets: the one for contemporary art and the other for ink
painting. Given that the domestic market of ink painting developed much faster, early art fairs,
such as the Shanghai Art Fair opened in 1997, deal almost exclusively in ink panting and antiqui-
ties. These fairs, which accepted individual dealers and even artists, were also not gallery fairs. I
focus on fairs specialising in contemporary art only, to exclude galleries-alike dealers of ink
paintings.
296 L. Zhang
Indeed, with the growth of art fairs specialising in contemporary art

after 2010, the situation has been changed. As detailed elsewhere, I have
identified around 90 galleries of contemporary art located in Beijing,
Shanghai, and other cities, drawing upon lists of participants in major art
fairs statistics between 2013 and 2016 (L. Zhang 2019, 92). This, there-
fore, hints at the small scale of the gallery system in China. Fortunately,
records of past exhibitions in most prominent galleries are well preserved
by a database, ArtLinkArt. It is used to check the number, format, and
participant artists of exhibitions held by galleries that I identified from
the qualitative inquiry.
CCA and Its Galleries in a Globalised Market

Contemporary art emerged in China in 1979, when avant-garde Chinese
artists staged their first exhibition of Western-inspired artworks on the rail-
ings of the National Museum of Art (Wu and Wang 2010; DeBevoise
2014). This exhibition and these artists’ following artistic experiments with
installation and performance art were a subversion to the state aesthetics,
which rejected Western modern and contemporary art while recognising
socialist realism and traditional ink painting only (Wiseman and Liu 2011;
Lu 2015). Although sales of art were allowed in China after the Reform
and Opening Up in 1978, contemporary art was sellable to Western busi-
nessmen and diplomats only (Wu and Wang 2010; Lü 2012; DeBevoise
2014). The large majority of Chinese collectors, who grow up with knowl-
edge of ink painting, did not know about contemporary art, particularly
not after the 1989 Tiananmen Square Protest. With tightened ideological
control, proponents of CCA could only turn to the Western art world for
sales and public exposure. Most of the history-making exhibitions of CCA
were mounted by Chinese or Western curators in Hong Kong, France,
Germany, and the USA (Archer 2018; DeBevoise 2014).
Given this early history of CCA, it is not surprising that Western expa-
triates, who had close connections with the only buyers in the 1990s,
opened the first galleries in China. These are the Red Gate Gallery, the
Courtyard Gallery, and Art Archive and Warehouse (AAW) in Beijing,
and ShanghART in Shanghai. Meanwhile, galleries in Hong Kong,
London, and New York such as Hanart Gallery, Chinese Contemporary

Gallery, and Goedhuis Contemporary also approached Chinese artists.
With no predecessors, these galleries defined what galleries were in
China. However, run by dealers with various backgrounds and capacities,
they did not present an integral and coherent image of galleries. Red Gate
Gallery, Chinese Contemporary Gallery, and Goedhuis Contemporary
served a circuit of Western collectors attracted by the low price and
Chineseness of CCA (J. Zhang 2009). Without recognition by Western
mainstream art professionals, similar to the “point-of-sale” galleries
(Moureau and Sagot-Duvauroux 2012), they hardly had any impact on
Chinese artists’ careers. AAW and ShanghART are probably the only two
that fit the normative definition of galleries. While Red Gate hardly pro-
moted artists outside China, ShanghART began its journey in Art Basel
with showcasing Zhou Tiehan in the Statement section in 2000. AAW,
co-founded by Ai Weiwei, could be considered an “artist-oriented gallery”
(Bystryn 1978), which allowed artists to experiment without concerns
for sales.
Yet these differences were either imperceptible or not important for
Chinese artists, who grew up in a communist China without any experi-
ence or knowledge of the art market or galleries. Some artists born in the
1950s and 1960s never truly accept the idea of artworks as commodities
(interview with A1 and A4,4 2016). Other artists could hardly see the
value of gallery representation, for which galleries claimed a commission
fee of 50% (interview with A5, 2016). This is not surprising, given that
they were mostly approached by “point-of-sale” galleries or individual
brokers in the 1990s. Except for a few artists who collaborated with
ShanghART more or less exclusively, most Chinese artists considered it a
standard practice to sell from their studios. This practice was passed on to
their students and younger colleagues in art schools. In the new millen-
nium, young graduates of prominent art schools such as Central Academy
of Fine Art, China Academy of Art, and Sichuan Fine Arts Institute, who
were born in the 1970s, also started to sell their works from studio in the
early 2000s (interview with A13, 2016).
4
The IDs of my interviewees suggest their identities. Artists’ IDs start with A, C stands for curators,
and G is for gallerists.
298 L. Zhang
Therefore, when most Chinese dealers started to open their galleries

after 2004, the main challenge was to create an intermediary position
between artists and collectors. It was even normal for some gallery owners
to learn from artists how to set prices and when to give discounts (inter-
view with G4, 2016). Moreover, Chinese galleries faced competition
from Japanese, Korean, and Western galleries, which entered China from
2002 onwards and contributed to the genesis of a gallery zone in Beijing
now widely known as 798.
The only advantage of Chinese galleries is probably their natural
connections with Chinese collectors, who were increasingly interested in
contemporary art after the 2006 inauguration auction of CCA in China
Guardian (T. Wang 2010). This Chinese-run auction house, which dealt
in Chinese antiquities and modern ink paintings, was in turn inspired by
Christie’s and Sotheby’s. Chinese collectors, who used to follow auction
houses and speculate in ink paintings, poured into the market of CCA
and contributed to a boom between 2006 and 2008 in China. However,
the economic crisis and plummeting prices soon drove out a lot of specu-
lative collectors, who actually bought and sold more through auction
houses instead of galleries (Zhu 2008). As observed by the gallerists I
interviewed, among their customers, Chinese collectors only began to
equal or overtake Western collectors after 2010.
Indeed, in the post-crisis period, the domestic market continued to
grow and even on a larger scale after 2010 (Artprice and Artron 2013,
37). The growing power of Chinese collectors does not render the market
of CCA less globalised, because the legitimacy of Western art institutions
is widely acknowledged by these new-circuit collectors, who are zealous
visitors of Western art fairs.
To conclude, three phases can be identified from the development of
galleries in China. During the first phase (1991–2003), gallery practices
were introduced by Western and other foreign dealers into China.
Chinese dealers only started to adopt gallery practices on a significant
scale from 2004 onwards. The spawning of new galleries reached its peak
between 2006 and 2008.5 The development then slowed down due to the
5
Due to lack of reliable data, the exact number of newly founded galleries in this period cannot be
determined. The only reliable statistics come from CIGE: the percentage of China-based galleries
in CIGE rose from 28% in 2004, to 31% in 2006 and then to 40% in 2008.
economic crisis of 2008. Yet in the post-crisis period (2010–2016), par-

ticularly after 2012, there is a new wave of galleries founded by Chinese
and the re-entry of international galleries.6 My analysis will focus on
practices of Chinese-run galleries, which are and will probably remain the
mainstream.
The Rise and Fall of the Price-Centred Model

During the market boom (2006–2008), many Chinese-run galleries that
were said to conduct “flipping and speculation” came to the spotlight
(Vine, Phillips, and Pollack 2007; X. Wang 2009; T. Wang 2010). The
Chinese galleries seem to be associated primarily with deviant practices,
such as sending artists’ artworks to auction houses and taking fraud bids
to raise the prices. The mere focus on deviant practices in China and
the critical attitude of some Western observers is hardly fruitful for
understanding the peculiarity of Chinese galleries. After all, as Barbara
Pollack—an expert on CCA—pointed out, deviant practices are not
indigenous to China (Vine, Phillips, and Pollack 2007, 49–50; Pollack
2008). Indeed, despite the normative and legal regulations, speculations
and ill practices are also common to the Western art markets (e.g. Moulin
1987; Thompson 2010).
Looking beyond the deviant practices, I examine here what the Chinese
galleries regarded and undertook as standard practices during the market
boom and explain why these practices were adopted. For this purpose, I
draw upon the lists of top galleries between 2006 and 2008 nominated
by Award of Art China (AAC), which is now arguably the most presti-
gious art award in China art, and magazines such as Hualang and HiArt.
The accounts of my interviewees who experienced the boom were also
important sources. I then narrow down my focus on those galleries that
eventually became marginal or even closed after the economic crisis,
because they represent a model that was only viable in the specific market
constellation during the boom.
6
As I observed during my fieldwork between 2014 and 2016, newly founded Chinese-run galleries
take ten percentage of the art fair participants. The prominent foreign galleries that entered China
during this period include Jame Cohan, Arario, de Sarthe, Hakgojae, and Mizuma.
300 L. Zhang
These galleries are Hanmo Gallery (est. 1997), Aura Gallery (est.
2000), China Blue (est. 2002), Star Gallery (est. 2005), and Fun Art
Space (est. 2006). Star Gallery was particularly flamboyant because of its
success in branding a group of young painters born in the 1970s as “the
generation of cartoon”. The Shanghai-based Aura Gallery drew people’s
attention by expanding to Hong Kong in 2006. Such an aggressive move
was hardly imaginable for most Chinese-run galleries. Despite high
visibility during the boom, these galleries all came to a demise, quickly or
slowly, after the crisis of 2008. China Blue and Fun Art Space shut down
before 2010, while the rest moved out of 798 between 2011 and 2013
due to the rising rents (G. Zhang 2016).7 In Beijing, moving out of the
most visible gallery zone 798 means “out of the game” (private conserva-
tions with C5, 2016).
A close examination of their practices reveals that they are among the
first Chinese-run galleries to adopt Western standards in many aspects.
First, with regard to the exhibition format, solo exhibitions dominated in
their exhibitions between 2006 and 2008. The percentage of solo exhibi-
tions was 66%, 73%, 85%, and 88% in Fun Art Space, Aura Gallery,
China Blue, and Star Gallery, respectively.8 This was in contrast to the
preference of group exhibitions among many other Chinese-run galleries
of the time. The percentage of group exhibitions in FIPO Gallery (est.
2006), C5 Gallery (est. 2005), and 798 Time Space (est. 2003), for
instance, was 95%, 56%, and 78%, respectively. These group exhibitions
are now generally dismissed by “serious galleries” (interview with G5).
Without any underlying curatorial ideas, these group exhibitions seemed
to serve primarily the function of diversifying products and therefore
enhancing the chances of sales. Considering that Chinese galleries still
cannot dispense with group exhibitions, which take up a third of all gal-
lery exhibitions between 2010 and 2016 (L. Zhang 2019), China Blue
and Star Gallery took the lead in adopting the Western standard practice
of marketing an artist through solo exhibitions.
7
The Shanghai-based Aura gallery relocated to Beijing in 798 in 2010.
8
These statistics are based on the online records of these galleries and ArtLinkArt. Data for Hanmo
Gallery is incomplete. The percentage of solo exhibitions is relatively low in Fun Art Space, because
it was opened in 2006 and the first few exhibitions of new galleries in China tended to be group
exhibitions.
Second, they were the first to pay artists annual stipends according to
a fixed-term (normally three years) exclusive contract. Hanmo Gallery
was arguably the first Chinese-run gallery to adopt this practice in 1997
(Lin 2012). Lin Song, the owner of Hanmo, explained that he mimicked
Western galleries (ibid.). He was able to convince Xia Junna (b. 1971),
his then colleague in art school, to provide him 15 to 20 paintings a year
at a fixed price of 30,000 RMB.9 Lin Song was also very proud of being
approached by other gallerists for using his contract with Xia Junna as
template (ibid.). In 2000, the annual stipend rose to 100,000 RMB when
Aura Gallery signed the contract with Ji Dachun (b. 1968) (You 2006).
In 2006, the starting annual stipend for a young artist rose further to
200,000 RMB (interview with A22, 2016). Although these galleries held
the principle to sign exclusive contracts with artists, most artists did not
collaborate with them in this manner. Star Gallery seemed to be most
successful in representing several artists exclusively, including Chen Ke
(b. 1978), Ouyang Chun (b. 1974), Wei Jia (b. 1975), and Gao Yu (b.
1981). Indeed, marketing young artists who are born after 1970 was the
main focus of all five galleries.
Third, to promote their artists, these galleries actively participated in
art fairs. Hanmo, Aura, and China Blue were among the participants of
the first CIGE art fair. Shortly after opening, Star Gallery and Fun Art
Space also joined the art fair in 2006. Fully aware of the importance of
art criticism, Hanmo, China Blue, and Star Gallery were also involved in
the establishment of an art prize and an art magazine. Wu Jin, a stake-
holder of both Hanmo Gallery and China Blue, launched an art prize in
2004 for young graduates of art schools, from whom these galleries
selected their artists (Li 2011). Fang Fang, the owner of Star Gallery, co-
founded the art magazine HiArt, which was an important channel for
advertising his new exhibitions.
Certainly, practices that fail to reach normative standards existed.
Excluding those that are common in the Western context, I highlight
here two that are more indigenous. First of all, there was hardly a sense of
programming in most galleries’ exhibitions. The number of exhibitions
and their exhibits seemed to be determined without much planning in
1,000 RMB equalled about 120 USD/140 EUR in 2000 and about 125 USD/100 EUR in 2006.
9
302 L. Zhang
advance. For instance, Fang admitted that he sometimes needed to fill a

new exhibition with artworks already exhibited in a previous exhibition,
due to lack of new exhibits (Fang et al. 2013). The number of exhibitions
rose arbitrarily if the sales went well. The peak was 2007, when all these
price-centred galleries had more than eight exhibitions. Star Gallery had
14 exhibitions, most of which lasted only some 20 days. As commented
by an artist once represented by Art Fun Space, the primary principle is
to be “fast”; there was no such thing as “curating” or “control of speed”
(interview with artist A22, 2016). A new exhibition would open the next
day after the previous one ended. To achieve this, the gallerist simply
spent a night hanging the new paintings on the wall.
The most interesting adaptation of the Western organisational designs is
undoubtedly their collaboration with auction houses. While Western gal-
lery owners dismiss auctions (Velthuis 2005), Chinese gallerists seem to
regard them as the best collaborators. Sending young artists’ artworks to
auction houses was for them an essential step in promoting these artists
(T. Wang 2010). It is hard to confirm whether or not the five galleries I
study here were involved in fraud bids. It is, however, certain that there was
no price control. Instead, when their artists started to be auctioned at exor-
bitant prices (Li 2011; Kele 2008), the galleries raised their listed prices in
the primary market, accordingly, to over 300,000 RMB (Fang 2009),
which were originally set at 10,000 RMB three or four years earlier.
In essence, gallery owners of this model imitated Western standards
but primarily adopted the strategy to boost the price in promoting their
artists. Art- and exhibition-related promotion strategies were generally
neglected. Hence, I call this model a price-centred gallery model.
To understand why these Chinese dealers have chosen this model, I
emphasise here their knowledge of Western galleries, their perception of
the Chinese market, and their power position in relation to other actors
in the market.
First, superficial knowledge and limited observations of Western galler-
ies confined these Chinese dealers’ imitation to the most visible and easily
replicable practices. Due to the legacy of Mao’s communist China, there
was no teaching of art management in Chinese art schools. Although most
of these dealers graduated from the Central Academy of Fine Arts, their
knowledge of galleries came from their reading of Western galleries and
superficial observations of existing galleries in China. The owner of Aura

said he opened his gallery after reading a biography of Daniel-Henry
Kahnweiler (Liao 2016). Leo Castelli was most frequently referred to by
these dealers, speaking of their aspiration for opening a gallery (You 2006;
Du 2005; Lin 2012; Fang et al. 2013). Yet how exactly Leo Castelli achieved
his success, admitted Fang Fang, was never known to him (Fang et al.
2013). Fang’s only direct experience with gallery was visiting the tiny gal-
lery space of ShanghART, run by a Swiss dealer. This experience ensured
him that a gallery did not need to start with a luxury grandiose gallery
space. He was then determined to rent a small space in 798 and started his
gallery with a capital of 400,000 RMB and some 30 paintings (ibid.).
Hence, they quickly adopted the most visible and easily replicable
practices: signing contracts with artists, making solo exhibitions for them
in a “white-cube”, and seeking all means to sell. The importance of exhi-
bition quality and programming, the rationales behind what was empha-
sized by Western gallerists as a code of honour in Velthuis’ (2005) book,
were unknown to them. Rather, they have worked out the many details
which were missing from their observations of Western galleries by
exploring and doing.
However, their exploration was constrained by resources at their dis-
posal. Most of the dealers started with little capital, as shown in Fang’s
story. Without any other financial backings, sales of artworks were their
only income. Aura Gallery and China Blue were relatively better off, as
the dealers had income from other business, which was still insignificant
compared to the international galleries that entered China. Hence, for
these Chinese dealers, the most cost-effective practice was what could
bring immediate sales and profits.
Collaboration with auction houses is one of these effective means.
High prices in auction did not only give these dealers justified reasons for
raising their artists’ listed prices, but also bring high visibility to their art-
ists. Hence, auction houses were actually welcomed as collaborators (Fang
2009). Certainly, fear of a market bubble was not absent from these deal-
ers. Yet the dominant perception of the market was optimistic, and they
insisted that good art would stand “the test of the market” (Du 2005).
On the other hand, confronting aggressive auction houses that dealt in
the primary market, Chinese galleries did not have the means to control
304 L. Zhang
their artists’ prices. For instance, Christie’s Hong Kong already took Gao
Yu’s paintings in its 2004 auction, before this young artist settled down
with Star Gallery (Li 2011).
Moreover, sending a desirable artwork to auctions was considered a
“fair” solution to the dilemma of having many collectors after the same
painting. In the Western market, galleries set a waiting list and choose the
favoured collectors, instead of raising the price (Velthuis 2005). Chinese
dealers thought the demand-supply mechanism in auctions was a fair
solution: the one who wanted a painting most and was willing to pay the
highest price should get it (Lin 2012). Hence, while Western galleries
may uphold a code of “honour”, these Chinese galleries believed in a
code of “fairness”. They believed that the price of good artists would sur-
vive “the test of the market”, which stands for fair competition between
artists (Lin 2012; Fang 2009).
Finally, it must be clarified that speculation in the market of young art-
ists born after 1970, which was the main reason for the fall of this model,
was also the only choice for these gallery owners. Without a large amount
of operating capital and no personal connections with the established art-
ists, they could only afford buying from artists who were about to start their
careers. However, these young artists are much less likely to withhold the
strike of an economic crisis. The speculative model languished, as prices of
most young artists plummeted during the economic crisis of 2008.
To conclude, the price-centred galleries have adopted the practices to
represent artists and promote their careers by boosting their prices.
However, their mere focus on price and limited capacities to control the
primary market made them victims of the contingent market. Their
aspirations were later achieved by some other Chinese-run galleries. This
leads us to the other model and its practices.
he Slow Growth of the For-Profit

T
Exhibition Spaces
When I started my fieldwork in 2014, I asked my informants to recom-
mend museums of contemporary art for the purpose of studying
exhibition-making as artistic production. To my surprise, many of my
informants suggested that a few galleries would make better research sub-
jects as they thought these galleries surpassed museums at exhibition
quality. Frequently mentioned were the following galleries: ShanghART,
Galleria Continua, Beijing Commune (BC), Long March Space (LMS),
Magician Space (MS), Platform China, Vitamin Creative Space, Tang
Contemporary (TC), and White Space Beijing (WSB). Except for the
first two galleries, the rest are all Chinese-run galleries.
These galleries’ favour of cutting-edge art, such as installation, video,
and performance art, over painting, has won them high reputation from
artists. Indeed, 70% of the exhibitions in BC, MS, TC, WSB, and LMS
in 2016 featured video or installation art. Over 50% of the artists repre-
sented by these galleries do not use paintings as a principal medium.
Given that painting is the most popular medium in the art market, these
galleries seem to be less concerned with sales.
This certainly does not mean that they are truly substitutes for muse-
ums in China. Frequent participants of prominent art fairs such as Art
Basel Hong Kong and even Art Basel Basel, these galleries obviously make
enough profits. However, gallery owners of these cutting-edge galleries
whom I interviewed, unlike their colleagues in the price-centred galleries,
all claimed to prioritise “quality of our exhibitions” instead of sales or
prices. In many aspects, they are not different from their Western coun-
terparts. Representing 15 to 25 artists, they are audacious in their exhibi-
tion programmes, responsible in their pricing of artists, and active in
networking with the Western art world. Above all, they have adopted
what I explained above as the least visible practice: while presenting
themselves to the public as an exhibition space, they push the sale-related
practices into the background. I therefore call these galleries for-profit
exhibition spaces. This means they are similar to museums and other non-
profit art spaces in terms of exhibition-related practices, but they sell the
exhibits.
However, these Chinese galleries have only recently adopted this model
in the post-crisis period. Except for Magician Space, which was founded
in 2008, most of them were founded about the same time as the above-
mentioned price-centred galleries were. Unlike the price-centred model,
they survived the market crisis. But before they became “serious” and
“responsible” galleries as they are now reputed to be, most of them
306 L. Zhang
operated before and during the market boom in a different way. They
sold artworks of A-list artists by consignment, without a stable roaster of
their own artists. In this sense, they resembled more “point-of-sale” gal-
leries. Only after the economic crisis or after 2010 did these galleries
started to develop a roaster of their own artists (interview with G2, G3,
G5, 2016).
Their late and successful adoption of Western standard practices,
which I highlight here as the focus on exhibition quality and manage-
ment of artists, can be explained by changes in the market constellations
and the formation of professional standards in the Chinese art community.
First of all, it is to be noted that the great profits these galleries made
during the market boom were crucial to their survival of the market
crisis. Unlike the owners of the price-centred galleries who had to rely on
young artists whose markets were far from established, galleries in this
model were well connected with artists who made their names in the
1980s and later became the market superstars, such as Zhang Xiaogang,
Zeng Fanzhi, Yue Minjun, and Fang Lijun. The revenue and capital gen-
erated by selling their artworks, which were then sold over one million
RMB each (interview with A22, G3, 2016), gave them a great advantage
in surviving the market recession.
Second, the fact that the owners of these for-profit exhibition spaces
are much better informed of Western practices also explains their success.
They were the first to have contacts with the Western art world. The
owner of Beijing Commune, Leng Lin, is a veteran curator who has built
connections to the Western art professionals since the 1990s. He was
later appointed as the director of Pace Beijing. The gallerist of Platform
China studied art management in the UK and is probably the only galler-
ist who received any formal training in art dealership. WSB was originally
opened by a German gallerist Alexander Ochs, who then sold the gallery
to his Chinese manager. In short, their knowledge and understanding of
Western practices come from direct personal experience. They are in a
better position to adopt Western gallery practices. Yet the need to imitate
was not urgent in the booming market. This leads us to the reason for
their late adoption of Western standards.
That is, these Chinese galleries could no longer continue with their
“point-of-sale” model, due to the gradual taking-over of A-list Chinese
artists by Western “branded galleries” (Thompson 2010), which are some

30 top galleries that monopolise the top echelons of the primary market.
For instance, Zhang Enli was taken in by Hauser & Wirth in 2006, Zeng
Fanzhi by Gagosian in 2011, and Liu Xiaodong by Lisson Gallery in
2012. Consequently, local Chinese galleries were forced to work on their
own roster of artists. They started to search for new talents, select artists
with caution, and promote these artists in a global market. Wang Sishun
(b. 1979), represented by LMS, and He Xiangyu (b. 1986), represented
by WSB, are prominent examples of Chinese artists who made global
careers thanks to their Chinese galleries’ efforts. However, most of these
galleries no longer use legal exclusive contracts, as the price-centred
galleries did. Fixed annual stipend is also discarded. Artists are paid regu-
larly according to the sales made.
Of course, artists of the younger generations are also more willing to
be “tamed”. Among the 30 artists I interviewed in 2016, compared to
those who were born in the 1950s and 1960s, artists born in the 1970s
and 1980s have a much more positive image of galleries and see their
careers tied to galleries. They accept the idea of being represented exclu-
sively by one gallery, although they are also clearly aware that this type of
relationship can be rather fragile. Their market prospects are the only key
to a long-term collaboration with galleries.
The emphasis on exhibition quality and the focus on cutting-edge art
is a response to the normative pressure from the local and global art com-
munities. The market collapse and the fatal outcome for many artists left
the Chinese art community with resentment and reflection (Bao 2014).
Chinese art professionals used to appreciate the liberating force of the art
market that facilitated the development of CCA in a politically repressing
environment (DeBevoise 2014). The economic crisis of 2008 made them
aware, for the first time, of the market’s destructive power. The negative
side of the market was mainly associated with painting, which was sub-
servient to market demands and speculations in the boom. Less pursued
by collectors and less affected by the market turbulence, installation and
video art became the new cutting-edge and the embodiment of autono-
mous artistic creation. Installation and video art were given a much
higher symbolic status in this context. A gallerist told me that in Beijing,
at least, they felt the “peer pressure” to do “serious exhibitions” (interview
308 L. Zhang
with G2, 2016). Being serious means to balance the market demand and
the expectations of the art community. Showcasing less marketable
cutting-edge art seems to be the clearest statement for a gallery’s serious-
ness. By making this type of statements, many newly founded galleries,
such as Space Station (est. 2009), Yang Gallery (est. 2010), Leo Xu (est.
2011), Antenna Space (est. 2013), have also won the same reputation.
The normative pressure also comes from Western art fairs that local
Chinese galleries are aiming to participate in. There are certainly no “set
criteria” for Art Basel, but the general idea is to select “interesting” “exhib-
iting galleries”, “not just art dealers” (Neuendorf 2016). The gallery man-
ager of White Space Beijing explained to me her interpretation of this
“feeling” committee members are after: conceptual artworks were more
likely to be selected to the precision section of Art Basel Miami. Indeed,
after she managed to present her artist there, she observed that most of
the artworks in that section did not seem sellable: a gallery that occupied
the booth next to hers showcased a piece of performance art, in which the
artist painted the wall with a different colour after a certain interval
(interview with G3, 2016). She explained to me that only through the
participation in the precision section would the gallery have a better
chance to go to the gallery section of Miami, and then she could aim for
Basel. Hence, and at first glance quite paradoxically, having a significant
number of “unsellable” artists and artworks seems to be a requirement for
entering these prestigious art fairs.
This type of normative pressure is certainly also directly related to the
competition in the top echelons of the market. These local galleries now
need to compete with Western galleries, not only for Chinese artists, but
also for Chinese collectors. The new-circuit domestic collectors mostly
joined in after the boom. By following art fairs, they have quickly become
customers of Western branded galleries, even though these galleries do
not have a base in China. Chinese galleries now perceive the pressure of
being gauged by Western standards, due to the growing knowledge and
expertise of the new-circuit Chinese collectors (interview with G3, 2016).
Moreover, the focus on cutting-edge art was also a cost-effective strat-
egy that helps these galleries differentiate them from their competitors in
the aftermath of the market crisis. Economic crises tend to hit the most
speculative segment of the market (Moulin 1987, 169). Painting was that
segment. It is particularly hard to restore an artist’s market if his paintings

were sold at 1,000,000 RMB during the boom—which was then very
common for many painters (interview with A22, 2016). After 2008,
these paintings could only be sold at a tenth of the listed price. Such a
dramatic reduction in price makes it difficult to rebuild collectors’ faith
in the artist’s value. By contrast, 10 of the 11 video/installation artists I
interviewed and who experienced the boom said prices of their artworks
were unaffected by the boom and therefore less hit by the crisis. Exploring
and boosting the market of artists with stable market records is a much
more reasonable choice. Most importantly, auction houses, the main
competitors of Chinese galleries, are less interested in this niche market.
Therefore, they somehow circumvent the competition with auction
houses that price-centred galleries had.
Of course, the model of for-profit exhibition spaces is economically
viable because, similar to the dealers of cutting-edge galleries studied by
Horowitz (2011), they may make real money out of paintings and other
more conventional art forms while showcasing cutting-edge art in their
exhibitions. However, for Chinese galleries, the investment in their art-
ists’ non-commercial art experiments is also necessary, because the non-
profit sector in China could not afford this mission due to lack of public
funding and philanthropic support (L. Zhang 2019). Moreover, most of
these galleries do not have business in the secondary market (interview
with G2, G3, 2016). Hence, they are also obliged to invest in the artists
they select, because financially, compared to their Western counterparts,
they are much more dependent on the success of their artists.
Conclusion
This chapter has charted the development of galleries in China by unpack-
ing two gallery models that emerged from the imitation and adaptation
of Western standards. The first gallery model is a price-centred one,
adopted by Chinese gallery owners who understand high prices as the key
to effectively promoting their artists. The second model of galleries is the
for-profit exhibition space. Galleries of this type emphasise exhibition
quality and focus on cutting-edge art such as installation and video art.
310 L. Zhang
Their market success relies on reputation building and extensive network-

ing. Although the two gallery models started to develop in China at about
the same time, the price-centred model could not sustain its growth when
the market boom (2006–2008) ended.
Despite the eventual failure of price-centred galleries, the joint efforts
of galleries of the two models have achieved an important step in the
building of a gallery system. That is, they have successfully created an
intermediary space between artists and collectors, which hardly existed
before 2008 because artists used to consider it a standard practice to sell
from their studios. Although auction houses remain strong competitors
for galleries in the primary market of painting, the for-profit exhibition
spaces have created their own niche market of installation and video art.
Unlike their Western counterparts who confront with well-established
sets of norms and rules, Chinese dealers needed to create their own rules
and solutions to problems in gallery management in a country without a
modern history of markets. Although Western practices existed as an
important reference, as it has been revealed, they did not offer a step-by-
step blueprint. Rather, in cross-cultural diffusion, exogenous models
often exist as simplified templates and fragmented images, from which
local actors can select and modify. Most Chinese dealers only received
spotty information about Western galleries, as formal training was not
available. They relied more on their own evaluation of the immediate
market situation and common sense understanding of the economy.
Hence, Chinese dealers could rapidly adopt and re-invent visible and
straightforward practices of Western origins but were slow in accepting
some other gallery practices that seem less cost-effective. With the increas-
ing involvement of Chinese dealers in Western art fairs, however, Chinese
dealers have become more familiar with Western standards and more
motivated in adopting these standards.
To conclude, looking beyond the flamboyant market explosion, this
chapter has revealed in detail how Chinese dealers managed their galleries
by mimicking Western practices and adapting to the specific market situ-
ation and normative expectations of the Chinese art world. Challenging
a simplistic view of emerging markets that draws heavily upon existing
Western standards as the touchstone or blueprint, I have particularly
emphasised the decision-making of local gallery owners. As mediators of
diffusing exogenous practices, local Chinese dealers’ decision making,

though bounded by their experience and knowledge, is crucial to the
formation of rules and codes of practices in the nascent Chinese market
of contemporary art. This chapter therefore provides new insights for the
study of emerging markets by explaining the mechanism through which
practices and standards of established markets get enacted or transformed
in new markets.
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Part V
Market Assessments: The Increasing
Role of Art Rankings
13
Magic Index on the Wall: Who Is
the Most Valuable Artist of Them All?
Nathalie Moureau
Whereas quality was usually taken for granted in classical market

approaches, the issue of the social building of quality has interested many
researchers since the turn of the millennium (Callon et al. 2002; Beckert
and Musselin 2013). When goods at stake on a market are unique or
singular, the task is even higher, as Karpik showed in his famous book,
Valuing the Unique. The Economics of Singularities (2007), in which he
underlined the necessity for such markets to be equipped with what he
calls “judgment devices”. Thus, the role of labels, critics, and rankings is
to provide consumers with the tools and knowledge needed for making
reasonable choices.
On the art market, it was in 1970 that Willi Bongard, an arts and
economy journalist (1931–1985), devised a kompass with which to navi-
gate the art world, and this tool soon became famous. Ever since, many
other approaches have emerged and the scene has become more sophisti-
cated. The vocabulary has also evolved, and actors now refer to indexes,
N. Moureau (*)
Université Paul Valery – Montpellier 3, Montpellier, France
e-mail: nathalie.moureau@univ-montp3.fr

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6_13
320 N. Moureau
rankings, top 50s, and top 100s more than ever. Artists, museums
and galleries (and perhaps even curators in the future) are weighted,
compared and classified. The production of such rankings requires a spe-
cific view of the art world, and their relevance depends on the conceptual
thinking of the economic and social phenomenon it seeks to define. It’s
only after a suitable analysis of the mechanisms at stake that a simplifica-
tion can be carried out in order to suggest the most appropriate indica-
tors. Yet, this is the problem faced by most indexes and rankings. They are
often produced too quickly, without thorough research; at the same time,
one naturally tends to consider numbers to be objective, and the behav-
iour of most of the suppliers of such data reinforces this idea as they tend
to suggest that they use scientific methods.
In this chapter, based on the study of the current indexes available in
the press and on the web (e.g. ArtFacts, Kunstkompass, Artprice, etc.)
and with the help of a socio-economic analysis, we highlight the difficul-
ties of producing relevant indexes as well as the perverse effects they can
generate within the art market. More specifically, we show how actors can
adopt strategies which may be inefficient from a welfare point of view
within the art world, but which strengthen their position in the rankings.
Furthermore, we show how these rankings can have negative implications
because of their potential self-fulfilling effects on a market characterised
by high uncertainty.
A Wide Range of Lists, Rankings, and Indexes

There are many lists, rankings, and indexes proposed to art lovers on the
art market, and finding one’s way through them is no easy task. This pro-
liferation has become quite disconcerting. Some of these indicators are
long-standing, such as the list of the 200 most influential collectors
ARTnews magazine1 has been publishing every summer since 1990.
Others are much more recent, but already famous, such as ArtFacts,2
which ranks artists according to their visibility. What is amazing is that
American magazine created in 1902 by James Clarence Hyde.

1
ArtFacts is a digital platform; it is a German company and was created in 2001 by Marek Claasse.
2
13 Magic Index on the Wall: Who Is the Most Valuable Artist… 321
new and older lists alike can deal with the same issues. This was the case
with Artnet3 which published in 2015 a list of the top 200 collectors4, a
topic on which ARTnews had been working for many years. Another
surprising fact is that different lists use the same methodology to collect
data; in some cases, the output is a simple list in alphabetical order,
whereas in others it is a ranking. In order to establish their lists, both
ArtReview and ARTnews ask experts to provide them with the names of
the most influential actors in the art world. ARTnews focuses on influen-
tial art collectors and ArtReview5 on influential players, irrespective of
their role (curator, artist, gallerist, collector, etc.). Despite the fact that
both lists are based on the opinions of the respondents, ARTnews
provides a list of names presented in alphabetical order, whereas ArtReview
chooses to introduce a hierarchy and to rank the influential personalities
listed. Other differences between lists are less marked, as is the case when
they use a different criterion for ranking the same population. For example,
some lists rank artists according to their maximum price at auction
(Artprice6), while other rank them according to the number of followers
they have on Instagram (Christie’s).7 Some lists and indexes use quantita-
tive indicators as a base for their proposal (turnover, attendance, etc.),
while others are more subjective and refer to experts’ opinions. There are
also rankings and lists that mix different criteria; this is the case of the art
galleries ranking set up by the sociologist Alain Quemin in the Journal
des Arts8 in 2016. Whereas some lists and indexes are globally informative
3
The web society (database platform) was founded in 1990 by the German art dealer Hans
Neuendorf. Management took artnet’s main subsidiary, artnet AG, public on the Neuer Markt of
the Frankfurt Stock Exchange.
4
In 2016, this list featured only 100 collectors.
5
ArtReview is an art magazine based in London, founded in 1948. Its sister publication, ArtReview
Asia, was established in 2013. Since 2002 ArtReview has published its annual Power 100 list, a
guide to the 100 most powerful figures in contemporary art. The website, artreview.com, was
launched in 2007.
6
Artprice (digital database platform) is a French limited company incorporated in 1997, mainly
held by Server group founded in 1987 by Thierry Ehrmann.
7
The famous Anglo-Saxon auction house publishes different tops on its website, notably Top-100-
Art-World-Instagrams-Artists: https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web
&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwj08bmpoIffAhVPzRoKHVcZAqkQFjAAegQIChAB&
url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.christies.com%2Ffeatures%2FTop-100-Art-World-Instagrams-
Artists-8482-1.aspx&usg=AOvVaw0N4klwmXae_L2vxH_qTTBR.
8
French art magazine founded in 1994. It is also on the web since 1999.
322 N. Moureau
about who is hype and who isn’t on the art market, others claim that they
provide a precise and scientific guide for investment in the art market.
ArtRank,9 created in 2016, offers an index based on both market and
artistic sources, and claims to be able to forecast the value of different
artists. The website gives individual recommendations such as “buy under
$10,000”, “buy under $30,000”, “buy under $100,000”, “early blue
chip”, “sell/peaking”, and “undervalued blue chip”. Artprice recently
introduced an index protected by intellectual property rights,
Artprice100®, that claims to be objective and that is designed “for finan-
ciers and investors”.10 The main problem with both approaches is that
their methodologies remain secret. The diversity among rankings is also
due to the variety of topics covered, such as people (collectors, artists,
influencers, etc.), galleries or even institutions including museums.
F actors Conducive to the Emergence of Lists,

Rankings, and Indexes
The origin of such a proliferation of indexes and lists on the art market is
complex and different factors have contributed to their emergence. Social
numbers are nothing new; nevertheless, for a long time they were the
privilege of the elite and were considered dangerous in the wrong hands
(Espeland and Sauder 2007, Porter 1986; Alonso and Starr 1987). What
has changed is their spread and public nature. First and foremost, it
should be mentioned that their rise is not confined to the art market and
is part of an overall movement that began in the late 1970s (Espeland and
Sauder 2007). During these years, the quantitative measure performances
used in business began to be imported into different institutional
domains. According to Caron and Gely (2004, 2), “Measures like the
cost benefit ratios imposed on regulators, standardized tests used to eval-
uate students and schools, performance measures in firms, assessments of
9
Artrank was created by the former art dealer (gallery closed in 2012) Carlos A. Rivera, based in
Los Angeles. The digital platform was launched in 2014.
10
See https://artmarketinsight.wordpress.com/2018/01/31/artprice-launches-its-blue-chip-art-
market-index-artprice100-designed-for-financiers-and-investors/.
universities, and ranking of school, firms and hospitals have become so

pervasive, scholars now characterize them as an ‘audit explosion’ (Power
1994), ‘a tsunami of accountability and transparency’ (Caron and Gely
2004, 1553), and evidence of an emerging global ‘audit culture’ (Strathern
2000, 2)”. Besides this large wave of quantification that has affected
activities and services previously untouched by quantification because of
the difficulties in assessing their quality (education, medicine, etc.),
another factor seems to have largely contributed to the rise of indexes in
the art world: the Internet. Indeed, most of the platforms that have
emerged on the web, whether commercial or informational, have found,
through the publication of lists and indexes, new opportunities and uses
for the data they collect as part of their main activity. This is the case for
Artprice. Whereas its main activity is to provide current and past auction
prices, Artprice uses information from its database to compile a list of
500 artists who achieve the highest results at auctions. Artnet, another
website also involved in providing auction results, offers many rankings.
There is, for example, a list of the 300 most visited artists’ pages on the
platform over the last six months, a list of the 100 Most Collectible Living
Artists at auctions, or a list of the top ten most expensive living female
artists. Many art magazines on the web, such as Art Media Agency,
Huffington Post, Artistik Rezo, quote these lists, thus emphasising the
visibility of the indexes and creating positive reinforcing effects. Beside
these rankings, established as by-products and communication tools to
enhance the owners’ views of platforms such as Artnet and Artprice, other
players on the web choose to dedicate their main activity to the produc-
tion of rankings. This is the case of ArtFacts, which ranks artists according to
their artistic visibility, especially assessed through the number of their
exhibitions. The same applies to ArtRank whose index is based on both
market and artistic sources in order to forecast the economic value of dif-
ferent artists. Different factors favoured such a development. Michael
Findlay (2012) underlined the role of self-observation of the art market
(self-awareness) that developed in the 1970s. The Internet also played a
role. Indeed, gathering the necessary information to produce such indexes
is both costly and time-consuming; the Internet helped gather such infor-
mation and spread it on an international scale.
324 N. Moureau
As the web fostered the production and spread of lists and indexes, the
enlargement of the art market and the arrival of new collectors boosted
the demand for information presented in digest form. Indeed, due to the
boom in the number of billionaires around the world, especially in the
BRIC (Brazil, Russia, India, China) countries, the public and buyers for
contemporary art have been growing. From 140 in 1987, according to
Forbes, the number of billionaires in the world reached 1226 twenty-
five years later, and in 2017, there were more than 2000 of them. Some
of them are collectors. “Twenty years earlier, 20% of the 500 actors listed
on the Forbes list were our clients (…) It was a largely personal world.”
Nevertheless, all this has been changing with the emergence of countries
such as China or Russia and the rising number of very wealthy actors.
The number of high-level buyers (over 5 million) has exploded to reach
1000 or more. “We do not even know them, and they come in at the top
from the start” (Thomas Seydoux quoted by Georgina Adam 2014, 30).
This class of new collectors, who do not have the same historical refer-
ences as traditional ones, is looking for the most basic information. The
journalist Georgina Adam reports that the Chinese collector Wang Wei
“revealed that she and her husband bought art based on price – the more
expensive the better – notably targeting works featured on the front cover
of saleroom catalogues” (Adam 2017, 60).11
he Deceptive Appeal of Simplicity

T
in a Complex World
Irrespective of the knowledge collectors may have, it is well known since
Herbert Simon’s research that people tend to simplify situations when
they face complexity because of bounded rationality: “The capacity of the
human mind for formulating and solving complex problems is very small
compared with the size of the problems whose solution is required for
objectively rational behaviour in the real world — or even for a
11
Thomas Seydoux is a former specialist in the Impressionist and Modern Art Department at
Christie’s. He founded his own company in 2012, SEYDOUX & ASSOCIÉS Fine Art, an interna-
tional art trading company based in Paris.
reasonable approximation to such objective rationality” (Simon 1957,

198). Both elements are at stake: the difficulties people have in framing
complex situations and their limited capacity to calculate. For Simon
(1979, 507) “choice is not determined uniquely by the objective charac-
teristic of the problem situation, but depends on the particular heuristic
process that is used to make the decision”. Understanding the underlying
mechanism that shapes the value of art is a difficult exercise. Uncertainty
is king on creative and cultural markets, and as the famous formula of
Richard Caves (2002) underlines, “nobody knows” how a new creation is
going to be received. Thus, indexes, rankings and lists make up for the
limited capacity people have to deal with complexity and offer a very
attractive and useful tool.
Nevertheless, this simplicity is partly illusory. As can be seen, actors
currently have to face a proliferation of lists, rankings and indexes which
deal with really different topics and use different methodologies. It is not
so easy to understand what the differences are between them. A paradox
appears: because of their number and variety, indexes, conceived to
reduce complexity, themselves brought complexity. Moreover, before
using these tools, actors need to clearly define what they want to know
and what their aim is. For instance, studying the position of different
countries on the international art scene requires specifying what will be
the researched purpose. The result will be rather different depending on
whether it is the market position or the artistic position that is consid-
ered, as shown in the following comparison (Table 13.1).
The hierarchy varies greatly depending on the proposal. The explana-
tion is quite simple: the indicators do not capture the same thing. Whereas
Artprice ranks the artists according to their global turnover at auctions,
Table 13.1 Ranking of artist by country on the art scene, 2017

Artprice (market position) ArtFacts (artistic position)
1 China 38% USA 30%
2 USA 24% Germany 20%
3 Germany 10% UK 10%
4 UK 7% France 6%
France 1% China 1%
Source: Our calculation using Artprice and ArtFacts databases (100 top
contemporary living artists)
326 N. Moureau
ArtFacts ranks them according to their artistic exposure and visibility, in

particular through exhibitions. In the first column, we have a market
ranking whereas in the second, it is an artistic one. The difference in
China’s position is due to the fact that the Chinese market is highly
speculative, with many artists reaching high prices on the market despite
having few exhibitions and limited artistic recognition. As this example
shows, referring to a country ranking index does not suffice; actors have
to define precisely for what purpose they want to use this ranking.
The Role of the Theoretical Framework

We can also go further in the illusion of the simplicity of indexes. Beyond
the necessity to precisely define upfront what the research questions and
objectives are12, indexes have limits and their quality is highly variable.
Yet, there is a general idea that numbers are “somehow purer and less
susceptible to subjective influences than other sources of information”,
granting quantitative data a special authority not enjoyed by other
“impressionistic” forms of knowledge (Scott 1988, 114; see also Gould
1981). On a rhetorical level, numbers act purely as a description of
inescapable “facts”; they are “a science without a scientist” (Bourdieu
1990, de Certeau 1986), rendering them a ‘political tool in the arts of
persuasion of both dominant and subaltern groups’ - Urla (1993, 820).
Paul Starr (1987, 52) expresses perfectly how data are easily considered as
neutral:
The most common metaphors for statistical systems suggest that they
passively record and measure social and economic conditions. They are
typically called barometers or mirrors, and statistical tables or graphs are
described as pictures or photographs. Like photographs, statistics seem to
stop the flow of human activity and hold it still for a more detached
inspection. In objective reality, numbers seem superior to “mere” words for
the same reason Susan Sontag uses to explain why photography, unlike
painting, so strongly compels belief: a number, like a photograph, seems a
In the previous example, studying the position of the countries regarding the artistic recognition
12
of their artists in the international market or regarding their market recognition.

piece of reality rather than an interpretation of it. However, statistics not

only lend themselves to many interpretations, they include them and
because statistics do not simply reproduce reality, statistical systems represent
an “independent factor of social life”.
Without getting into the epistemological debate about the links

between numbers and social matters and the reliability of statistical soci-
ology (Goldthorpe 2001), rankings can mislead if the upstream thinking
process about the given topic has not been managed correctly. In such a
case, there is a high probability of providing a very partial image of a spe-
cious performance.13 Thus, the question actors face is to determine which
indicators are best able to depict a specific phenomenon. The quality of
the list, ranking or index depends on the quality of the analysis of the
phenomenon. “Morgenstern – the famous economist and mathemati-
cian – distinguishes between data and observations on the ground that
observations are guided by theories, ‘observations’ are deliberately
designed; other data are merely obtained” (Alonso and Starr 1987, 42).
The following example will illustrate this issue and show the role of an
underlying theory in determining a relevant ranking. In the art world,
the changing criteria for assessing the quality of art has had an impact on
how artists are ranked. Indeed, there was a time when beauty and quality
were defined by the Academy, and creative rules were specified in various
treatises (e.g. Du Fresnoy 1668; Félibien 1660). The hierarchy of the
genre stated that historical painting was superior to portrait or land-
scapes. Moreover, painters had to follow strict rules in order to reach such
beauty, nature being the reference. Thus, at that time, given the existence
of such a benchmark—which was taught at the Academy of Fine Arts—it
was quite easy to assess the artistic quality of a piece of art by referring to
it and comparing. A well-known example of such a grading was given by
Roger de Piles (Table 13.2). We can see that Bourdon was quite bad for
colours, with an 8 mark, the maximum being 20. Le Dominiquin appears
to be the best one as his marks dominate the others for all categories
(except composition, where the difference is not significant with Le Brun).
13
An example of specious and highly problematic indicators is given by the metric anthropology.
The idea around 1850—totally dismissed today—was that measuring the skull gave an objective
assessment of intelligence (Carson 2006).
328 N. Moureau
Table 13.2 Marking artistic quality according to Roger de Piles

Composition Colours Drawing Expression
Bourdon (1616–1671) 10 8 8 4
Le Brun (1619–1690) 16 16 8 18
Le Dominiquin (1581–1641) 15 17 9 17
Source: Roger de Piles, 1708. Cours de peinture par principe. Paris: Jacques
Estienne, 1708 (reprinted by Gallimard in 1989)
Such a ranking would not work with contemporary art as quality no

longer depends on such formal criteria. Other formulas are involved
today in assessing the quality of a work of art and no specific criterion
seems to be defined. According to Jimenez, “it seems that contemporary
art, diversified in its practices and materials, unpredictable in its demon-
strations, braves logical principles similar to those that governed the art
of earlier centuries” (1999, 82). Bourdieu (1987, 1990) characterises the
situation as the institutionalisation of the anomie. Nevertheless, even if
no explicit rules can define what is “good art”, underlying criteria are at
play. Nathalie Heinich (1998) considers that this lack of rules and the
necessity of singularity have led to the triumph of originality, both in the
meaning of what is new and what is linked with personality.
Analysis driven by some economists meets this consideration (Moureau
and Sagot-Duvauroux 1992). Indeed, they study the changes that have
happened in the market mechanisms at the end of the nineteenth century
and show that the increasing role played by the art dealer at the begin-
ning of the twentieth century was due in particular to the decline of the
academy convention in favour of the originality convention when assess-
ing the value of artworks. The change that occurred at the end of the
nineteenth century has had far-reaching consequences in the way quality
of artworks is judged. During the Academy period, the closer a work of
art was to the existing quality benchmark, the higher its quality, as shown
in Roger de Piles’ tables. Today, with originality as a criterion, it is inno-
vation and difference that prevail. Thus, the role played by the experts
within the art world—the judging authorities—has been increasingly
crucial as they qualify this innovation and assess the relevance of the
originality. Their writings, exhibitions, purchases, and so on send artistic
Table 13.3 Institutions’ rating

Institution Country Points
Centre Georges Pompidou France (Paris) 800
Guggenheim USA (New York) 800
Castello di Rivoli Italy (Turin) 650
Migros Museum Switzerland (Zurich) 650
… … …
signals to others and help the artist’s name enter into art history (Moureau
and Sagot-Duvauroux 2017). In a way, the quality of a piece of art is no
longer embedded in its formal properties but depends more exclusively or
extensively on the action driven by actors belonging to the art world
(Bonus and Ronte 1997).
The Kunstkompass ranking established by Willi Bongard gives us an
indication of such a development. Two steps are required to establish the
rating of artists’ works. First, different points are awarded to institutions,
international exhibitions, and specialised magazines, as shown in
Table 13.3.
Then Bongard looks at whether or not the artist’s works have been
exhibited during the year by a museum. If yes, Bongard awards the artist
the number of points allocated to that institution (Table 13.4). The more
the artist’s works have been exhibited or commented upon by critics, the
higher his ranking will be. The best artist will be the one with the
highest score.
Biases and Limits of Rankings and Indexes

Historical research has highlighted how numbers have transformed the
actors they describe (Kula 1986; Hacking 1990; Porter 1995; Carson
2006). For Espeland and Sauder (2007, 1) indexes have the capacity to
foster broad changes, both “intended or unintended”, because of the
reflexive property of actors who “interpret the world and adjust their
behaviour consequently”; they react and adapt their behaviour when they
are “evaluated, observed or measured”. Therefore, beyond the index’s
330 N. Moureau
Table 13.4 Artists’ ranking Rank Name Points

1 Richter Gerhard 89,365
2 Nauman Bruce 75,425
3 Polke Sigmar 70,155
… … …
ability to capture the different aspects of a phenomenon, there arises the

question of strategies developed by actors in order to obtain good results
and thus achieve a better ranking without altering their initial efficiency.
This refers to the “salami effect”, as described by Maya Bacache (2009).
She gives the example of a business specialised in the production of pre-
cut salami sold by weight. In order to improve performance, the manager
decided to set a target based on the number of slices produced each day.
However, instead of increasing the overall weight produced, the employ-
ees adjusted the machine in order to cut thinner slices. As a result, with-
out working more, their metrics looked better.
There are many examples of index manipulation. Some of them are
well known, especially in the education system. When indicators began
to be applied within this field, some schools were rated according to the
number of students who passed an exam. One way of achieving better
scores was to select the best students to attend the exam on behalf of the
school and ask the others to register independently. Some indexes and
rankings are obviously easier to manipulate than others. As far as the art
market is concerned, an example of easy manipulation is given by rank-
ings that have recently appeared based upon Instagram accounts. Given
the growing role Instagram has been playing in the art world (Siegal
2015), Christie’s has offered different Top 100 rankings.14 While some
focus on galleries, others deal with collectors or artists. Actors and institu-
tions alike within the art world can all be subject to such measurements,
the underlying idea being that the higher the number of followers, the
higher the appeal of the art player and therefore his key standing in the
art market. In practice, it should be noted that the usefulness of such an
index remains rather vague, as the cause of the Instagram account’s appeal
14
Cf. https://www.christies.com/features/Top-100-Art-Instagrams-Galleries-Museums-Institu
tions-8489-1.aspx (14/10/2018).
is unknown. Is it because it is trendy to follow its owner, because of the

quality of the work offered, or because of the funny pictures posted on
the account? But above all, and whatever they claim to measure, such
rankings are flawed because it is very easy to manipulate them and increase
the number of followers. Some companies offer their services in such
a way for increasing the number of like addresses to an account. The
associate searches listed on the web when typing “increase the number of
followers on Instagram”15 provide a good indication of the speed with
which actors could take measures to improve their displayed indicator.
The attempt to manipulate rules and numbers in “ways that are uncon-
nected to, or even undermine, the motivation behind them” is qualified
by Espeland and Sauder (2007, 29) as gaming practices. According to
these authors, it represents the “most direct form of reactivity” that helps
improve and maximise one’s rank. Gaming just aims at improving one’s
ranking by managing appearances. In this case, the ranking represents a
constraint actors have to take into account, even if they subvert it.
However, rankings can also be considered as representing a positive
challenge to face. In that case, actors will behave in a more straightfor-
ward and cooperative manner. Unfortunately, the rivalry brought by the
challenge and the changes induced in behaviour do not necessarily lead
to a better social welfare, especially when actors take action that promotes
short-term performances over long-term and qualitative results.
Museum rankings are a perfect example of such distortions. In order to
be well ranked in terms of visitor numbers, museums have an incentive
to stage blockbuster exhibitions with well-known artists. With such
behaviour, the art market would run the risk of having less diversity
because of a lack of support from museums for many artists. Artists’ rank-
ings based on prices are another example. Prices used for such rankings
are the hammer prices at auctions. Two factors explain the choice of this
price reference. First, there is an accessibility issue. In most galleries,
prices remain secret; they are not publicly displayed and are only available
upon request. Second, because of the competition between buyers,
15
E.g.: more followers Instagram free, how to get 11k followers on Instagram, get real followers
on Instagram, how to get more followers on Instagram fast, gain followers app, increase Instagram
followers, boost Instagram followers free, get followers app.
332 N. Moureau
Table 13.5 Top 10 young contemporary artists (under 30)—breakdown by

turnover
Auction Number of lots Max hammer
Artist turnover sold price
Murillo Oscar (1986) 3,876,867 38 246,807
Smith Lucien (1989) 2,083,305 29 239,487
Kassay Jacob (1984) 1,174,068 19 194,584
Mi Qiaoming (1986) 534,586 5 144,120
Hao Liang (1983) 533,724 6 199,815
Itao Parker (1986) 403,744 11 54,535
Sullivan Ryan (1983) 389,959 7 111,870
Scott Douglas Hugh (1988) 345,761 10 53,681
Cruz Jigger (1984) 258,170 9 70,560
Chen Chengwei (1984) 210,165 7 106,470
Source: Artprice contemporary art market report, 2014
hammer prices appear to be a “true” value that results from the confron-
tation of supply and demand, whereas in art galleries prices are set in a
conventional way (Velthuis 2005). The problem is that auction prices can
be manipulated: some players—collectors, dealers—can develop secret
agreements for bids to reach a higher price. Once a record is achieved, the
media creates a buzz, and in order to meet the subsequent large demand,
artists quickly produce a lot of artworks at the expense of artistic quality.
In 2013, a piece of artwork by Lucien Smith, a young Californian artist
born in 1989, appeared at auction and fetched $389,000 at Phillips in
New York. The painting was initially bought for $10,000 by the previous
seller. Lucien Smith appeared in the top ten ranking of artists who
achieved the best performance at auction sales in 2013–2014 (cf.
Table 13.5). One year later, at Sotheby’s autumn sale, an untitled canvas
of the same artist estimated at $15,000 to $20,000 failed to sell on
September 29. Another canvas also flopped at Phillips.16
Thus, it appears that even a well-designed ranking, that is, one whose
construction carefully takes care of the underlying mechanisms that are
involved in the social matters it aims at measuring, may induce specific
behaviours that are not neutral for the future, and that actors adapt their
16
Source: https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2015-10-02/speculative-fever-for-young-
artists-cools-in-new-york-auctions (consulted on 14/10/2018). Moreover, he changed his profes-
sional activities from art to sectors which are connected to creativity and aesthetics but which seem
more distant from it and more reliable, like film making and womenswear.
behaviour to the ranking either in order to circumvent it or to “improve”

their efficiency.
Self-Fulfilling Prophecies
and the Winner-Takes-All Mechanisms
Rankings and lists have the power to change the environment not only
because they have an impact on the behaviour of actors who are submit-
ted to it, but also because they draw attention on some features of the
studied phenomenon and not on others. Indeed, the establishment of a
ranking is based on commensuration (Espeland and Sauder 2007). It
consists in transforming qualities into quantities that share a metric pro-
cess that is crucial for the measurement: “commensuration shapes what
we pay attention to, which things are connected to other things and how
we express sameness and differences” (p. 16).
When the ranking is not meaningful and does not take into account
the crucial factors at stake in the measured social matter, its ability to
change its environment is even more questionable. Yet, even really weak
rankings are taken for granted by actors. Indeed, one often considers that
the social relationship measured by a number is as real as a physical object;
this behaviour is consistent with the metrological realism as defined by
Desrosières (2001). For example, in a study conducted by Espeland and
Sauder (2007) on university rankings, most of the interviewed students
showed no interest in the methodology used to establish the ranking;
they just assumed that the measure was real. A second factor that leads an
individual to trust numbers is that they allow him to act without being
subject to external pressure: “quantification is a technology of distance.
[…] reliance on numbers and quantitative manipulation minimizes the
need for intimate knowledge and personal trust” (Porter, 1995, IX).
Moreover, the dissemination of quantitative information is favoured as
de-personalised numbers “are highly portable and easily made public”
(Espeland and Sauder 2007, 18).
Once the attention of a few actors is drawn to a wrong ranking, the
risk of a self-fulfilling prophecy occurring is high. As defined by Merton,
334 N. Moureau
“The self-fulfilling prophecy is, in the beginning, a false definition of

the situation evoking a new behaviour which makes the originally false
conception come true. The specious validity of the self-fulfilling prophecy
perpetuates a reign of error” (1948, 195).
Applied to the art market, self-fulfilling prophecies would help a
“weak” artist, or a “weak” gallery (according to insiders), wrongly ranked
first—because of the “weak design” of the ranking—to end up with a
larger market share than other artists. This is due to copying and the
informational cascade process. Informational cascades refer to situations
in which actors who have to make a decision ignore their own informa-
tion and tend to imitate others (Banerjee 1992; Bikhchandani et al.
1992). The role of uncertainty is crucial here. Studies in social psychology
show that mimesis is common when individuals face a situation marked
by great uncertainty and where there is no objective answer to the prob-
lem raised (Willis and Levine 1976). On the art market, mimetic behav-
iour is common because of the high uncertainty that is attached to the
artistic quality of contemporary artworks; only a really small group of
actors, experts with high cultural capital, great artistic experience and
knowledge and who trust their own judgement, are not subject to such
influences. Thus, once demand begins to shift towards some artists and
galleries because of good ranking, the group of followers grows quickly,
with current assessments reproducing previous judgements, strengthen-
ing them and increasing the probability that other actors will be influ-
enced in turn and ignore their own information. According to
Georges-Philippe Vallois, President of the French Committee of Art
Galleries (CPGA)17, “Rankings are the reflection of an era which confuses
culture with information. Thus, the uninformed consumer connected to
Artprice believes that the best artwork is the most expensive one, whereas
someone who reads ArtFacts and feels superior is convinced that the most
exhibited pieces of art are of course the best. These rankings act, each in
their own way, like the nurturing mothers of a speculative movement
fuelled by a few influential players. It reinforces the prescriptive power of
money for the former and, for the latter, caricatures exhibitions by award-
ing them points regardless of their quality, their context or even their
Interview by the author, 10/10/2016.

17
designer. To rely upon these rankings equates to entrusting your thoughts

to a computer; numbers do not tell the whole story and the value of an
artist should not be limited to statistics.”
More generally, it is worth mentioning that indexes and lists foster the
emergence of “winner takes all situations” (Frank and Cook 1996), in
which some players get a disproportionate share of the market and
revenue despite poor artistic quality, because they lower the diversity of
initial opinions. On the art market auctions, according Artprice, in 2016
three artists (Basquiat, Wool and Koons) made 19% of total value of the
international art sales, whereas the 4268 artists introduced at auctions for
the first time the same year only represented 2.3% of the total turnover.
The formation of cascades is all the easier since “numbers seem to retain
so little of their former context, it is easy to put them to new uses in new
places (…), we can use numbers to do new things without having to
acknowledge that they now mean something different” (Frank and Cook
1996, 18).
Conclusion
Lists, rankings, metrics, and indexes do not say where the truth or the
failure lies. Undoubtedly, quantifying a social phenomenon can be posi-
tive when indicators are well designed and when the theoretical frame is
clearly set. In that case, they can guide the thinking process; they enable
the study of the evolution of complex situations and help consumers
access information. They may also challenge actors to improve their per-
formance by giving them feedback on previous actions they took.
Nevertheless, it is important to keep in mind that an index is never neu-
tral and that caution must be exercised when using it. Actors must first
define precisely what specific issue the ranking is meant to study and they
need to look at the methodology used. In many situations it is not so
simple as some indexes keep this aspect quite secret, for example,
ARTPRICE100© (the latest Artprice index). In the current art market
marked by a proliferation of indexes, there is a high risk of taking them
for granted without further analysis. The real issue is not that they can be
misleading, but that they foster the prevalence of hype over artistic
336 N. Moureau
information and thus increase the speculative dimension of the market.

It would really be detrimental to the art world if players focussed on met-
rics rather than on the qualities they are supposed to assess.
Magic Index on the Wall, Who Is the Most Valuable Artist of Them
All? Just remember that magic belongs to the realm of fairy tales and not
to reality. If you don’t believe this, think of Mariko Mori, star artist of the
early 2000s; her pieces were promoted by one of the most powerful play-
ers in the art market, Jeffrey Deitch, a famous art dealer and curator.
Ranked 32nd on ArtFacts in 2000, she is now in the 1742nd place.
Before following an index, just ask yourself, what makes a good artist? Is
it an artist who exhibits a lot? Is it an artist who has many pieces in muse-
ums, who sells at a high price? What makes a good gallery? Is it one that
helps artists improve their visibility at the beginning of their career? Is it
a rich gallery? Is it a gallery that develops links with other galleries and
institutions? Depending on whether the index gives you a trustworthy
answer or not, you can decide to use it cautiously as a guide or avoid it at
all costs.
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14
Can Contemporary Art Galleries
Be Ranked? A Sociological Attempt
from the Paris Case
Alain Quemin
Although the first developments of the sociology of art can be found as

early as the very end of the nineteenth century, when sociology emerged
as a discipline, the domain was profoundly renewed not to say re-founded
during the 1960s in France with the double contribution of Pierre
Bourdieu and his collaborators (Bourdieu et al. 1966) on one side and of
Raymonde Moulin (Moulin 1967) on the other (Quemin 2017). The
main contribution of Raymonde Moulin to the sociology of art was her
analysis of the creation of art value at the junction of the art market and
art institutions such as museums (Moulin 1992). It seems that, for a long
time, the conjunction of the two dimensions was necessary for art pro-
duction and for artists to be considered as such. Furthermore, that the
respective contribution of the market and that of institutions was rather
balanced. However, during recent years, the part played by the market is
generally considered to have increased greatly. Nowadays galleries, art
fairs, and auctions all play a major role in the creation of art value, not
A. Quemin (*)
Institut d’études européennes - Université Paris 8, Paris, France

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6_14
340 A. Quemin
only financially speaking, as they tend to have a greater influence on the

global legitimation process of art and artists.1 Not surprisingly, the interest
of social scientists, from sociologists, economists to art historians, devel-
oped considerably during the past years. The art market and its players
are scrutinised and analysed today like never before.
Although for a long time, sociology or the social sciences at large did
not show the same concern for the study of fame, celebrity or “starifica-
tion” as they did for art, a number of pioneering works can be identified
as early as the mid-1950s. In Les stars, the French sociologist Edgar Morin
(Morin 1957) opened a path that later developed into a proper domain,
now identified as “celebrity studies”. Several consistent findings in the
domain can be briefly mentioned, such as the famous Matthew effect,
which was theorised by Robert K. Merton (Merton 1968) and later
developed by his followers (Rigney 1949) stating that, very often, “success
begets success”. A number of connections were also made with other
social phenomena that had been observed and theorised earlier, such as
bandwagon effects (Leibenstein 1950). More recently, the most interest-
ing works in the celebrity studies domain focus on self-fulfilling prophecy
and commensuration (Nelson Espeland and Sauder 2007) or study the
persistence of fame over time (Van de Rijt et al. 2013). Still, the most
important contribution that opened a proper domain of study at the
junction of the sociology of art and celebrity studies was that of Sir Alan
Bowness in The Conditions of Success. How the Modern Artist Rises to Fame
(Bowness 1989). Although Sir Alan Bowness was not a sociologist or
trained in the sociology domain—having trained in art history, he was a
curator and museum director—his perspective is very close to sociology
and he strongly influenced that discipline through his analysis of the
different steps that lead visual artists to success and consecration.
The works that we developed when studying star artists in the contem-
porary visual arts (Quemin 2013a) are directly tributary to all the previ-
ous authors. As we could show on rankings before analysing them and
the social role that they play in the contemporary art world today, these
instruments and especially rankings of artists have multiplied in recent
1
On the opposite, the part played by art criticism tends to be always more secondary, not to
say minor.
14 Can Contemporary Art Galleries Be Ranked? A Sociological… 341
years. Still, there are no proper rankings of galleries. Hence the question:
can rankings of contemporary art galleries be built and how can they be
elaborated? And what can they reveal about the structure and function of
the art market? In this chapter, we will illustrate this with the example of
private galleries in the French contemporary art market.
The Development of Rankings in the Art World

Today, rankings have become fitting players in the contemporary art
world. Although their early origin can be found as soon as art history
emerged as a discipline and was associated with aesthetic evaluation
(Vasari 1550), the first attempts of quantification emerged in the early
years of the eighteenth century, thanks to the French author Roger de
Piles (Piles de 1708). Still, although Roger de Piles attributed marks to
artists on four different criteria (drawing, colour, composition, and
expression), he never thought to calculate a global mark for each artist,
which would have in turn made it possible to elaborate a ranking of art-
ists by comparing their medium mark. The first ever ranking of artists
was published by the French art magazine Connaissance des Arts in 1955,
three years after the review was founded. It was only published on five
occasions in the years 1955, 1961, 1966, 1971, and 1976. Still, the
methodology used to rank the artists was relatively vague: a selection of
experts belonging to the art world were asked to name the most impor-
tant artists of the time and their answers were consequently aggregated.
By 1970, rankings began to become more systematic and rigorous
with the creation of the German Kunstkompass (the art compass). Willy
Bongard, its inventor, was an economic journalist and he happened to be
very involved in the contemporary art world (notably a friend of the art-
ist Joseph Beuys). In an academic perspective for art historians, contem-
porary art is generally considered to have emerged in 1945, after the
Second World War; however, art institutions such as museums and
contemporary art centres normally adopt a different convention: the
very end of the 1960s and the very beginning of the 1970s are generally
considered a more appropriate landmark to date the proper emergence of
contemporary art. In 1969, before he later became a star curator, Harald
342 A. Quemin
Szeemann organised a seminal exhibition focusing especially on conceptual

and minimalist art at the Bern Kunsthalle. This show entitled When
Attitudes Become Form greatly renewed the perspective on art. Almost
simultaneously to the emergence of a new category of contemporary art,
the double point of art value from an aesthetic and economic standpoint
was questioned under the influence of the general redefinition of art. In
order to reduce the uncertainty associated with the new conception of art
and the new criteria with which to evaluate it, a new ranking, the
Kunstkompass was created. Every year or so, Willy Bongard and his col-
laborators—later, after Bongard’s death, his widow, Linde Rohr-Bongard
became responsible for elaborating the ranking—published the
Kunstkompass, a ranked list of the top one hundred most visible artists
in the world. Occasions of visibility for an artist were split into three
types and were then given a certain number of points proportional to the
importance of the event: solo shows in prominent art institutions,
whether they are museums or art centres, collective shows and thirdly
reviews in influential art journals such as Flash Art, Art in America and Art
Forum. At the end of every year, the number of points for each artist was
summed up and the ranking of the most visible artists was published.
From 1970 until 2007, the ranking was published in the German eco-
nomic magazine Capital and from 2008 until 2015, it was published in
another German economic journal Manager Magazin. Although the
Kunstkompass has been published in art magazine Weltkunst after that
year (Buckermann 2016), it lost visibility in the art world.
The end of the Kunstkompass (at least in terms of visibility) was largely
caused by the creation of a competing ranking of artists, that of the
German firm Artfacts launched in 2003 and that replaced the
Kunstkompass in Capital in 2008 under the denomination “Capital
Kunstmarkt Kompass”. Based on an algorithm, the ranking is a striking
example of the use of big data, also compiling occasions of visibility, but
much more numerous ones, some of them associated with the institu-
tional pole (museum and contemporary art centres’ exhibitions) and
others with art journals and magazines but also with the market (presence
in commercial art galleries, art fairs, and auctions) among many other
more minor occasions of visibility (such as art schools, art hotels, and
non-profits). In 2014, 100,000 artists were ranked by Artfacts and a total

of 400,000 were listed in the database (300,000 being unranked).
Among the most notorious rankings in the contemporary art world,
one can also mention the “Power 100”, but when investigating the point
of rankings in the contemporary art world, we found no less than a dozen
of different rankings, be they (mostly) of artists, even artworks (!) or
rankings of players within the art world in general. We did not find any
ranking of gallerists although they are - among all other players of the art
world - included in the Power 100, the aforementioned ranking of the
most powerful players in the art world. They represent around one fifth
of the listed personalities, a similar share to collectors and only slightly
less than artists who represent approximately a quarter of the referenced
population in that indicator (Quemin 2013a).
laborating a Ranking of Contemporary Art

E
Galleries Based on a Sociological Approach
Given our familiarity to both the contemporary art world and the rank-
ings of artists that we have been analysing for years now, we decided to
elaborate a ranking of contemporary galleries and to study what that kind
of instrument could reveal about the structure of the contemporary
art market.
We decided to elaborate such a ranking in order to try both to synthe-
tise information about galleries and to objectivise that information. In this
perspective, rankings, when they are produced by sociologists, do not
differ fundamentally from other tools that are often created and used in
the social sciences such as social mobility tables. These instruments are so
common in sociology that no one would question their scientific dimen-
sion and their double function of synthesising information and objectiv-
ising information is widely accepted. The very fact that rankings exist
(and pre-exist) in the “ordinary” social world does not disqualify them as
appropriate tools for sociological analysis, even though scientific approach
is often conceived as (too) radically different from the ordinary (empiri-
cal) knowledge of social phenomena. As a matter of fact, things are much
344 A. Quemin
more subtle. The previous fact can easily be illustrated by mentioning

other methods that are widely used in the social sciences. For instance,
there exists a continuity rather than a proper rupture between ordinary
observation of social situations and the specific use of observation by the
social sciences in general and sociology in particular as a scientific method.
The same can be stated concerning ordinary conversations and interviews
as another specific method for the social sciences. Of course, in both
previous cases—observation and interviews—there exists a strong differ-
ence at the two opposite poles of the practices—the ordinary one and the
“purely” scientific one, but it is quite impossible to distinguish a point
when ordinary practices would disappear to the “pure” benefit of scientific
ones. It should not be underestimated that ordinary knowledge plays an
important part in the social sciences, especially as any kind of knowledge
adopts a smattering of scientific thinking. This point is not very far from
the joke often made by Howard S. Becker in private conversations when
he asserts that “if that is interesting, that is sociology”. Deciding to use an
instrument that is more spontaneously associated with a non-scientific
perspective and is often used in journalism among other social contexts
does not disqualify it as a proper scientific tool if the methods that are
used to build it are both rigorous and transparent (i.e. can be criticised
and debated by others, a dimension that many rankings miss when they
are produced outside a scientific context, as ordinary rankings in the art
world clearly show).
Having worked as an art critic and art journalist for more than half a
dozen years now, we have become quite familiar with the many rankings
that exist in the art world. Having then decided to study them from a
sociological perspective in one of our previous books (Quemin 2013a),
we became fully aware not only of their interest to produce some knowl-
edge about the social world but also of the limitations of many of them
in terms of methodology. It thus became particularly challenging for us
to try to elaborate a ranking that would satisfy scientific requirements in
terms of rigorousness better than ordinary or “lay” rankings normally do.
As we are used to investigating the French art market as a sociologist,
we decided to limit our ranking to the French gallery scene, or, more
precisely, to galleries with a location in France, some of them being
branches of galleries of foreign origin. Our knowledge of the French art
market relies on our fieldwork as a sociologist of art during near to three

decades, but also from our more recent involvement as an art critic and
art journalist that specialises in the gallery scene. Although being a player
in the art world that is studied is a very common position in such domains
as dance or music (Becker 1982; Buscatto 2007), this position is very
uncommon in the visual arts domain. When, very exceptionally, pioneer
Raymonde Moulin wrote a text for an exhibition catalogue, she did it
under a pseudonym as if it had not been legitimate as a sociologist to
combine her activity in the social sciences with another one that made
her a genuine player of the art world. Still, this double position and
especially the second role as an art critic and journalist opened many
doors to us to better understand how the gallery world functions. Being
a journalist as a second occupation and in a position to help galleries with
promoting their artists, we were constantly rewarded with many invita-
tions to openings, countless cocktail parties and dinners. Not only were
formal interviews incredibly easy to obtain if we wanted to use that
specific research method, but thanks to these social events we managed to
observe and proceed unnoticed as we were welcomed and expected with
our roles in the art world (Peretz 2004). In many cases, we could check
that the collected information from either participant observation or
through informal interviews—just “chatting” with players of the gallery
world—was radically different from what we could obtain—and did
obtain—through formal interviews. In the latter, interviewees were much
more normative in their answers. The fact that several (very) informal
interviews with gallerists and their collaborators were made during con-
vivial events where alcoholic beverages—among which fine wine and
especially champagne—are offered, often freed the speech significantly.
Although, for years now, we have been a constant promoter of quantita-
tive methods working with figures and statistics in order to objectivise
social facts, we have always been more convinced that a very strong and
regular practice of field work is absolutely fundamental to better under-
stand social processes and social worlds, such as the case of contemporary
art galleries. As a matter of fact, complex statistical indicators are often
used by “social scientists” who not only know very little about the domain
that they are supposed to study, art in our case, but often have few
connections to the social world that they study, in this case the art world.
346 A. Quemin
To say things quite abruptly, in the domain of art and the social sciences,
more often than not, the use of complex statistics as evidence only proves
that those who use them know very little about art and art worlds. In our
opinion, authors tend to conceal their ignorance with instruments that
are mostly aimed at giving a scientific appearance to their work.
Before galleries could be ranked, it was necessary to define the limits of
the group to rank. This raised the question of what can be defined as a
contemporary art gallery. Galleries are rather easy to define: structures
with a commercial purpose and a physical space organising exhibitions of
works. Still, defining contemporary art was not as simple. Although com-
mentators and analysts, among which social scientists, sometimes tend to
offer different definitions for contemporary art, our long acquaintance
with the domain has convinced us that the best definition is the one that
is inspired by an interactionist perspective (Becker 1982). Contemporary
art is fundamentally and ultimately what is considered as such by mem-
bers of the contemporary art world, and even more by the most inte-
grated actors of this social world (Becker 1982; Moulin 1992). That
being said, it seems necessary to mention that today even more than
during the 1970s, a time when this factor was already significant, the
international dimension is an essential part in the definition of contem-
porary art and in the activity of proper contemporary art galleries. During
the last decade, private transactions in the art market have become ever
more dependent on the art fair system, a commercial organisation mode
that tends to reflect that of the galleries themselves. The more contempo-
rary these events claim to be, the more international they become
(Quemin 2013b). This is how, in a research that we conducted on con-
temporary art galleries and their participation to art fairs during the year
2008, we selected 41 contemporary art fairs held during that year from
around the world that presented at least a level of international dimen-
sion and we referenced all participating galleries.2 Thus, we identified
approximately 2300 contemporary art galleries in the world (2322 to be
precise) that had any degree of access to the international art market
2
To be selected to participate in an art fair, galleries fill in an application file that presents their
“line” and their project for the fair. What is eventually evaluated is their “quality”, a notion that is
always rather vague in the contemporary art world (Misdrahi 2013).
represented by art fairs in 2008 (Quemin 2013b). The number of galler-

ies that we managed to analyse through the described method and that
we could thus objectivise gave a result that is very close to a data pro-
duced by an actor of the art world, the firm Artnet. This online platform
publishes results of artists at auctions and also enables its users to sell,
look for and buy works of art—with more than 39,000 artists repre-
sented by more than 2200 galleries from all over the world (located in
more than 250 cities).
The number of French galleries that we found in the same research
(Quemin 2013b) was 150 for the year 2008. It may be necessary to
underline here that our approach was deliberately inclusive as we decided
to also take into account art fairs that were less international, with few
nationalities of galleries being represented, and we also included galleries
that only had access to “international” art fairs organised in their own
countries: this represents an easier form of access to the art market as
international art fairs are generally more open to participating galleries of
the countries in which they take place.
Far from our figure of 150 contemporary art galleries in France and
2300 for the entire world, a recent survey published by the Département
des Etudes, de la Prospective et de la Statistique of the French Ministry of
Culture and Communication listed nearly 2200 contemporary art galleries
(Rouet 2013) in France alone! Of course, the number of contemporary
art galleries depends on the definition of contemporary art: if all shops
that sell works or images are included in this definition, for instance all
those that sell frames and also offer artefacts to their clients, the number
of so-considered and defined contemporary art galleries literally explodes.
In our case, it seemed absolutely essential to take into consideration
the perspective of players that are actuality integrated in the contem-
porary art world in order to better evaluate the group of prominent
contemporary art galleries. Although the French Ministry of Culture and
Communication considers an ensemble of 2200 contemporary art galler-
ies in France, it is absolutely certain that a vast majority of players of the
contemporary art world would reject most structures considered as con-
temporary art galleries only because very little attention was paid to the
representations in the social world that was considered. Moreover, it may
be necessary to add that even when we mentioned a number of almost
348 A. Quemin
150 contemporary art galleries in France, the most integrated players in

this sector would undoubtedly question the “contemporaneity” or even
the aesthetic value of many galleries that our own methodology included
in the group. Still, it seemed important to us to use some objective crite-
ria and that the borders and content of the group should be determined
by the values that are quite generally shared in it.
he Choice of Ranking Criteria: From Improper

T
Sales Criteria to Reputational Ones
Although there did not exist a ranking of art galleries, as we mentioned,
there were some evaluations of the number of art galleries in France but
they presented a significant difference that can easily be explained by the
radically different definitions and methodologies that were adopted.
Having considered the number and limits of the population of contem-
porary art galleries in France and having presented and justified our own
perspective, the next step consisted in defining the criteria to build a
ranking. Once again, the question was: what criteria should be used?
There again, we positioned ourselves as a social scientist but we could rely
on the intimate knowledge of the contemporary art world that was only
made possible through our simultaneous position as an art critic and even
more as a journalist, as it opens many doors in that social world.
In order to objectivise the importance of contemporary art galleries,
the most spontaneous criterion which comes to mind is perhaps the
volume of transactions. A long familiarity with the art market has
convinced us that all data related to the sales of artworks, whether during
art fairs or in the spaces of galleries, cannot be known with any decent
reliability. Although the figures for public sales at auctions can be consid-
ered reliable, it is absolutely impossible to give any credit to the published
figures in the global art market when they include both public sales and
private transactions. For one year, two competing reports were published
on the global art market worldwide. The first published by the economist
Clare McAndrew for Art Basel estimated the global amount of the art
market in 2016 to be 56.6 billion dollars, but a competing report
published by the finance specialist Rachel Pownall for TEFAF, the

Maastricht art fair, produced a radically different estimation of only 45
billion dollars. Their differences of evaluation were enormous, the first
figure being 26% higher than the latter! To give just one example of opac-
ity within private transactions, in 2015, a painting by Paul Gauguin,
When Will You Marry?, was widely reported to have been sold to the
Qatar museums for the record amount at the time of 300 million dollars
in a private sale. Yet, in 2017, when the transaction came to court due to
an unpaid commission to the intermediary Simon de Pury, the informa-
tion eventually perspired that the painting had been sold for 210 million
dollars “only”, nearly a third less than what had been publicised two years
earlier. The initially announced figure must have logically been integrated
in the statistics of so-called experts who claim that they can produce reli-
able estimations of the art market that include both auction sales and
private transactions. Still, a long practice of field work in art galleries and
frequent visits as a journalist that made us very familiar with many struc-
tures, thus turning from the status of an outsider to an insider within
these structures, have convinced us of the opposite. We could see on
many occasions that the use of cash is very common in art galleries. Once,
we could even joke with the accountant of an important art gallery during a
cocktail party that was held at the end of the fiscal year. As we told her:
“Hey, don’t drink too much tonight or you won’t be able to cheat on
figures tomorrow and you won’t reach a 20% underestimation of
the sales!”
(She laughs) Then she adds: “If I couldn’t do much better than 20%, I
would be fired, you know.”
Then we had a very serious—although informal—conversation in
which she explained how she could use more or less legal techniques in
order to reduce the amount of taxes paid by the gallery and she insisted
on the use of cash and payments abroad.
The very example of the sale of the painting by Gauguin, the previous
observation and the informal interview in a gallery all show that it is fun-
damentally impossible to procure reliable information regarding gallery
sales. As free ports also perfectly illustrate it, the art market is discreet not
to say that it is secretive in essence. The fact that some sales are public at
auctions and can be known with a very satisfactory degree of reliability
350 A. Quemin
(although, even there, some prices can be manipulated in order to influ-

ence the price range of an artist) should not cover the fact that the art
market as a whole is remarkably opaque.
As we were conscious of the impossibility to rely on the sales figures
and in order to build a ranking of contemporary art galleries, we decided
to develop a two-phase approach by combining two factors that could
reflect the gallery’s importance. The first step consisted in gathering and
aggregating factors which demonstrated the gallery’s reputation, signs of
recognition and access to the market for contemporary art galleries. It
was important that these factors should express recognition by the art
world itself. We aimed to identify a high enough number of factors that
could express a diversity of signs of recognition or legitimacy in the
French social world of contemporary art. Secondly, the next step
consisted in attributing coefficients that could reflect in a satisfactory way
the respective weight of all the various signs of recognition. Once again,
our long familiarity with the French gallery scene made it possible for us
to determine a satisfactory value for each coefficient. Soon after, we
conducted more than 50 informal interviews with gallerists and their
collaborators in order to fine-tune the initial values. Another possibility
would have been to organise focus groups with these actors of the art
world. Still, if the purpose of the research had been presented, it is highly
plausible that a significant proportion of the participants would have
exaggerated the weight of some factors in order to tamper with the results
to reach a better position in the ranking. Here, informal interviews or
even discussions were more efficient as the general purpose of the ques-
tions was not explained. Not only did we ask our interlocutors about the
respective weight of the factors but we also asked if they could suggest a
criterion that would illustrate the importance of galleries in terms of both
reputation and economic importance. Several actors who had mentioned
the turnover of the gallery, to which we objected that it was impossible to
obtain such information with a satisfactory degree of reliability, then all
agreed with the objection.
We first proceeded with building a table including all of the identified
galleries through considering the following sources of information and
we attributed each factor the coefficient that is mentioned between brack-
ets after introducing it:
Presence in a professional gallery list (Galeries mode d’emploi) for which

galleries have to apply and are selected: 1 point
Member of a syndicate (Comité professionnel des galeries d’art) for which
gallerists have to be co-opted to join: 1 point
Having already had one artist in their roster who was awarded the Marcel
Duchamp prize: 2 points
Having already had one artist in their roster who was only nominated to
the Marcel Duchamp prize but not awarded it: 1 point
Having already sold works to the Fonds National d’Art Contemporain,
the most important French public collection which make its purchases
public: 1 point if only once; 2 points if it happened in different ses-
sions (which tends to show that the gallery is more continuously “on
the radar” of this very important public structure)
As art fairs have become essential not to say vital to contemporary art
galleries, this also had to be reflected in our methodology. Once again, we
regularly asked French gallerists and their direct collaborators which art
fairs—both national and foreign—were most important for them and
about their respective weight for the gallery. We considered participation
during the previous 12 months. The websites of the selected art fairs were
another source that we browsed in order to identify French contemporary
art galleries with some international scope.
Considering participation to French art fairs, the list and coefficients
were as follows:
FIAC (Foire Internationale d’Art Contemporain), the main Paris

contemporary art fair: 5 points
Off(icielle): 1 point
Art Paris: 1 point
Drawing Now: 1 point
Unlike FIAC, which is a genuine international art fair and generally

considered a prestigious event, other art fairs presented a lower degree of
prestige. Off(icielle) was a satellite art fair that was organised during the
FIAC. These three art fairs were selected because they are much more
inclusive than the FIAC and they were included in our criteria in order to
352 A. Quemin
encompass more structures than if we had only taken into account the
most prestigious French event.
As far as prestigious international art fairs organised abroad are con-
cerned, Art Basel is the most important worldwide (Quemin 2013b). We
listed the events that are the most significant to French galleries and, there
again, the coefficients were attributed in order to try to reflect as precisely
as possible what is at stake in each of them. The more important the
impact in terms of prestige and potential sales, the higher the coefficient.
Art Basel: 10 points

Art Basel Miami Beach: 5 points
Frieze London/Frieze New York/The Armory Show (in New York City)/
Art Basel Hong Kong: 3 points were allocated if a gallery participated
to one only of these fairs during the previous 12 months, 5 points if
they participated in two or more of these art fairs
Art Brussels: 1 point
The method that we developed made it possible to determine the

number of “prominent contemporary art galleries” in France, those with
a significant insertion within the contemporary art circuit. We found 192
galleries in 2016, which is higher than the 150 galleries that we estimated
in 2008. Still, it is generally considered that between 2008 and 2016, the
contemporary art market developed very significantly. Hence, the num-
ber that we calculated is compatible with the estimation in a previous
research that focused on art fairs and in which galleries were only a
second concern (Quemin 2013b). Besides, it should be stressed that,
whatever the method that is developed and adopted, what is at stake is
more obtaining an order of size, a scale, rather than a precise figure. Once
again, it seems necessary to underline that the number of contemporary
art galleries in France is far from 2200.
In addition, we included other criteria that could be considered to
reflect the economic means and the scope of the galleries:
Having 2 or more spaces in Paris (and in its suburbs): 3 points
Having at least one gallery space abroad: 5 points
Still, as the space is not neutral and as some countries and cities are
more important in terms of market, we also had to consider where the
foreign branches of the galleries were located, be it the original location

of the gallery for foreign galleries that opened a space in Paris or subsid-
iaries that were opened by French galleries in order to develop
internationally.
Two extra points were allocated to galleries that opened a space in
London or New York City as these two cities play a central role in the
international art market and offer privileged access to major collectors.
For the same reason, four points were awarded to galleries being present
both in London and in New York City. As for the central role played by
“mega-galleries” on the international art market, 10 points were allocated
to the galleries that had spaces in more than five countries, including the
UK with London and the USA with New York City.
The approach that we developed introduced 19 different criteria that
were all meant to reflect the importance of the gallery in the French art
market and scene.
ifferent Gallery Rankings Revealing a High

D
Degree of Stratification
Apart from making it possible to determine the present number of con-
temporary art galleries in France, the previous method produced a first
ranking that could reveal strong stratification of the activity. A high pro-
portion of the galleries that appeared on the list received solely one or two
points, a sign of a very limited integration to the contemporary art world.
At the other end of the spectrum, many galleries showed as extremely
active, highly integrated and often combined this with a remarkable work
tool in terms of spaces, both in Paris and abroad (see Table 14.1).
Gagosian, the art world leader, with a flagship in the Mecca of Chelsea,
in New York City, and no fewer than 16 gallery spaces in the world comes
first. The top 20 positions of the ranking are occupied by 12 galleries of
French origin and 8 that were originally created abroad: three in the
USA—all located at the top of the list (1st, 6th, and 9th), two in Germany,
one in Austria, one in Italy, and one in Japan. At a time when the art
market is supposed to be completely globalised and national borders are
354 A. Quemin
Table 14.1 Star galleries and other important ones in France in terms of integration
to the contemporary art world
Number of
Rank and gallery name points Nationality District
1. Gagosian 45 USA Eighth district and
suburb
2. Emmanuel Perrotin 42 French Marais
3. Nathalie Obadia 40 French Marais
4. Thaddaeus Ropac 38 Austrian Marais and suburb
5. Lelong 37 French Eighth district
6. Marian Goodman 36 USA Marais
7. Kamel Mennour 34 French Saint-Germain-des-Près
8. Daniel Templon 31 French Marais
9. Chantal Crousel 30 French Marais
9. Peter Freeman 30 USA Marais
9. Almine Rech 30 French Marais
9. Jocelyn Wolff 30 French Belleville
13. Taka Ishii 27 Japanese Marais
14. Continua 26 Italian Outside of Paris
14. Art Concept 26 French Marais
16. Air de Paris 22 French 13th district
16. Karsten Greve 22 German Marais
16. Max Hetzler 22 German Marais
19. gb agency 21 French Marais
20. Michel Rein 20 French Marais
often seen as negligible, our data show that territory still plays a prominent
role. The French market is controlled either by national galleries or by
galleries of a very limited group of countries that generally occupy prominent
positions in the art market (Quemin 2013b). The impact of territory can
also be seen through the location of galleries. In the top 20, all galleries
but one (Continua) are located in Paris (two of them opened a second
(mega-)space in its suburb in a later step of their development). Moreover,
even inside Paris, territory is not neutral. The Marais plays a central role
as a defined gallery district: 14 of the 20 leading galleries (nearly three-
quarters) that we identified with the previous criteria gather in this part
of Paris. Two other galleries are located in the very bourgeois eighth
district, one is located in Saint-Germain-des-Près, a district that, until the
1960s, had a rather high concentration of French galleries before it
declined when the majority left for the Marais during the 1970s. The last
two galleries in the list are located in more peripheral districts. One is
located in 13th arrondissement, a neighbourhood that was once planned

to become a gallery district but later failed in hosting them in the long
run. The other gallery is located in Belleville, a popular district that has
tried for many years to challenge the Marais but has never managed to
outshine it.
The hierarchy of art galleries established in France is very marked. The
top three galleries accumulated 45, 42, and 40 points, respectively. If the
20th gallery in the list earned 20 points, its immediate follower received
only 17 points and only 33 galleries had more than 10 points; 31 galleries
were between 5 and 10 points, 30 galleries had 3 or 4 points, 34 had 2
points, and no less than 64 (!) had only 1 point. This demonstrates that a
strong majority of contemporary art galleries have limited access to the
market and receive little recognition. All the structures that obtained a
maximum of 4 points only account for two-thirds of the population
(128 out of 192 galleries) and the galleries that had one point only even
represent one-third of the total number of galleries (64 out of 192).
Our empirical data provides a striking illustration of the model of an
oligopoly with fringe competition as economists have theorised their
existence in the culture and the arts domain (Benhamou 2003).
Afterwards, once the list of the 192 contemporary art galleries in
France is set and ranked, what about their “rosters” (i.e. the list of artists
whom they represent) and what do the rosters show about the prestige/
legitimacy/power (as all these notions are intertwined in the art world) of
galleries?
For this second phase in the elaboration of a ranking of French
contemporary art galleries, we used the same list of galleries that we
obtained previously when considering the legitimacy or recognition of
art galleries and their access to the market, but what we took into account
here was the reputation of the list of artists represented by all of the gal-
leries that achieved the highest scores prior. The aim was to evaluate the
“quality” (Misdrahi Flores 2013) of contemporary art galleries through
the visibility of the artists whom they represent. For each gallery, we con-
sidered all represented artists and their rank in the Artfacts database.
Subsequently we selected the ten artists with the lowest rank (that is to
say those with the highest degree of visibility or prestige as they are the
closest ranked to the first position in the ranking). Why did we take into
356 A. Quemin
account only ten artists and not the whole roster? Although the average
size of the roster of important galleries is generally around 30, it can be as
high as 130 for Gagosian, an absolute record breaker, but in some oppo-
site cases, it can also be as low as 12 or 15. The logic underlying the
number of artists in a roster can vary. Some galleries can integrate artists
with a low level of visibility because they cannot do better for most of
their artists, but others can also integrate young artists and work on their
careers. In that very case, a high rank may be only temporary and may be
part of a strategy to develop an artist’s career in the long run. Considering
ten artists only limits the impact of these very different logics. Besides, for
a very high proportion of galleries, most of their sales are made with their
“best” artists, their most renowned artists are those on which galleries
must concentrate most of their efforts. That being said, we decided to
calculate the medium rank of the 10 “best” artists of all the galleries at the
top of our previous list (see Table 14.2).
Table 14.2 Ranking in Rank and gallery Medium range of

terms of medium range of name the top ten artists
the top ten artists in
the rosters Gagosian 6.9
Thaddaeus Ropac 24.7
Marian Goodman 35.2
Lelong 82.8
Chantal Crousel 87.8
Continua 95.4
Almine Rech 129.6
Karsten Greve 137.6
Daniel Templon 224.3
Taka Ishii 230.9
Kamel Mennour 239.7
Max Hetzler 242.7
Peter Freeman 247.0
Emmanuel 279.8
Perrotin
Air de Paris 436.3
Xippas 609.9
Nathalie Obadia 628.5
Michel Rein 694.2
Gb agency 719.0
Mor Charpentier 739.0
Once again, Gagosian, the art world leader, is at the top of the ranking,
way ahead of his two potential challengers, Thaddaeus Ropac and Marian
Goodman. It should be noted that, this time, the top three positions are
occupied by galleries of foreign origin, two being American and one
being Austrian. Then comes a group of three galleries with rather similar
average ranks of their 10 top artists: two galleries are French (Lelong and
Chantal Crousel), the third, Continua, is Italian and was rather low in
our previous ranking. Although they opened a branch in France, unlike
all other international players that developed a space there, they did not
choose Paris as a base but Les Moulins, a rural location in Seine-et-Marne
relatively far from the French capital city. Hence, the gallery, although
characterised by a high-quality roster, is less inserted in the French gallery
scene as it tends to be centralised in Paris, which showed in the previous
ranking. Out of the 20 top galleries—when considering their rosters—
that are installed in France, only four of them, Chantal Crousel (ranked
5th), Air de Paris (15th), gb agency (19th), and Mor Charpentier (20th)
do not have any location abroad. Apart from these four examples, and it
should be noted that three out of the four galleries are at the bottom of
the top 20 list, there is a strong correlation between an international
development with the openings of branches abroad (a characteristic that
remains very limited in the contemporary art gallery world including
those that operate in France) and a roster that is characterised by the
strong visibility of artists.
Another point that can be commented on in the previous ranking is
the appearance in the top 12 positions of other galleries of foreign origin:
apart from Italian Continua (ranked 6th), German Karsten Greve (ranked
8th) and Max Hetzler (ranked 12th), and Japanese Taka Ishii (ranked
10th). In this second ranking, only 11 out of the 20 top galleries are of
French origin, and they mostly concentrate at the bottom of the list.
In a final step of our methodology, we combined the two previous
rankings in an overall one that combines the two previous logics and aims
at synthesising the previous two tables (see Table 14.3).
If one compares the combination of the recognition of the gallery and
its work instrument/access to the market and its roster, there appears to
be a positive connection—or even an excellent one—between the two in
general (see Gagosian at the top of the list or gb agency at the bottom of
358 A. Quemin
Table 14.3 Overall rank: Comparison of the two rankings in terms of recognition
of the gallery and access to the market and in terms of “quality” of its roster
Overall Recognition Roster Roster rank—
rank Gallery name rank rank recognition rank
1 Gagosian 1 1 0
2 Thaddaeus Ropac 4 2 −2
3 Marian Goodman 6 3 −3
4 Lelong 5 4 −1
5 Chantal Crousel 9 5 −4
6 Almine Rech 11 7 −4
7 Emmanuel Perrotin 2 14 12
8 Daniel Templon 8 9 1
9 Kamel Mennour 7 11 4
10 Continua 13 6 −7
11 Nathalie Obadia 3 17 14
12 Peter Freeman 10 13 3
13 Karsten Greve 16 8 −8
14 Taka Ishii 15 10 −5
15 Max Hetzler 18 12 −6
16 Jocelyn Wolff 9 21 12
17 Air de Paris 16 15 −1
18 Art Concept 13 23 10
19 Michel Rein 20 18 −2
20 Gb agency 19 19 0
it). Still, in some cases, the galleries do significantly better in the first
domain than in the second one. This is true for gallerist Nathalie Obadia,
who compensates a somewhat less prestigious roster with a frenetic activ-
ity on the market. The same can be said for gallerist Emmanuel Perrotin,
who, although he has developed a remarkable work tool for many years
with high-quality spaces both in Paris and abroad, has managed neither
to push his own initial artists to very high levels of visibility nor to attract
star artists. The same relative weakness of the roster can also be identified
for other galleries such as Jocelyn Wolff and Air de Paris. All these galler-
ies are of French origin. On the opposite, galleries that do significantly
better in terms of roster than in terms of recognition of the gallery and its
work instrument/access to the market are more likely to be of foreign
origin. This tends to show that, when they open a space in France, they
do not invest in the French territory as much as the quality of their rosters
would suggest. And once again, when it comes to accessing the market,
territory matters.
The overall ranking that we created shows that the market of contem-
porary art galleries in France is highly concentrated in Paris at its top as,
out of the 20 most important galleries, 19 are located in Paris, Continua
being the only exception. Besides, galleries of foreign origin play an impor-
tant role among the biggest players. No less than 8 galleries out of the top
20 are of foreign origin and, even more remarkable, all of them are in the
top three positions. American galleries do extremely well, with Gagosian
in the 1st position, Marian Goodman in the 3rd, and Peter Freeman in the
12th position. Dito for the Austrian and German galleries, with Austrian
Thaddaeus Ropac in the 2nd position and German Karsten Greve in the
13th rank and Max Hetzler in the 15th position. The other two galleries
of foreign origin are Italian Galleria Continua (10th) and Japanese Taka
Ishii (14th). These last two galleries adopt a rather low profile in France in
regard to their international status: as we already mentioned, Continua is
located in the countryside, in a part of Seine-et-Marne far from Paris, and
Taka Ishii only opened a tiny space in Paris and many insiders in the
French art world do not even know about it.
Conclusion
Although rankings of artists emerged in different steps, first in the 1950s
for their earliest developments and at the beginning of the 1970s for a
more systematised version, it must be noted that in recent years several
rankings have multiplied in the contemporary art world. Remarkably, in
a social world that is obsessed with rankings in order to reduce the uncer-
tainty on value that is characteristic of contemporary art, no ranking of
art galleries has been created until our own attempt. However, by mobil-
ising our knowledge of all the rankings that already exist and our famil-
iarity with the gallery scene as an insider, we could elaborate a ranking of
contemporary art galleries by studying the French case. We found it
appropriate to combine two sub-rankings, one reflecting the recognition
360 A. Quemin
of the gallery and its work instrument/access to the market, and the other
relying on the rosters of the galleries. The various steps of the overall
ranking that we built made it possible for us not only to evaluate the
number of contemporary art galleries in France, but also to show a very
hierarchised structure of the market that clearly illustrates the economic
model of the oligopoly with fringe competition. Not only could we reveal
this marked hierarchy, be it in terms of recognition of the gallery and its
work instrument/access to the market or regarding the roster, but we
could also identify the most important players. When focusing on them,
we could then show that, even in a sector that is as internationalised not
to say “globalised” as the contemporary art market, the nationality of the
galleries seems to have a real impact. Apart from Japan, which is periph-
eral in the art world, the best ranked foreign galleries are Italian,
German—one is Austrian as a matter of fact, but it was not founded in
Vienna, but in Salzburg, a city that is located in walking distance from
Germany—and American.
The research also had an experimental dimension in regard to its recep-
tion by the art world and by the players who were at the centre of it. A
simplified version of the results was published in three consecutive issues
of the French art newspaper Le Journal des Arts in October and November
2016. The ranking based on recognition and access to the market was
published one week before the FIAC and a special issue was also printed
and given for free during the fair. In those unusually long articles, the
methodology was also published and commented on. Reactions to the
published ranking showed how strong their impact could be. Several gal-
lerists with high rankings called to thank us for their excellent position in
the ranking! One, whose ranking was lower than what he expected,
assaulted us (verbally) in public, raising the usual argument often opposed
to sociologists when they unveil social facts that it was not true because…
it could not be true. Another gallerist whose gallery was not included in
the top list even called us in order to ask if we could “find some arrange-
ment” for the gallery to appear in the ranking! All of these reactions show
a degree of misunderstanding with the objectivising function of sociology
but they also show how important rankings can be for all actors of the
contemporary art world as given their performative dimension (Nelson
Espeland and Sauder 2007). Although they are often criticised, people
know that these rankings—in the best cases—unveil a reality and that
they have this performative dimension, and even more so if their meth-
odology is rigorous.
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Part VI
Features of the Art Market in
Advanced Capitalism: From
Established to New Patterns?
15
The Art Fair Boom and Its
Contradictions
Erwin Single
Introduction
Nowadays art fairs play a central role in the international art business,
especially in regard to contemporary art. In the course of the boom since
the turn of the century they have grown into one of the most important
distribution and marketing channels for art dealers and galleries. But art
fairs have also attracted a growing number of visitors, consumers, collec-
tors, and art merchants. In the last decade they became important cul-
tural events and meeting points of the art world. Art fairs have also
changed the way art is bought and perceived. Last but not least, art fairs
are highly significant as sites where value is produced. They reinforce the
regime of material value and visibility in the field of art.
According to the Art Basel & UBS Art Market Report prepared by
Clare McAndrew, art fairs are still main market events, with aggregate
sales estimated to reach $16.5 billion in 2018, up 6% year-on-year
E. Single (*)
University of St. Gallen, St. Gallen, Switzerland
e-mail: erwin.single@unisg.ch

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6_15
366 E. Single
(McAndrew 2019, 223). That makes up a quarter of the entire art mar-
ket. For the 2018 reporting year, the economist estimates global art sales
at $67.4 billion, up 6% from the year ago.
The global art market is still split between auction houses and art deal-
ers. Indeed, the two sectors have grown quite similar in the last few years.
But it is no secret that art dealers today already achieve nearly a half of
their returns at art fairs.1 No other form of distribution offers the art-
interested clientele a better opportunity to see and buy a broad range of
works of art with an efficient expenditure of time and money. In view of
the attractiveness and commercial success of art fairs, numerous reports
have already proclaimed an “art fair age”, “the decade of the art fairs”, and
the “artfairisation” of the art world (e.g. Bankowksy 2005; Eckstein 2006;
Barragán 2008).
This so-called art fair boom has been glaringly apparent since the
beginning of this century. Whereas in 1970 there were only three art fairs
(Cologne, Basel, Brussels) and seven in 1980 (Cologne, Basel, Brussels,
Bologna, Chicago, Paris, and Maastricht), the number doubled by 1990
to fourteen fairs, and in the year 2000 there were more than thirty
(Curioni 2012). The foundation of new art fairs then increased rapidly
worldwide. Most of the fairs were established after 2000. Recently
Artfacts reported that the number of global art fairs has roughly tripled
since 2005, from 68 events to somewhere between two and three hun-
dred. At each of these fairs, between 20 and 300 galleries exhibited a total
of up to 6000 works of art. The 165 major fairs traced by Artfacts included
around 12,000 galleries.
In 2018, according to McAndrew (2019, 224), there were close to 300
fairs with an international dimension, almost 50 of them being founded
in the last ten years. The new fairs were established not only in peripheral
places and emerging countries, but also in USA and Europe, which are
still the centres of the art world.
In 2019 new fairs in Los Angeles, Taiwan, Singapore, or Chicago have
been added to an ever more crowded calendar. But some examples show
Art fairs accounted for an estimated 46% of dealer sales in 2018 (McAndrew 2019, 20).
1
15 The Art Fair Boom and Its Contradictions 367
that the hype has long passed its zenith. Art fairs are still struggling. For
example, the Art Stage Singapore, an important fair for Southeast Asia,
was cancelled in the week before its opening in January 2019 as well as
some smaller fairs like the Chelsea Art Fair in London. The current art
fair boom is the result of the great success of the art market since the late
nineties. But whether this can also secure success in the twenty-first cen-
tury is questionable.
The structural change of the art market caused by art fairs does not
always have positive effects. The large number of art fairs is at the expense
of business in galleries. Galleries are closing at an alarming rate. Medium
and smaller galleries, in particular, find it difficult to bear the high costs
of their fair participation in the long run. The participation in art fairs
can also be disadvantageous for young galleries and emerging artists.
Well-known and recognised artists are often overrepresented at fairs as a
result of the selection criteria when picking exhibitors.
Despite the importance of art fairs, socio-scientific research has so far
dealt remarkable little with the phenomenon. In most studies on the art
market, art fairs do not play a role or are only mentioned at the margin.
The few recent studies on art fairs were concentrated mainly on network-
ing (e.g. Yogev 2010; Yogev and Grund 2012; Morgner 2014), interna-
tionalisation (Curioni 2012; Quemin 2013, Velthuis 2014, Vermeylen
2015; Curioni et al. 2015), or events (e.g. Thornton 2012; Thompson
2011). The aim of our research projects that lasted from 2011 to 2014
was to contribute to the description of the contemporary art world by
means of a multidimensional designed field study of the Art Basel
(Schultheis et al. 2015, 20162).
2
This publication represents the results of a multidimensionally designed field study of Art Basel in
Basel, Miami Beach, and Hong Kong stretching over a few years, financed by the Swiss National
Science Foundation SNSF and the Research Committee of the University of St. Gallen. A broad
spectrum of social-scientific methods were used, which extend from qualitative approaches—such
as more than 150 interviews with art dealers, collectors, museum directors, curators, art consul-
tants, and other actors of the art world, expert surveys, photographic documentations, content-
analytical treatment of texts, literature study, and secondary evaluation of data—to quantitative
surveys on art dealers and visitors based on standardised questionnaires.
368 E. Single
The Rise of Art Fairs

Commercial art fairs have a long tradition, although their current form
of presentation only entered the scene with the rise of contemporary art
in the 1960s and 1970s. Their origins as elite shows for the fine arts and
sales events for arts and crafts can be traced back to the world exhibitions
in London and Paris in the middle of the nineteenth century. As early as
1913 the first Armory Exhibition in New York City took place, an inter-
national exhibition for the art of the modern period which had a pro-
found influence on the art world of the time and marked a milestone in
the development of the growing market for modern art. The Grosvenor
House Art and Antique Fair, a fair for fine arts and antiques, was launched
in London in 1934 and became an important event for antiques dealers
in opposition to auction houses. These two examples animated the found-
ers of the modern art fairs in Cologne and Basel.
The “Kunstmarkt 67” held in September 1967 in Cologne is, however,
regarded as the hour of birth of art fairs focusing on contemporary art.
More than 15,000 visitors attended the fair, at which 18 galleries exhib-
ited more than 600 works of art.3 In contrast to big exhibitions such as
the first Documenta in Kassel in 1957, the works could be bought directly
at the fair and the exhibits were accordingly furnished with prices.
In Basel a few art dealers like Ernst Beyeler took up this idea of an art
fair and founded the Art Basel, which took place for the first time in
1970. Ninety galleries participated in the fair, which attracted over
10,000 visitors. The organisers learned from the weaknesses of the
“Kunstmarkt 67” and implemented a concept of the fair which was from
the start internationally oriented. This is one of the reasons why the Art
Basel was able to establish itself so firmly and to push the competition
from Cologne into the background in spite of calls for a boycott by
German gallery owners.
Both fairs marked the transition from discreet art dealing to staged
events. As new institutions they were the starting point for an aggressive
marketing of art by galleries and the private art sector. This represented a
3
On the invention of the “Kunstmarkt 67” in Cologne, the processes of institutionalisation and the
rise of Cologne as an art metropolis (see von Alemann 1997 and Mehring 2008).
break with the hitherto customary sales transactions, which were carried
out discreetly and non-publicly in the galleries and the showrooms of the
art dealers. Of course, the treatment of art as a commercial trading com-
modity like any other gave rise to massive criticism.4 The organisers were
repeatedly accused of bringing art to the market place.
The new institution of the art fair established itself very quickly as a
periodic art market and a secondary facility for galleries and art dealers
alongside their primary art business. This development is directly linked
to the massive spread of the art system, to the dynamic expansion of the
art market, to the significant change in the social status of contemporary
art and its increasing popularisation by the media and established art
institutions such as museums or temporary exhibitions. Art fairs seem to
follow a direct commercial logic and thus become a “symbol for the pri-
vate marketing of art; they are a token of the marketing business and the
marketing of art” (von Alemann 1997, 233).
In order to profit commercially from the broad public interest in con-
temporary art in connection with the rise of pop art and its promotion by
mass media, the art trade sought for suitable sales strategies and forms of
communication. The art fairs quickly proved to be a suitable instrument,
which led to a growing interest of the galleries in participation in the fairs
and to the establishment of new fairs. Alongside the auction houses the
fairs became a driving force behind the impressive growth of the (mass)
market for art and, at the same time, its visible representation. The insti-
tutionalisation of the art fairs is thus also the result of a necessary and
important transformation process in the art trade, which had been trig-
gered off by the emerging upheaval of the art system in the 1960s and
1970s. This process ended with the establishment of a further distribu-
tion channel for the art trade alongside the gallery system.
The business policies of the auction houses have also undergone a fun-
damental change in the last fifty years. Driven forward by the popularisa-
tion of so-called pop art and other new currents in art, the big international
auction houses entered the business with contemporary art on a massive
scale in the 1970s and attracted a group of new and partly inexperienced
collectors and customers. Formerly the clientele of the auction houses
For a discussion on commercialisation at this time, see Bongard (1967).

4
370 E. Single
had consisted for a long time of private art dealers, gallery owners and a
few institutional buyers. But in the 1980s they systematically opened up
the segment of private customers and thus initiated a shift from wholesale
to individual trading in art, which ultimately led to direct competition
with the established gallery system.
From the end of the 1980s on, however, a clear shift in favour of the
auction houses can be recorded, which have strongly professionalised
their business activities and have thus not only become an important
competitor in the secondary market but also penetrated the traditional
domains of the art trade, the private sales, and the primary market. The
flourishing auction market also ensured a certain degree of publicness
and transparency and thus undermined the business practices of price-
finding, exclusivity, and discretion, which had for a long time determined
the conduct of the monopolistic art dealers and galleries.
As a result of this development, art dealers and galleries have had to
adapt their business models to the changed framework conditions. The
old maxim of the private art market “buy cheap, sell dear” has long ceased
to suffice. Conditions of art production, distribution, and consumption
are increasingly oriented on economic parameters. Profit orientation,
economic calculations, management strategies, branding, public rela-
tions, and sponsoring have in the meantime extended far into the gallery
system as well as in other art institutions.
The gallery scene had also grown rapidly as a result of the increased
popularity of contemporary art, but it was now confronted with a serious
competitor. Above all, the private art dealers active on the secondary mar-
ket lost their monopoly over the buying and selling of contemporary art,
but the galleries as well, which were active on both the primary and the
secondary market, began to feel the growing power of the auction houses.
Until today the competition has intensified even more.
For the private art dealers and galleries, art fairs turned out to be an
effective instrument in the struggle against Christie’s, Sotheby’s, and
smaller auctioneers. The promotion of this sales platform enabled them
to open up their limited classical distribution paths in which trading in
art still had the character of direct negotiation and avoided the public eye.
Particularly for the established and successful galleries in Europe and
the USA, this development has been a kind of wake-up call. Instead of
doing business almost exclusively and restricted in their developed

national markets as in the past, many art dealers saw the need to turn to
the growing foreign markets in order to ensure future success. The popu-
larisation of the fine arts abroad created a new stratum of art lovers with
spending power who gave a strong impetus to the art market as a whole.
Whereas the top galleries only attended two or three fairs per year some
years ago, they now go to more than a dozen. The rapidly increasing flock
of international collectors has also become more mobile and is in the
meantime jetting from one fair to the next around the world.
The radical transformation of the distributional channels was accom-
panied by a growth in demand arising from the entry of new buyers and
collectors into the market. The rapid economic and geographical expan-
sion of the art market, above all since the 1980s, with the exception of a
brief interruption at the beginning of the 1990s, is not a singular phe-
nomenon but the result of complex relationships in the art field. It is
strongly linked to the perception of contemporary art as an object of
distinction,5 investment, and speculation. What is at issue, above all else,
is the frequently noted penetration of money into the world of art, its
economisation and financialisation. The extension of the market zone
corresponds to a swift increase in the circle of people with high incomes
and capital. Recently over 42 million millionaires have been counted
worldwide (Credit Suisse Research Institute 2018), many of them col-
lecting art. This group of buyers is the source of the increased demand for
contemporary art and is responsible for the partially extraordinary
increases in prices.
In the meantime, a multi-stage system of art fairs has developed, with
different geographical locations, ranges, and perceptions, which to a cer-
tain degree reflects the development of the art market. Most trade fairs
are organised by the private sector and supported by sponsors, but many
of them are also partly financed by public funds. There are also fairs
organised by a number of galleries under their own direction. Whereas at
the lowest level a rapidly growing number of art fairs mostly with regional,
interregional, and national drawing power and influence are spreading
5
In his social critique of the judgement of taste Pierre Bourdieu identified art as an important
example of social distinction (Bourdieu 1984).
372 E. Single
out, at the middle level a small number of fairs has crystallised, which,
supported by a strong anchorage at the national level, include geographi-
cally neighbouring and culturally related regions and are increasingly
establishing international connections. These include, above all, estab-
lished fairs in Europe and North America such as the Art Cologne, Foire
internationale d’art contemporain (FIAC) in Paris, Armory Show (New
York), or the Arte Contemporaneo (ARCO) in Madrid. Since the begin-
ning of the twenty-first century newer fairs in emerging areas of the world
have joined this circle, such as the Zona Maco México Contemporaneo
(Mexico City), Art Stage Singapore, Art Dubai, or the India Art Fair
(New Delhi).
At the peak of the relatively new institution of the art fair, a handful of
big events established themselves with brand names of their own along-
side the renowned biennials in Venice and Kassel: Art Basel (Basel, Miami
Beach, Hong Kong), Frieze Art Fair (London, NYC, LA), and TEFAF
(Maastricht, NYC). They recruit their potential primarily from the
national diversity of the exhibitors who in turn represent the most impor-
tant galleries and dealers from the countries with big national art markets.
The sustained success of these flagships among the international art
fairs results from several factors. They have a personal, unmistakable pro-
file; offer a broad spectrum of works, rely on high-quality standards of the
galleries, artists, and works of art, conduct professional marketing and
strengthen their attractiveness by offering a series of accompanying events
and cultural programmes, which additionally underline the event and
happening character of the fairs.
These top fairs, which are regarded in the professional art world and in
the media as the best and most important of their kind, evidently have
magical attraction for the actors: the most important collectors, the most
respected curators, museum directors, art consultants and art critics.
They all come because the others will also be there. At Art Basel, for
example, about 20% of all visitors are already on the two VIP days. As a
result of such direct and indirect networking effects, all the actors expect
participation to be increasingly useful for them, and in consequence a
kind of monopoly position of the top fairs develops.
A further aspect has to be mentioned. The internationality often attrib-
uted to art fairs must be considered more closely. The pronounced
concentration of art fairs and galleries corresponds to the heart of the

international art market, which continues to beat in the Western world.
As our investigation shows, the dominance of this part has not changed
essentially during the whole history of Art Basel; in 2014 only one in ten
of the galleries came from other countries. New figures underline this
finding. Only 26% of the 165 major art fairs listed by Artfacts take place
outside the USA and Europe. Exhibitors from these parts of the world
continue to dominate these events, with galleries from Europe and North
America accounting for almost 80% of all exhibitors at such fairs
(McAndrew 2018, 204).6 Galleries and art dealers from only five
countries—USA, Germany, France, Italy, and Great Britain—represent
more than half of all exhibitors.
Art Fairs’ Transformations and Impacts

As we have seen, the function of art fairs is not restricted to commercial
business transactions. Art fairs represent and reproduce a new stage in the
activation and mobilisation of the inner circle of the art world. Within
this event culture, according to Olav Velthuis, “the consumption (not
necessarily acquisition) of contemporary art is packaged as a social and
cultural experience” (Velthuis 2012, 32).
This phenomenon of eventisation, where the meeting of the art world
itself becomes an important cultural and social event and the insiders
have an opportunity to put themselves on show, is relatively new and
directly linked to contemporary art. It is not restricted to the big top fairs
but can also be encountered at international biennials and blockbuster
exhibitions. But the international art fairs, above all, provide the stage for
new processes of integration of a global elite which achieves its highest
degree of visibility at the intersection point of art and money.
The influence of the art fairs extends far beyond the gallery system. In
particular, the event character of the fairs ensures a correspondingly wide
appeal in the public sphere and among the art-interested public. Art fairs
have not only helped to reduce the inhibitions about visiting galleries and
See also Quemin (2006, 2012, 2013) and Curioni (2012).

6
374 E. Single
to break down at least to some extent the exclusiveness of the art trade,
but have also made an important contribution to the popularisation of
contemporary art.
The importance of the art fair as a highly visible platform not only for
sales but also for the cultivation of contacts served to strengthen its insti-
tutional power. The positive effects, not only for art dealing, are unmis-
takable to this day. Art fairs serve as a forum for galleries and are popular
meeting points for the actors from the art world, who can use them to
cultivate and expand their networks. Fairs make it easier to acquire an
overview of what is on offer on the art market. The temporal and spatial
concentration of galleries and actors in one location facilitates the flow of
supply and demand and reduces the inefficiency which can result from
the geographic spread and decentralisation of the market. Fairs thus
strengthen the art trade as a whole—not least in the competition with the
increasingly powerful auction houses and the steeply rising number of
their private sales.
The subsequent strong growth in the number of art fairs led to a clear
increase in the competition between the organisers who vied for the cus-
tom of well-known and potent collectors and exhibitors. This develop-
ment was particularly marked in the middle segment which could not
keep up with the successful flagships and large-scale fairs at the top end
of the market. Many of the newly founded fairs soon experienced a creep-
ing decline and were replaced after a few years by new constructs and
formats. Even established fairs such as the Armory Show, ARCO, or Art
Brussels are in the meantime undergoing a crisis and the venerable Art
Chicago even had to close in 2012 after 31 years on the market. Numerous
newly founded trade fairs in emerging countries could not last long and
had to restructure or close their doors. They all fight not only for galleries,
collectors, and visitors but also for their investors and sponsors.
In view of the hard and very competitive struggles between the fairs
only those can succeed which create an unmistakable profile, attract
established galleries and have some amount of event glamour. The strong
competition of most of the fairs in the field of contemporary art also
turns out to be an economic risk. The most successful fairs exhibit not
only contemporary art but also the art of the twentieth century. Other
big fairs diversified the range of the products they offer. TEFAF, for
example, first entered the segment of contemporary art and then extended
its already broad spectrum to include the decorative art of the twentieth
century and works on paper. The Armory Show added a modern section
and the Frieze established a parallel fair for classical and modern art, the
Frieze Masters, in 2012.
In the course of globalisation, the art fairs are at the moment experi-
encing a further fundamental transformation. The number of art fairs
and similar sales and exhibition formats with mostly regional, national or
local sphere of influence is growing strongly, and the three big established
art fairs Art Basel, Frieze, and TEFAF are pursuing an intensive strategy
of expansion and diversification.
In 2002 the Art Basel established a second foothold in Miami Beach in
order to cover the North and South American fields. In 2013, Art Basel
in Hong Kong was added as a further location in Southeast Asia. Frieze
opened an offshoot of its fair in New York for the first time in 2012, and
a new one in Los Angeles in 2019. With the growing success of the Art
Basel Miami Beach the traditional Armory Show in New York lost ground
and was increasingly avoided by the New York galleries. After the open-
ing of Frieze in New York it was faced with closure. The opening of Frieze
Masters parallel to Frieze London in October 2012 covered a new seg-
ment, the market for old masters and antiques, which had formerly been
the preserve of the Maastricht art fair TEFAF. Their organisers in turn
planned a trade fair in China in 2013 together with Sotheby’s, but the
plans were quickly buried again. Instead, TEFAF expanded to New York
City in 2017 with two new fairs.
The rise of the art fairs, which can definitely be seen as a reaction and
a defensive battle against the auction houses, drifted the business models
and practices of the galleries and art dealers to a radical transformation
process. As Don Thompson notes, fairs now both drive the market and
restructure it (Thompson 2008, 235). As the number of fairs grew, they
came under increasing pressure to change their business practices and to
achieve increased attention.
Art fairs allow galleries to reach a larger public than their local venues
and their solo shows with the artists they represent. As the important
actors in the art world such as the collectors, museum directors, or cura-
tors, who, alongside the art market, decisively influence the value of art,
376 E. Single
are more likely to be encountered at fairs than in galleries, participation

in the fairs becomes increasingly more important for the galleries and art
dealers for more than purely economic reasons. A large part of the trade
in art has long left the traditional local premises in the galleries in the
direction of the market place. As many galleries also regard participation
in renowned fairs as an investment in their own reputation, the pressure
increases. Galleries in the middle segment, above all, find that the busi-
ness has in the meantime become tough and even some of better-known
names have withdrawn from it.
So, the art fairs are of pre-eminent importance for the galleries. By
participating in fairs of differing international character and prestige the
galleries and art dealers can extend their geographical range beyond their
regional and national terrain and achieve access to the transnational art
markets. This possibility was formerly blocked. By participation in the
fairs, artists can be directly presented and marketed on the foreign mar-
kets and must no longer be handed over to competitors or promoted by
cooperation galleries or partners. The internationalisation of business
practices is advantageous, above all, for the galleries which represent and
have in part helped to establish artists who are in demand abroad.
The Dark Side of the Boom

Hardly one of the established galleries can now afford not to attend
regional or international fairs. As a result of the change a substantial part
of the turnover of the art market today is generated at fairs. In our survey
we asked the gallery owners participating in the Art Basel about the eco-
nomic value of the art fair for their art business, and the answers are
unequivocal. Sales during the Art Basel are of central importance for their
annual sales; a great part of their income is achieved at the fairs. In 2018
art dealers and galleries made 46% of their sales at art fairs, or 16 percent-
age points more than in 2010. About 31% of sales was generated at inter-
national trade fairs, 15% at local trade fairs (McAndrew 2019, 223).
However, only a small group of successful galleries profit directly from
the structural change in the art markets triggered off by the international
boom in fairs. These galleries have the corresponding export strategies
and can afford to participate in an elaborate and cost-intensive fairs mara-

thon around the globe. Today’s most successful galleries have strictly ori-
entated their business model towards internationalisation. Gagosian, for
example, now owns 16 locations worldwide and employs more than 250
people, Pace has 9 locations, Hauser & Wirth 7, and David Zwirner 5.
They have the necessary financial and human resources to attract artists
and collectors with a range of services that smaller companies can-
not reach.
On the other hand, smaller galleries in particular are in massive exis-
tential trouble due to the decline of their sales and have to fight for their
survival. According to the latest empirical findings, 57% of the galleries
reported declining sales in 2018. Dealers with sales up to $250,000 were
the biggest losers, reporting a decline in average turnover of 18%. But
also, dealers with sales up to $500,000 lost 10% of their sales (McAndrew
2019, 51). The divergence between the top galleries at the high end of the
field and the smaller galleries at the lower end is getting bigger and bigger.
In view of the stagnating and in part even diminishing domestic
demand for artworks in many countries the internationalisation of busi-
ness has become a vital requirement for artistic and commercial success.
But the vast majority of galleries do not have the resources to meet this
challenge and therefore stay on the sidelines.
In addition, the trade fair boom raises the question of cost-effectiveness
for smaller exhibitors. Increases in sales for them are mostly unrealistic,
also because art fair management often addresses the same collectors.
Therefore, with the new fairs, galleries do not necessarily reach new audi-
ences, but the buyers they already know at higher costs.
Regular attendance at art fairs also involves increasing costs and the
continuous pressure to bring fresh goods on to the market and to present
them at the fair. In addition, business at the local gallery is often neglected
because the necessary staff and the capacity are lacking. As our survey
showed, the evaluations diverge accordingly. Whereas some galleries and
art dealers see the growing number of art fairs as a positive development
in the art market and for their own business, others regard it as a neces-
sary evil.
In fact, the expressions of opinion, the reports on the experiences made
and the diagnoses of the galleries and art dealers we interviewed reveal a
378 E. Single
highly differentiated and at the same time contradictory picture. The

owners are in a kind of double-bind relationship to the institution of the
art fair. Although they recognise the great significance of the fairs for the
contemporary art market and their own business, they also see the effort
and the cost involved in the participation in art fairs.
It amounts to an assertion that the enormous commercial success of
this institution and its pronounced marketability are associated with
strong monopolisation effects. They undermine the traditional, spatially
fixed gallery system and the intensive and enduring relationships between
the galleries and their customers, who make up a more or less stable and
locally rooted circle. If gallery owners can generate as much revenue at a
fair in a few days as in their local premises in several months, then it is
more than understandable that their business priorities shift in the direc-
tion of an increased participation in fairs. Some close down their busi-
nesses; others fall back on local or small regional fairs or continue their
work as private dealers without a showroom.
The boom in fairs cannibalises the gallery sales at the local level. The
sales at gallery exhibitions have clearly declined during the last years, as
gallery owners repeatedly report in our studies. They also complain that
the collectors in particular are now willing to travel long distances to fairs
but seldom visit the galleries.
This has a negative impact on the returns generated in the gallery. This
finding, which is confirmed by other studies (see e.g. McAndrew 2011),
is also characteristic of the steady decline in the numbers of drop-in cus-
tomers in the art galleries. If one leaves aside the mega spaces of the big
international galleries, which resemble modern art halls, and the new
forms of art events such as the gallery weekends which many towns in the
meantime organise, the interest in visiting galleries seems to have declined
noticeably.
The previous core of the gallery system, the local show room as the
centre of gravity and cultivated socio-cultural ambience for the local
world of art, begins to lose its significance. For those galleries which are
not admitted to the main art fairs problems can quickly arise, if only a
few collectors, occasional buyers and art enthusiasts come into the
galleries.
Many of the gallery owners neglect or reduce their exhibition activity.

According to McAndrew’s figures, the number of gallery exhibitions
decreased from almost 36,000 in 2007 to less than 25,000 in 2017
(McAndrew 2018, 181). The number of newly founded galleries has also
declined steadily over the last ten years. Nevertheless, the practice of
exhibiting is precisely the most important and visible aspect of classical
gallery work and distinguishes it from classical art dealing, which can do
without such public platforms.
The establishment of many new fairs is a growing cause for concern in
the gallery system. Both the marathon of venues and the economic
returns are often critically questioned in our interviews with art dealers
and gallery owners. The steep increase in the costs involved in attending
fairs is accompanied by only a very slight or by no increase in the sales
revenues. In addition, although the galleries attend fairs over a period of
several years, it is not necessarily the case that they will meet old custom-
ers or acquire new ones. But because not only economic profit but also
opportunities for communication and cooperation and, above all, sym-
bolic returns in the shape of a growth in prestige play an important role,
the galleries participate in art fairs even when the economic returns do
not cover their costs.
However, participation in art fairs is expensive for the galleries. On
average, galleries take part in four to five fairs a year.7 The owners of most
art fairs have significantly increased their rents for booths in the last years.
Expenditure of $50,000 for a medium-sized stand at one of the impor-
tant art fairs is not uncommon. Participation in five fairs can involve fix
costs up to $300,000 and more.8 In addition to booth fees, the expenses
are driven up by insurance, packaging, transport, travel, and personnel
7
Our survey of the galleries at Art Basel showed that on average the galleries took part in 5 other
art fairs each year. The number of fairs ranged from 3 to 13 per year. Claire McAndrew comes to
the conclusion that on average, dealers attended four fairs in 2018, down from five in 2017 and
2016 (McAndrew 2019, 227). But 25 percent of the sample participated in 10 or more fairs.
8
According to research by ArtNewspaper in 2018, the price range is large and varies for example
from $4700 for the cheapest booth at Independent Brussels to $60,840 for 40 sq. m at Fine Arts,
Paris or $100,000+ for The Armory Show’s 93 sq m booth. A 40 sq. m booth at Art Basel Hong
Kong costs $34,400, Freeze Masters $29,700, Art Basel in Basel $32,200, TEFAF $37,500 and
FIAC $27,000. See https://www.theartnewspaper.com/analysis/fair-s-fair-the-murky-world-of-
stand-costs (2019-1-2).
380 E. Single
expenses and much more, not to mention the expenses of the artworks.
Participation in art fairs can rapidly lead to losses in business. According
to McAndrews Report (2019, 228), dealers spent an estimated $4.8 bil-
lion attending and exhibiting art fairs in 2018—that is almost one-third
of the sales achieved there. To meet the high costs, the galleries must be
in a position to offset the costs through high sales and profit margins.
In view of these financial burdens, it is not surprising that an increas-
ing number of galleries are threatened in their existence. Ten years ago,
five galleries opened for every one that closed; today, for the first time in
recent memory, more galleries are closing than opening. The ratio of gal-
lery openings to closures in 2007 was over 5:1 and has declined rapidly
since then, dropping to 0.9:1 in 2017 (McAndrew 2018, 80).
This emergency signal alarmed the art world. Major gallery owners
such as David Zwirner, Marc Glimcher, or Thaddaeus Ropac want to
voluntarily pay higher rents for their booths to support smaller galleries
at prestigious art fairs like Art Basel. The financial problems of many gal-
leries seem to have been also recognised by the management of Art Basel,
which has recently been working intensively on microfinancing for
undercapitalised dealers and helping young galleries.
Art Fair Art as a New Standard

The participation in prestigious art fairs is still considered a success for
the galleries. It signifies a considerable image gain. This increases the pres-
sure to apply at the fairs and to participate when possible. The art fairs
ensure increased visibility of the galleries; the attendance is a first-class
seal of approval and brings prestige for the gallery itself and for the artists
it represents. Those who do not participate are not perceived in view of
the economy of attention. As early as the mid-1970s reports appear in the
media which equate participation in fairs with the visibility of galleries.
Those who do not participate in fairs fail to do so for artistic or financial
reasons. Nothing has changed until now. Some of our interviewees have
reported that non-participation in important art fairs immediately raises
the question of whether the galleries are in financial difficulties.
There are also new constraints due to the participation in art fairs. In
markets for symbolic goods, however, there are no precise or objective
criteria for the judgement of a valuable product, concerning both the
aesthetic and the financial aspects (see Velthuis 2005, Yogev 2010).
Instead, the value of a work of art is constructed in a social process by the
actors in the market. In contrast to the situation in consumer or industry
fairs, the quality of an art fair is primarily defined by a sometimes
extremely tough selection process. Because not all the galleries which
apply can be accepted as exhibitors, a selection must be made in accor-
dance with some kind of quality criteria—no matter how they are
determined.
This is one reason why the number of art fairs is increasing so rapidly.
Rejected galleries turn to other fairs, for which they are accepted, and this
again persuades the organisers of fairs and their investors to found further
art fairs at new locations. Art fairs cannot grow; they can only multiply
because they increasingly marginalise the gallery locations as a no longer
adequate form of marketing, and so further strengthen their attractive
power for gallery owners. These are processes undertaken by a new domi-
nant power founded on a changed constellation of interests.
The fair organisations and their selection committees or the curators
they appoint are always concerned to discover those galleries which meet
their quality standards. Consequently, the quality of the dealer stands at
the centre of the selection process. The juries of the main art fairs take
their orientations from the branded galleries who impress them not only
with their symbolic capital but also with their marketing power. For other
galleries participation in main fairs is a sign of quality, which brings them
distinction in the field of galleries, a distinction which they must prove
themselves worthy every year by presenting artists and works of art of a
high level.
Following Pierre Bourdieu, the selection procedure must also be seen
as a gradual consecration process, which leads to the gaining and main-
taining of recognition and prestige in the art world. The renown of the
galleries depends decisively on how present, how visible, and how eco-
nomically successful they are. Above all, as symbolic returns in the shape
of a growth in prestige play an important role, the galleries participate in
fairs even when the economic returns do not cover their costs.
382 E. Single
These processes of concentration result at the same time in a striking

uniformisation on the products on offer—fairs art is transformed into
branded goods. The selection of the artists presented by the gallery is in
itself a proof of quality. Galleries accumulate symbolic capital which, as a
reputation and a brand in the field of well-known and respected names,
they transfer to the artists they represent and so equip them with both
artistic and economic capital. This applies particularly to the upcoming
newcomers who have not yet reached the Olympic heights of the top
artists.
As a practical consequence of this recruitment and admission proce-
dure a tendency towards homogenisation and levelling out has devel-
oped, whereby the status of the galleries and their artists corresponds to
the status of the fairs themselves. To put it in other words: the stronger
the similarities between the status of the fairs, the status of the galleries,
and the status of the artists are, the more homogenous the field of the
fairs, the participating galleries and the exhibited artists are (see Velthuis
2012, 19).
However, this symbolic dimension is crucial for the art business. No
image could be sold dearly if it had not previously charged symbolic
value. Galleries which formerly behaved like culture bankers and relied
on long-term value creation and returns have in the meantime changed
their strategies. According to the art fair performances, they have adapted
to the short cycles of the market, which they themselves create by pre-
senting ever-new trends and artists. The pressure on artistic production
resulting from the permanent presence of art fairs is enormous.
The art market always demands new and fresh products, particularly in
regard to new and contemporary art. The result is an accelerated up and
down of trends and new “stars” in the art world. Nowadays, in view of the
large number of academically trained artists, it is not so much a question
of discovering suitable artists, but rather of placing them on the market
with rationalised methods. More and more often the central question is:
What is original enough to assert itself as a new position in the art field
and on the art market?
The short-term cycles of the market and a business conduct of the gal-
leries oriented on short-term economic profits have thus not failed to
have an effect on the artists themselves and on their artistic production.

Many of them accept the targets set by the galleries and produce quanti-
ties of items in order to satisfy the demand of the art fairs at which their
galleries desire or are compelled to participate. The concept of the so-
called “art fair art” illustrates the degree to which a part of the artistic
production has in the meantime been adapted to meet the expectations
and the needs of the market. As Olav Velthuis notes, “these works […]
are moderate in size, which makes them easy to transport and fit into
fair’s booth, and are in tune with dominant market trends” (Velthuis
2012, 19).
The notion of the incommensurability of artistic and economic values,
which was regarded as fundamental fifty years ago, seems to have been
abandoned, at least as far as the top section of art production is con-
cerned. It is a foregone conclusion, at least for many actors in the art
world, that market success will also increase the aesthetic value of a work,
although this standpoint is by no means undisputed and often complies
with culture-critical affects.
Nevertheless, ascertain that the works of living artists are bought for
the highest prices long before they have been judged by the classical
instances of canonisation. Today artists’ careers are systematically built up
like brands, and the prices achieved for their works and the development
of prices itself have a resounding effect as indicators of artistic quality.
They bring the works an enormous increase in value and importance,
which could not be attributed to them without this extrinsic exchange
value. In the meantime, a large part of the art-interested public regards
the market price as the criterion for artistic value.
The idea that recognition and reputation are nowadays less the result
of artistic importance but are primarily determined by economic value
within an economy of attention, and hence largely exclude all critical
discussion about artistic differences, is occasionally advocated even in the
art world (see e.g. Crane 2009; Graw 2010). In view of this kind of dis-
cussion the notion of an art remote from the market seems to be a truly
old-fashioned illusion.
384 E. Single
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16
Art Meets Capitalism: In Praise
of Promising Potentialities?
Denis Hänzi
Introduction
There is a maxim that strikingly is gaining currency in today’s advanced
capitalist societies. It is the ideal conception that personal success as well
as individual fulfilment can best be achieved by identifying and realising
one’s innermost potential. To the British freelance arts writer and actor
Daniel Marshall (2011), for instance, “unlocking your creative potential”
is a key prerequisite for emerging theatre professionals. The same appears
to go for future finance managers: German junior banker Steffen
Herrmann praises the Master in Management degree course at the
Frankfurt School of Finance and Management with the words “Unleash
your potential” (Herrmann 2017).
In this contribution, I want to suggest that the notion of promising
potentialities can be understood as a core element of the contemporary
logic of value production in advanced capitalist market societies.
D. Hänzi (*)
Bern University of Teacher Education, Bern, Switzerland
e-mail: denis.haenzi@phbern.ch

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6_16
388 D. Hänzi
Currently gaining ground in both the sphere of artistic professions and

large segments of the general world of employment, the precept of realis-
ing one’s potential virtually imposes itself as a starting point for “studying
the coupling of economic and cultural value creation in more detail”
(Lamla 2009, 178) as a means to gain deeper insight into the structural
dynamics of contemporary capitalism. This is especially true when con-
sidering that capitalist societies are structured by cultural and economic
logics that constitutively encompass more or less tightly coupled dynam-
ics of socio-historical co-evolution. In line with scholars who emphasise
that sociological attempts to grasp current capitalist dynamics have to
consider not merely the economy proper but also its cultural conditions
of possibility (Fraser 2017), the following discussion of the potentiality
principle starts out from the basic assumption that capitalism is, and has
been throughout its history, characterised by different epochal interrela-
tions between economic conditions and guiding cultural concepts. From
this perspective, the advent and ongoing expansion of personal potential
realisation as an ideal appears to be utterly characteristic for the transition
from the Fordist regime of accumulation to a form which has been termed
“disorganised” or “flexible” capitalism in the late 1980s (Lash and Urry
1987, Harvey 1989): Whilst within the context of the former regime—
that is, during the golden age of the Western industrial societies from the
end of the Second World War to the 1970s—capitalist production strate-
gies were centred on the normative ideals of equality of opportunity, indi-
vidual effort, and achievement, its follow-up model is predominantly
marked by the cultural concepts of authenticity and personal self-
realisation. According to Boltanski and Chiapello (2007), this shift—in
terms of the rise of a “new spirit of capitalism”—is largely due to the fact
that in the course of the increasing destabilisation of Fordism in the
1970s, capitalism has absorbed what they call the “artistic critique” of the
1960s by assimilating its programmatic claims for individual autonomy
and self-fulfilment as a new systematic resource for value production. In
compliance with this explanatory approach, a good many sociological
efforts at the beginning of the twenty-first century drew analytically on
the “figure of the artist” (Lordon 2014, 123) in order to illuminate the
dynamics of contemporary capitalism. But in what sense, exactly, does
16 Art Meets Capitalism: In Praise of Promising Potentialities? 389
the regime of flexible capitalism go “hand in hand with authentic artistic

production” (Tinius 2015, 71)?
In a first step, the present contribution will briefly retrace the main
aspects under which artistic work and creativity have been described—
within the scope of corresponding studies—as featuring an exemplary
status for processes of commodification and value creation in the post-
Fordist era. In doing so, it will become apparent that the economic “gen-
eralisation of the artist model” (Heinich 2016, 39) is basically rooted in
one cultural thought pattern, namely the actualisation of slumbering
potentialities as the core principle of creative work.
Given this notion’s growing importance and its increasing explicitness
as a value creation criterion in the recent past, I will—for a better under-
standing of the circumstances under which it gained its prevalence—
track the historical development of valuation procedures in an exemplary
sphere of art production in a second step: Mainly drawing on illustrative
material from my own empirical research on the social structuring prin-
ciples in the field of German-speaking theatre (see Hänzi 2013), this sec-
tion will point out some general trends that, taken together, have led to
the current popularity of promising potentiality as a pivotal assessment
criterion in the context of art appraisal and hence value production pro-
cesses. One central finding of these elucidations is that the potential reali-
sation maxim can, at a more abstract level, be understood as a specific
problem-solving strategy of our time: The programmatic ideal of exploit-
ing auspicious potentialities bears the promise of a future-proof mode of
value creation under production conditions that are at once highly com-
petitive and most unsteady.
Returning to my claim that today’s notion of promising potentialities
is on the cusp of constituting a new key guiding principle in advanced
capitalist market societies at large, I shall thereupon broaden the focus of
analysis beyond artistic value production in a third step: Contrasting
contexts in which the maxim of potential realisation actually also takes
root—for example, the educational system and the general employment
market—will thus be discussed in the subsequent section in order to
deepen the insight into its generic features on the whole. As will come to
light, the potentiality principle’s prospect of stabilising individual as well
as institutional value for the longer term involves a good many paradoxes.
390 D. Hänzi
On the one hand, the potential realisation maxim ostensibly addresses its
subjects’ (working) life in a manner thoroughly directed inward, at the
authenticity of the self. On the other—however rather backhandedly—it
simply aims at supplying employment markets with just the kind of
highly nuanced human resources contemporary capitalism requires.
Moreover, whilst semantically passing itself off as a programme for
authentic self-fulfilment, on closer examination the potentiality principle
turns out to be a vehicle of social control.
Finally, after a brief recapitulation of the central findings, I will suggest
some possible avenues for future research on the entanglement of capital-
ist dynamics, social mechanisms of valuation, and the maxim of potential
actualisation. As will be argued, further insights into this many-layered
interrelation might be gained by taking two specific features of contem-
porary capitalism into account: its increasingly information-based and its
eminently future-oriented character.
ure Potentiality: The Artist as a General

P
Manpower Model
For many scholars the figure of the artist represents a general manpower
model within the dynamic project of contemporary capitalism. Especially
so against the backdrop of more recent transformations of the occupa-
tional structure (such as the growth of the informal sector with its mani-
fold forms of self-employment), it is mainly in three respects that the
artist has been described as a role model for contemporary processes of
commodification and value creation.
Firstly, the logic of artistic work can be understood as virtually proto-
typical in terms of its functional correspondence with the requirements of
post-Fordist labour conditions and production relations. With regard to
the ongoing tendency of capitalism towards immaterial, project-based
means of value production, the artist emblematically stands for a highly
flexible and innovative worker (Eikhof and Haunschild 2004; Menger
2006). In the course of these developments, the originally romantic idea
of the rebellious and subversive artist has transmogrified into the
manpower model of the creative worker: an ideal employee that opti-

mally meets both labour relations that more and more shift towards
(quasi) freelance working arrangements and the increasing ephemerality
of company as well as employee loyalty. In this perspective, the artist
represents perfect adaptability to the systemic requirements of contem-
porary capitalism, showing total commitment to unleashing one’s fullest
productivity potential regardless of the highly contingent prospects for
career advancement and financial remuneration.
Secondly, scholars have also underlined the accuracy with which the
artist, taken as a model, motivationally fits the “new spirit of capitalism”
(Boltanski and Chiapello 2007). Under this aspect, the artist’s exemplari-
ness consists in a genuinely individualistic personal driving force—in
terms of a strong inner calling—that is directly usable as a production
factor in the current economy (Honneth 2002). In the very sense of its
most explicit reflection in the “unlocking your creative potential” state-
ment cited in the above introduction, the notion of artistic self-realisation
can thus be considered a prevalent concept that helps contemporary capi-
talism to secure the dedication and active involvement of its workforce
(Koppetsch 2009).
Thirdly, artistic work has also been attributed a model character for
production processes in contemporary capitalism on the level of its prac-
tical temporality. In particular, studies on “aesthetic capitalism” (Reckwitz
2012) show an increasing alignment of economic action with art produc-
tion, which is to creatively capitalise on history and heritage—for exam-
ple, a specific repertory of artistic traditions—by means of practices of
reflexive innovation. From this point of view, the imperatives of artistry
and creativity are virtually ubiquitous today, insofar as almost everyone is
required to productively transform any given potentiality whatsoever—
and hence one’s own historically grown personal habitus—into economi-
cally advantageous actuality. In a nutshell, it has become a general social
requirement for the individual to “realise one’s natural potential by way
of working on oneself ” (Reckwitz 2012, 346).1
With simultaneous consideration of the ever-changing and highly
competitive structure of today’s economy (Harvey 2005), the extensive
My translation of original German quotation here and in the following.

1
392 D. Hänzi
hypostatisation of the artist as a general manpower model undeniably

bears comparison with the notion of omnipotence: All in all, the mani-
fold exemplary status of artistry as an ideal for value creation in contem-
porary capitalism might indeed be best described as a “collective
phantasma” (Heinich 2016, 40) that draws upon the imagery of a some-
what pure potentiality in the sense of a secular conception of the artistic
genius—a notion that perfectly fits late modern, flexible capitalist societ-
ies which now more than ever celebrate the singular (Reckwitz 2017).
Thus, given that “value is increasingly extracted from our personalities”
(Padios 2017, 6) under the contemporary regime of commodification
and accumulation, the strong suggestive power of the ideal-typical artist
as a master of individual potential realisation almost comes as no sur-
prise.2 From a sociological point of view, however, it is important to rec-
ognise that the identification of any valuable personal potential—as a
basic prerequisite for its purposeful actualisation—is a process, one which
takes place in social interactions and institutional configurations that are
subject to historical transformations. Interestingly enough, the notion of
promising potentialities in terms of an explicit value assessment criterion
notably has been gaining ground in the art world itself since the 1990s
(Hänzi 2015a). Thus, for instance, the “recognition of potentiality by
evaluating others” (Sommerlund and Strandvad 2012, 191) has become
a crucial factor in today’s domains of film directing and fashion design.
As another example, the “mutual evaluation of potential” (Rolle und
Moeschler 2014, 102) also proves to be a decisive point in contemporary
acting auditions. In order to discern the contextual dynamics that have
led to the potentiality principle’s prevalence as an explicit value creation
criterion, some illustrative developmental trends regarding late modern
art appraisal processes shall be discussed in the next section.
2
Having said this, it is important to bring to mind that the genealogy of the notion of slumbering
potentials is in no way uniquely rooted in the semantic field of art. In fact, it has a much more
complex history of origins (see Hänzi 2015b). For instance, the process of potential actualisation
has also been associated with craftsmanship: In his 1959 The Sociological Imagination, for example,
Charles Wright Mills advises the young social scientist “to realize his own potentialities” by means
of constructing a character “which has as its core the qualities of the good workman” (Mills 1959,
196). For the matter in question here, however, the precursory focus on the figure of the artist may
best help to tackle the potentiality maxim’s current attractiveness as an ideal conception in contem-
porary capitalist societies.
he Rise of a New Valuation Criterion:

T
Promising Potentiality
Predominantly in line with Howard S. Becker and Pierre Bourdieu, social
scientists have revealed the vital importance of the “production of belief ”
(Bourdieu 1993, 74) with respect to processes of stratification in cultural
fields, underpinning the evidence that the “possibilities for making a rep-
utation” are being defined by specific “art world participants” (Becker
1984, 362). Also, researchers extending Richard Florida’s elucidations on
the rise of the creative class (Florida 2002) have shone spotlights on the
social making of creative success (Reckwitz 2012). Here, too, the line
seems clear that the ascription of value crucially depends on specific
“judgements of praise” (Hutter 2011, 206).3 For example, Koppetsch
(2006) shows evidence of the increasing importance award presentations
have with respect to the individual advancement of professionals in cul-
tural industries. With regard to the sphere of professional acting, again,
Lutter (2012) confirms these findings. He shows that, in the case of film
actors’ careers, both movie awards and professional homages by renowned
cinema experts yield make-or-break effects, cumulatively leading to a
winner-take-all dynamic. Simply put, there is broad consensus among
scholars that “apparatuses of consecration” (Bourdieu 1996, 49) play a
decisive role when the social construction of value and success in a given
cultural field is at stake.
As a matter of course, however, the very logic of art valuation is as
historically contingent as the character of any other social process. For a
contextual understanding of the rise of the notion of promising potenti-
ality as an increasingly explicit criterion for the ascription of artistic value
in the recent past, I will mainly draw on the example of consecration
mechanisms in the field of German-speaking theatre in the following.
Especially so by considering the appraisal of theatre directors, this specific
case may illustrate some general developmental trends regarding the
3
It should be emphasised here that mechanisms of the production of reputation hierarchies are by
no means limited to the art field in the narrow sense. The subject area of research in this tradition
rather comprises the production of prestige in various cultural spheres such as fine arts and litera-
ture (Glauser 2009; Heinich 1999), music and film industry (Hicks and Petrova 2006; Schmutz
2009) or gastronomy and sports (Allen and Parsons 2006; Ferguson 1998).
394 D. Hänzi
social production of valuable artists over the last decades—trends that,

taken together, prepared the ground for the potentiality principle’s
upswing.
The first developmental tendency is the dynamisation of consecrative
practices in art fields since the 1970s, as the novelty desideratum in the
cultural sphere comes to a head (Luhmann 1997). The intervals of a tem-
porarily “stable anchoring” (Hutter 2011, 209) of artistic value have
increasingly shortened ever since, which is very much in line with the
overall “social acceleration” (Rosa 2013) trend in the late modern capital-
ist world. With regard to the example of theatre directing, the overall
dynamisation finds expression in several aspects: Back in the nineteenth
and the first half of the twentieth century, the struggle for artistic reputa-
tion in the domain of theatre predominantly depended on continuous
“good contact with the local public” (Seglow 1977, 19). Theatre review
writing pre-eminently used to proceed in this very sense, too: Not only
were the critics firmly connected to both the local or regional artistic
manifestations and the corresponding print media, they were also linked
to the theatre producers and audiences in their socio-geographic sphere
of consecrative influence by rather long-ranging, personal ties. In a way
very different from this informal, quasi-familial logic of artistic value cre-
ation, however, theatre directing became subject to much more for-
malised and increasingly short-term acts of judging the “legitimacy of the
exercise of this particular kind of performative power” (Alexander 2004,
558) in the course of the late twentieth century. In the case of Germany,
this shift not least manifests itself in the establishment of two theatre
journals: the monthlies Theater der Zeit, founded 1946 in Eastern
Germany, and Theater heute, launched as the western counterpart to the
former in 1960. By successively becoming the papers of record in the
field, these magazines only increased in consecrative power regarding the
renown of stage directors. In particular, since the 1970s—as the so-called
director’s theatre (Regietheater) became prevalent in the German-speaking
theatre field (Kraus 2007)—Theater heute puts into effect an eminently
concentrated, staccato fashioned act of artistic valuation: Annually, the
journal’s editors carry out a critics’ opinion poll in order to ceremoni-
ously award the theatre director as well as the theatre performance of the
year by means of a ranking list. As is typical of all quantitatively justified
or howsoever objectivistic ratings that are produced by the ever-growing

industry of testing and certification in late capitalism, the concentrated,
formalised consecration of both the top art producers and their works by
way of counting the critics’ voices thereby provides a specific social “sug-
gestiveness” (Heintz 2010, 167) of the annual results.4
The second developmental trend of interest lies in the increasing
explicitness—and fierceness—of the “competition for cultural legiti-
macy” (Bourdieu 1993, 115) over the past decades. Particularly on the
backwash of both the expansion of a radically success-oriented culture in
advanced capitalist societies of the global North (Neckel 2008) and the
unfolding of a more and more globalised “attention economy” in the
1990s (Davenport and Beck 2001), an ever-greater pressure for both
individual and institutional self-justification through outstanding prod-
ucts can be observed in diverse domains of cultural work across countries
in recent times. On that account, it is with unanimous reference to just
such global dynamics of an intensified competition among art producers
on the national as well as the international level that, for instance, the
need for “new state action in cultural matters” is being declared in the
contexts of—otherwise very different—contemporary French and Swiss
public cultural policies (Thévenin and Moeschler 2018, 135). In the
exemplary case of theatre in Germany, again, this general tendency of
development manifests itself in the fact that the annual honouring acts
mentioned above are more and more explicitly presented within a termi-
nological frame of competition and self-assertion. Until the late 1970s,
the magazine rather unspectacularly announces the poll results under
such sober titles as “31 critics indicate lasting impressions of the 1979/80
repertory season” (Friedrich and Rischbieter 1980, 12). In the course of
the 1980s, then, the respective headlines become noticeably more sensa-
tional, now—for instance—proclaiming the theatrical “highlights of the
1984/85 repertory season” (Becker et al. 1985, 125). As for the 1990s, we
finally face a self-publicising terminology of spectacular prize fight, com-
ing upon gimmicky poll result teasers like “The winner is …” (Theater
heute 1996, 95). This tendency to symbolically put the most highly
valued artists on a pedestal continues into the early twenty-first century.
See also Nathalie Moureau’s contribution on artistic rankings in this volume, pp. XXX.
4
396 D. Hänzi
In the 2005 poll, for example, the stage directing highlights of the reper-
tory season were announced as the year’s “top-class performances”, nay
“eight-thousanders of theatre” (Theater heute 2005, 127). If nothing else,
these illustrations may document that under the conditions of an exceed-
ingly competitive framework of art production, acts of consecration
themselves are increasingly processed with a view to public appeal—and
are thus becoming a strategic means to gaining attention in the evermore
globalised cultural legitimacy struggle.
It is against the backdrop of this configuration of a highly dynamic,
most explicitly competitive environment of both cultural production and
consecrative practices that the notion of promising potentiality finds its
place as a distinct value creation parameter. In a way strikingly similar to
its increasing popularity in, for example, the field of biomedicine where,
as of recently, “potentiality serves as an orienting concept” that is used “to
imagine particular human futures” (Taussig et al. 2013, 3) or in ongoing
debates about green capitalism within which “renewability and potential-
ity” are being discussed as the two key criteria of a new “justification
regime of sustainability” (Neckel 2017, 50), the guiding principle of
“future potential” is notably gaining currency when it comes to “judge-
ments of talents” (Sommerlund and Strandvad 2012, 185) in contempo-
rary fields of art, too. Thus, as a consequence of the general developmental
trends described above, the mechanisms of artistic value production shift
from traditional forms of ex post facto consecration (that is the nobilita-
tion of accomplished artists, so to say) towards a more aprioristic valua-
tion logic: the appraisal of personal artistic potential. This change also
manifests itself in the afore-mentioned theatre yearbooks. For the first
time in the yearbook’s 1987 issue, the critics involved in the poll are now
invited to nominate an outstanding junior theatre director of the season.
While only a few critics even mention their favourite novice in this very
first year—and the category thus remains negligible—a concrete new-
comer is officially consecrated as the “shooting-star among the young
stage directors” in the 1990 poll (Becker et al. 1990, 91). And ever since
the following year, the category “emerging theatre director of the season”
(Theater heute 1991, 127) is an important rubric of the annual critics’
survey. This novel practice of anticipatory consecration of up-and-coming
stage directors also takes place through a multitude of theatre-related
publications that have appeared regularly since the 1990s. Year after year,
a small and thus exclusive selection of most promising stage directing
novices is portrayed in books such as “Young Theatre Directors” (Roeder
and Ricklefs 1994) or “Radically Young” (Roeder and Bernd Sucher
2005). With all this, the fledgling artists that are valued in this way have
been getting younger and younger since the 1990s—that is to say, they
are being consecrated at an even earlier stage of their professional devel-
opment. Hence, what counts more and more according to this new con-
secration logic is the specific personal potential of young artists, “rather
than the quality of the works already produced” (Sommerlund and
Strandvad 2012, 185). To put it bluntly, candidates for positions in the
theatre field are increasingly being symbolically nobilitated as “directors
of the future” (Engels and Bernd Sucher 2009, 7) without even having
developed their very own artistic position. In this sense, the valuation
logic in this exemplary field of art production shifts from awarding
already existing achievements towards forms of anticipatory “consecra-
tion on credit” (Hänzi 2015a) that first and foremost praise the promis-
ing potentialities of a chosen few aspirants.
In general terms, however, the potential-oriented valuation principle
serves as a double-edged action programme. Its ad hoc stratification
effects come along with an anticipatory statement about the desirability
of a particular future. In this sense, the appraisal of personal artistic
potential is more than just a logic of consecration. Given its capacity as a
“future-as-present abstraction” that has gained widespread acceptance
since the 1990s, the principle of potentiality valorisation actually also
operates as “an important tool in the colonisation of the future”
(Sommerlund and Strandvad 2012, 183). Institutions that explicitly
reward individual potential—so it can be summarised—“produce the tal-
ent which they are looking for” (Sommerlund and Strandvad 2012, 187).
Along these lines, praising promising potentialities not least appears to be
a way of securing institutional continuity in times of increased uncer-
tainty about the future. In the case of theatre, for instance, it is not by
chance that the potentiality paradigm is making headway particularly in
a period altogether turbulent on both the economic and artistic level:
Towards the end of the past century, the dramatic arts faced not only
decreasing visitor numbers and reduced state funding but also
398 D. Hänzi
contentious debates on the legitimacy of “post-dramatic” (Lehmann

1999) performances that radically call into question the necessity of a
textual rootedness of stage productions. Thus, in this exemplary case, the
rise of the value creation criterion of promising potentiality takes place
under the impact of a most notable intensification of cultural competi-
tion and in a context in which the future of theatrical art itself is funda-
mentally up for debate. Hence, in the broader sense, it is not just the
“potentiality of the self ” (Sommerlund and Strandvad 2012, 185) that is
at play when it comes to the appreciation of individual artistic potentials
in a given domain of cultural production but also the potentiality (that is
to say, the future prospect) of the respective field itself. In keeping with
the general trend towards a more and more “intense fixation on predict-
ability in contemporary culture” (Padios 2017, 20), the potentiality
parameter hence pretends to be a sound basis of future-proof decision-
making as to who actually rates as fittest for the securing of successful
performance in a given production sphere that, over and above, finds
itself entangled in the overall sharpening struggle for both financial
resources and societal relevance.
Thus situated at the interface of cultural and economic developmental
trends, however, the potentiality principle has by now also prevailed
beyond the artistic field. As will be shown in the next section, the maxim
of potential identification and realisation plays not least into contempo-
rary capitalism’s hands when it comes to its twofold appetite for produc-
tivity and predictability. If nothing else, these further elucidations of the
potentiality actualisation maxim may bring to light its ultimately para-
doxical logic as a general guiding principle in advanced capitalist market
societies of today.
he Potential Realisation Programme:

T
Prospects and Paradoxes
As shown above with regard to contemporary procedures of artistic valu-
ation, the guiding concept of potential realisation stands at the core of an
action programme that—in the aggregate—aims at strengthening the
competitive capacity of a given branch of cultural production by means

of cherishing the promising potentialities of its corresponding novices, in
particular. In general terms, this feature of the potential realisation
maxim—that is, its implicit mode of operation as an instrument in the
colonisation of the future—is symptomatic of its status as a key value
creation paradigm in advanced capitalist market societies at large. As the
following examples from my more recent research (Hänzi 2015b, 2017)
show, the ideal of realising personal potentialities is also eminently pres-
ent in common contemporary employment-related contexts—and even
shapes the organisations in which the future workforce is generated today,
that is to say, the educational system. Interestingly enough, the first-time
addressees of the potentiality principle are strikingly young here as well.
For instance, Singapore’s Ministry of Education recently launched a kin-
dergarten educator recruitment campaign under the motto “Nurture the
most precious resource. Potential.” and “Little children, big potential. All
in your hands.” (MOE Singapore 2018). By implication, such strategic
pedagogical interventions of discovery and promotion of potentials
within institutional settings of early education undoubtedly refer to the
next generation as the “bearer of hope for the reproduction of the prevail-
ing economic growth model” (Lessenich 2013, 76) with its unquench-
able thirst for human resources. At the explicit level, however,
education-related considerations of personal potentialities—which most
commonly take place in the context of so-called potential analysis as car-
ried out today from elementary school to universities—predominantly
pass themselves off as a helpful orientation programme. In the German
Land of Bavaria, for instance, such workshops are held with primary
school pupils in order to hand each and every one over a “potential iden-
tity card” at the end—a passport-like document in which one’s innermost
strengths are recorded (Wiesner GmbH 2010). According to the work-
shop description, this programme—by way of detecting the pupils’ “real
personal interests and potentials”—is supposed to help the individual
child in giving his or her life “its very own direction” (Wiesner GmbH
2010) as early as possible. Over and above, the aim to supply adolescents
with orienting knowledge is also typical with regard to corresponding
course offerings at universities. At the University of Jena in the German
Free State of Thuringia, for example, potential analysis workshops are
400 D. Hänzi
held with the purpose of providing students some “clarity” about their
individual competence profile (University of Jena 2011).
These examples show that in educational contexts the concept of
potential realisation is not least meant to guide tomorrow’s workers. In
the way it explicitly addresses personal resources, skill sets, and life course
issues in educational institutions, the operational mode of the potential-
ity principle is, on the surface, essentially about dealing with the uncer-
tainties of individual future prospects. In short, it is about coping with
contingency. Given that young people—on the backwash of social pro-
cesses of detraditionalisation and pluralisation—nowadays face transi-
tions to adulthood that are less and less predictable (Leccardi 2016),
potential analysis techniques promise to make the individual’s very inner
life compass visible. From this perspective, the precept of potential reali-
sation perfectly meets the authenticity imperative of the “entrepreneurial
self ” (Bröckling 2007) in contemporary capitalism. However, the aspect
of self-actualisation is only one side of the coin. On the downside, the
ideal of identifying and realising one’s innermost potential also entails
social dynamics of disciplining and control—especially so with regard to
the transition of individuals into the labour market. In Germany, in a
publicly sponsored nationwide programme aimed at assisting school
leavers with their entry into professional life, for example, admission
requirements include an individual potential analysis. Here, the prelimi-
nary evaluation of the candidate’s personal potentialities is meant to “sta-
bilise the apprenticeship” (CJD Wissen 2016) in question for the longer
term—and thus, in the aggregate, to secure the next generation of skilled
workers by minimising the dropout rate of first-time employees.
More generally speaking, the guiding principle of realising one’s poten-
tial not least acts on the fact that employment relationships today—
unlike in the days of organised modernity—can no longer guarantee
“unproblematic inclusions” (Nassehi 2006, 65) of people to society.
Hence, the paradox of the potentiality maxim most clearly stands out
when it comes to how potential analysis is being applied as an unemploy-
ment policy instrument. While semantically indicating the existence of
boundless possibilities and the chance for authentic self-realisation, indi-
vidual potential analysis most notably have restricting effects in this par-
ticular context. The case of contemporary state-run coaching programmes
for job seekers in Switzerland may exemplarily illustrate this ambivalence.

Originally invented as a technique meant to promote the individual’s
“potential for professional self-development” (Nadai and Canonica
2012, 32), personal coaching—as part of the Swiss governmental labour
market integration strategy—not uncommonly leads to a phenomenon
that, referring to Erving Goffman’s classical 1952 study on the social logic
of individual expectation readjustment, can be described as a deliberately
provoked “cooling out” situation (Nadai and Canonica 2012, 32). In
their function to match employees to employers, placement officers in
public employment agencies frequently counteract their clients’ career
aspirations (which are tacitly judged as overly optimistic) by means of
quasi-scientifically identifying their allegedly true, clearly defined (and
thus somehow or other limited) potential. Hence, by way of formally
ascribing a definite number of purportedly genuine, innermost character
traits to (for example) the young unemployed man in question—and
thus hypocritically providing him “a new framework in which to see him-
self and judge himself ” (Goffman 1952, 456)—individual potential
assessment underhandedly serves the state to supply low-wage labour
markets with workforce. Whilst superficially evoking connotations of
authentic self-actualisation, the guiding principle of potential realisation
thus, as a matter of fact, is about bringing individual aspirations into
accordance with labour market demands. This two-facedness of the value
creation paradigm of promising potentialities manifests itself in the over-
all field of work-related coaching at the present day. Based on her in-
depth research on this sphere of social interaction, Mäkinen (2016) states
that coaching—as a process “in which a person’s inner potential is found
and brought forth”—essentially “merges subjectivity and individuality
with economic value production” (Mäkinen 2016, 69). The implicit logic
of the potentiality realisation programme thus basically remains the same
from elementary school and university through first-time employment,
from joblessness and job seeking to job coaching: In contemporary capi-
talism, the ideal of identifying and realising one’s innermost potential
“rewards the subjects with being recognised as individual and autono-
mous and simultaneously serves the needs of capital offering precisely the
kind of labour power that is needed” (Mäkinen 2016, 81). It therefore
comes as no surprise that the notion of potential actualisation is currently
402 D. Hänzi
also widely used in the context of recruitment practices. Just recently, for
instance, the German armed forces launched an employment campaign
with the tagline “We awaken potentials. Daily at 5 am. Do what really
matters.”5 And a few years ago, as another example, the US-American
online job board Monster Worldwide advertised with the catchphrase
“Monster can smell your potential”. Other staffing firms—such as
Untapped Potential or Unlocking Potential—even use the term in their
company name. Here, too, the paradoxicality of the potentiality maxim
comes to light: According to the recruitment agency Untapped Potential,
for instance, the promising potential of a new entrant consists in bringing
“new skills and abilities … to the company”. At the same time, however,
it is held out that he or she will, as a matter of course, still perfectly “fit
with your team” (Untapped Potential 2018). Once again, the ambiguity
of the potential-realising principle manifests itself in its status as a servant
of two masters: authentic individual self-expression and organisational
exploitation of human resources. In addition, examples like both the
afore-mentioned “potential identity card” programme for primary-school
pupils and the job service Monster Worldwide with its characterisation of
personal potential as something creatural (and hence olfactorily perceiv-
able) clearly reveal that individual potentialities are not uncommonly
being defined in an essentialist, naturalising way by the institutions in
question.
Conclusion
This chapter set out to shed light upon the precept of identifying and
realising one’s genuine potential as a widely used guiding principle for the
production of “valuable selves” (Mäkinen 2016, 69) in advanced capital-
ist societies of today. Firstly, in order to elucidate its interface function
between cultural and economic developmental dynamics, the maxim of
5
The identification of military service and personal potential realisation in this recruitment cam-
paign has caused a great deal of mockery both in social and print media in Germany. With a
morbid sense of humour, a regional newspaper—for example—published a photo of a street corner
that shows a signpost to the cemetery standing directly next to the German armed forces’ advertis-
ing poster (see Die Rheinpfalz 2018).
personal potential realisation was discerned as a basic notion in regard to

artistic work as a frequently invoked, paramount example for value cre-
ation processes in the more recent, highly turbulent era of post-Fordist
capitalism. It has been shown that the figure of the artist—the historically
evolved emblem of an “unreserved commitment of the self ” (Lordon
2014, 123)—has undoubtedly contributed to the upswing of the poten-
tiality principle as a core element of the contemporary, flexible capitalist
regime of commodification and value creation by means of providing the
image of an individual that unleashes their innermost, pure potential in
the most productive way. In a second step, the current popularity of
promising potentialities as a central criterion for value production has
been further contextualised by way of depicting some major (overall soci-
etal as well as art-specific) developmental trends that prepared the ground
for this very maxim’s prevalence. Mainly by drawing on the example of
consecration practices in the field of theatre, I have shown that the pre-
cept of potential actualisation in terms of an explicit value creation crite-
rion ultimately gained currency as a means of securing institutional
continuity in times of increased uncertainty about the future—especially
so in the context of a sharpened struggle for both economic resources and
cultural legitimacy as broadly witnessed since the 1990s. Bearing the
promise of a future-proof mode of value creation under highly dynamic
and exceedingly competitive production conditions, the guiding princi-
ple of realising promising potentialities, however, turns out to be a fairly
double-edged action programme on closer consideration. By way of
broadening the focus of analysis onto other exemplary contexts in which
the potentiality principle is making headway—the educational system
and employment markets—the paradoxical logic of the potential realisa-
tion programme could be formulated in more general terms in a third
step: Whilst semantically masquerading as a vehicle for authentic per-
sonal self-actualisation (of any kind whatsoever), the potentiality maxim
at once most selectively generates anticipatory statements about the desir-
ability of a particular future—which ultimately leads to a narrowing of
possibility horizons. Moreover, the very way in which the potential reali-
sation notion is being evoked indicates that it most conveniently serves
both contemporary capitalism’s boundless drive for new intrinsically
motivated sources of surplus value and its increasing orientation towards
404 D. Hänzi
control and certainty (Padios 2017). Thus, the ideal conception of actu-
alising personal potentials proves to be an overall concept that, if nothing
else, aims at interlocking capitalism’s demand for continuous “potential
output growth” (Blagrave and Furceri 2015) with the individual’s uncon-
ditional willingness to “perform potentiality” (Sommerlund and
Strandvad 2012, 185). From this perspective, the guiding principle of
identifying and unleashing one’s innermost potential responds to the
problem that sooner or later, “each employee’s ‘own desire’ must be
aligned with the desire of the enterprise” (Lordon 2014, 124)—a blur-
ring kind of alignment that can be understood as typical of contemporary
capitalism’s tendency to inextricably merge “actors’ knowledge of system
constraints” and “system’s knowledge of actor constraints” (Lessenich
2014, 4): In the end, the question of whose burning desire is actually at
stake here is completely ambiguous.
As I hope to have demonstrated in this contribution, the discussion of
the potentiality actualisation maxim—which one might call potentialism
in short—opens up the opportunity for new insights into the historically
contingent logics of value creation in advanced capitalist societies at large.
The finding that the potentiality principle shapes the production, alloca-
tion, and devotion of (future) workers in a way that exhibits ingenuity in
terms of both capitalism’s increased demand for predictive power and the
overall intensified pressure to justify one’s action could serve as a starting
point for further research: How far, for instance, is the notion of promis-
ing potentialities also indicative of the current rise of “surveillance capi-
talism” (Zuboff 2015), that is to say a new form of information-based
capitalism that aims to “predict and modify human behaviour as a means
to produce revenue and market control” (Zuboff 2015, 75) in times of
increasing social uncertainty? Given that an individual’s potentiality has
to be identified in some way—prior to its targeted exploitation—further
empirical analysis in this line of research ought to focus particularly on
institutional practices of potential objectification (see Voswinkel and
Wagner 2014). In addition, the potentiality maxim also puts itself for-
ward for further investigation into contemporary capitalism’s eminently
future-oriented character—especially as, in some sense, the guiding prin-
ciple of identifying and realising promising potential appears to operate
in quite the same way that the concept of the “derivative” does in today’s
increasingly financialised capitalism. Through derivative financial instru-

ments, market traders are provided a highly probabilistic principle of
classification that “can render … entities comparable and, as a conse-
quence, potentially valuable” (Arvidsson 2016, 5). According to this
logic, the potential value of assets of any kind whatsoever can be checked
against each other by means of comparing the “proclivities implicit in
their implied future trajectories” (Arvidsson 2016, 8). Interestingly
enough, this “new capitalist law of value” (Arvidsson 2016, 5) goes far
beyond the scope of stock broking: Most notably, it also shapes contem-
porary brand development strategies and, more generally speaking, makes
its presence felt wherever today’s market players compete for “potential
attention” (Arvidsson 2016, 9). In this regard, the social logic of the
derivative seems to apply just as much to contemporary classification
practices that focus on personal potentials: Here, too, probabilistic infer-
ences are being made in order to guide (self-)investment decisions by
(and respectively of ) individuals. From this perspective, however, social
constructions of both financial derivatives and promising human poten-
tials can be considered a means to “render a posited future actionable as
a parameter for decisions in the present” (Arvidsson 2016, 8). This leads
to the pressing questions: To what extent does the ideal conception of
promising potentialities—in its disguise as a future-proof action pro-
gramme allowing for authentic self-development—ultimately transform
today’s kindergarteners and primary school pupils, students, apprentices,
and job seekers, employees and freelance workers, artists, and members of
the armed forces (et cetera) into more or less attractive investment oppor-
tunities? And who, exactly, possesses the power of definition over the
desirability of these human assets’ respective future development?
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17
The Art, the Market, and Sociology:
Concluding Remarks
Franz Schultheis
In all historical societies that have been explored so far, certain categories
of objects have been found that are especially highly valued, or that are
even regarded and treated as non-disposable. Such “holy” or extraordi-
nary items withdrawn from any profane use may come in quite different
shape, for example, in the form of natural objects such as shells at tribal
societies in Melanesia, ceremonial stone axes in New Guinea, or religious
relics in Christianity up to national monuments or royal crown jewels in
the European Middle Ages. They all share the peculiarity of conferring
symbolic power, a form of power that seems to rest precisely on the fact
that it is withdrawn from the realm of “earthly things” and that it gains
sublimity through the collective recognition and appreciation it receives.
In the age of modernity, “art” seems par excellence to belong to this
category of extra-ordinary, sacred things that cannot be balanced by any
earthly good. This makes the social and cultural studies of the art market
particularly interesting and relevant. But also with regard to the
F. Schultheis (*)
Zeppelin University, Friedrichshafen, Germany
e-mail: franz.schultheis@zu.de

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6_17
412 F. Schultheis
understanding of fundamental socioeconomic phenomena such as price

formation, the analysis of this atypical market situation can provide valu-
able insights. Indeed, nowhere else is the discrepancy between the “mate-
rial value” of a good and its “market value” as striking as it is in art. As a
trade in singular symbolic goods, the art market presupposes a collec-
tively shared belief in the universal value of “genuine” art. Paradoxically,
in today’s public discourse about art as “priceless”, monetary value is
often the first and most outspoken topic. The prices of these priceless
goods appear as a cipher of the collective representations of art and their
status in our late capitalist society.
On the question of how prices on this market of non-negotiable and
priceless goods come about, it is possible to find contradictory assess-
ments, depending on the perspective. If one takes the prices actually
obtained on the art market as an empirical basis, one can get the impres-
sion through the easily accessible market observations of commercial
databases of—supposedly—optimal market and pricing transparency.
For example, the world’s most important of these databases—Artprice,
with more than 2 million users, providing about 27 million pieces of
information on the sales results of more than 500,000 artists’ studios in
more than 4500 auction houses—offers an almost covering inventory of
movements in the secondary market of the art trade and a library of more
than 100 million images of artworks with comments by experts. The
omnipresence of this data produced in public narrations around art is
nourished beyond the Internet by the press agencies and more than 6000
print media entities used regularly by Artprice (Artprice 2019).
Yet, beyond this illusion of evidence, the relationship between art and
the markets turns out to be much more complex. In the perspective of
classical microeconomics, prices arise solely through the interplay of sup-
ply and demand. From a sociological point of view, however, markets in
general, and markets of symbolic goods in particular, prove to be institu-
tions in which economic activity is fundamentally embedded in networks
and shaped by specific cultural and organisational arrangements. These
sociohistorically produced configurations, with their respective written
and unwritten rules, determine the processes of value and price forma-
tion to a considerable extent. This applies in a very special way to the art
market, on which singular goods are traded without material use value,
17 The Art, the Market, and Sociology: Concluding Remarks 413
because the uncertainty of pricing that naturally manifests itself requires

a social construction of plausible, trustworthy, and credible references
consensus, even though this may often be consensus fiction (Salganik
et al. 2009; Keuschnigg 2012).
An Enclave: Art Against the Market

Although any attempt to define “art” is often seen as a premeditated fail-
ure, a whole series of largely consensual—in particular negative or delim-
iting—characteristics can be named for the description of the phenomenon
of art. Generally, they are opposed to the market. Art has no utility value,
but is situated in a sphere of symbolic goods. Works of art are not goods,
but singular objects. They are considered priceless and non-tradable, even
though they are often traded at breathtakingly high prices. Art continues
to have a universal claim, but is obviously a socially highly discriminating
means of stylising and aestheticising one’s way of life.
Against this background, the social figure of the artist in our “society
of singularities” (Reckwitz 2018) virtually incarnates the claim of distinc-
tiveness and authenticity and of a lifetime commitment to the realisation
and perfection of this claim. In the meantime, the artist has become an
outstanding social ideal and role model—a hero in our post-heroic era.
The artist’s characteristic distance from the ordinariness and banality of
the daily life of the masses gives him/her a charisma derived from his/her
extraordinary status and social distinction, and a nobility of sublimity
over the vulgar utilitarianism of capitalist rascality and business, becom-
ing for many contemporaries a powerful lifestyle leitmotif based on this
model. The reverse side of the coin is the already proverbial lack of breadth
of this social existence for many of its adepts. The ostentatious distance to
the economically driven market and acquisitive society goes hand in hand
with the widespread fate of permanent socioeconomic precariousness and
marginalisation, which, however, does not break off its aura.
In many aspects, art appears to be an “enclave” in a market-oriented
world. Analogous to the sphere of religion, to which art shows a whole series
of significant functional equivalents, material success and wealth play no
essential role in the participation in it. We are dealing—sociologically
414 F. Schultheis
speaking—with a structure of estates (Stände). In contrast to the purely eco-

nomic “class situation”, Max Weber defined an “estates situation” as the
“typical component of the life destiny of people which is conditioned by a
specific, positive or negative, social assessment of ‘honour’, which is attached
to some common property of the many” (Weber 1972, 534). The conver-
gence on symbolic goods so characteristic of the art world and its preference
in comparison to material things correspond largely to such a closure of a
group through a shared ethos. Estates develop a form of social inclusion and
collective identity that is fundamentally opposed to market socialisation:
“The market and the economic processes on it have no ‘reputation of the
person’: ‘objective’ interests dominate it. It knows nothing of ‘honour’”
(Weber 1972, 538).
In the field of art and also in the trade with it, the “personal reputa-
tion” is of the utmost importance. The anonymity and impersonality of a
purely commercial relationship is frowned upon by the normative ideal
of a social attitude worthy of art, and the open address and pronounce-
ment of the economic truth of the art world equals a violation of a taboo.
The “business” of art, marked precisely by a negation of the “commercial”
and a distance from the profane world, consists essentially in the accumu-
lation of symbolic capital through the dedication of all those involved:
gallerists and collectors, art academies, museums, and curators, art histo-
rians and art critics. The “feat” of consecrating profane things, of turning
a canvas painted into a work of art, presupposes sacred acts that can only
be done through the artistic field itself—a “magic” that owes its effective-
ness to the whole logic of the field. The “illusio” of the art field develops
through a tremendous collective energy to make this magic effective, as
an added value that only this collective faith can pour out (Bourdieu
2000). There could not be this kind of social alchemy without an unprec-
edented level of collective work.
The—very social—enclave of art, which resists the mighty dynamics of
market socialisation, appears as a kind of “socio-economic moratorium”,
which at least partially releases its adepts from the constraints of the con-
ventional commodified labour of capitalist society. It grants them the
privilege of an inner calling for a purpose-free activity in the service of
immaterial goods or values in the face of the prevailing “professional
ethos” of the modern age (Max Weber). This indeterminacy can also be
perceived as a scope of freedom for subjective self-designs and as a “dream

of weightlessness” (Bourdieu 2015) which characterises the social figure
of the autonomous artist since its emergence in the second half of the
nineteenth century. It incarnates a sense of life that opposes as a priority
to the “ethos of the duty” of the bourgeois world the commitment to self-
realisation and thus the priority of the vocation over the conventional
expectations of the standard biography of classical professions.
The professional ethos which postulates the passion for art as priority
over all commercial motives—up to economically potentially “irrational”
decisions—thus characterises in the view of the actors the art market as
an atypical market with own, often completely non-transparent and irri-
tating characteristics.
Art and Money: A Denied Market

Art, as it has become more autonomous since the nineteenth century, is
at the same time intrinsically linked to the market. If, as Bourdieu (2015,
583) postulates, “the particular difficulty of sociology […] is precisely
that it teaches things that everyone somehow knows but does not want or
cannot know because it is the law of the system to hide it”, this applies in
a very special way to the art world and its rules and practices. For, as
Bourdieu elsewhere (2015, 239) points out, “as trading in things that are
not to be traded with”, the “trade of ‘pure’ art” belongs to the type of
practices that “can be realised only at the price of a collective repression
of its genuinely ‘economic’ interest”. If art is characterised by the absence
of any use-value and practical use, this deficiency forms at the same time
the condition of possibility for the unfolding of its aura of sublimity and
charismatic power of attraction and of its—also economic—valorisation.
It draws this aura of extra-ordinariness and its magic—and, in the end, its
high prices—precisely from the assertion of its opposition to the profan-
ity and vulgarity of materialistic market events and their incompatibility
with the mathematical and profit-oriented nature of the capitalist spirit.
From the birth of the field of modern art in the second half of the
nineteenth century as a sphere of its own and laws with a relative auton-
omy over other social spheres, a process of polarisation between two
416 F. Schultheis
subfields began, which are more and more irreconcilable. Herein the ten-
sion between art and money manifests itself in a prototypical way. From
the beginning, the anti-economistic ethos of the free artist, raised to an
indispensable virtue, goes hand in hand with an even greater resentment
against that of the bourgeois, the traditional antipode of the social figure
of the artist. It is directed against the commercial, marketable art, which
basically falls under the general suspicion of betrayal of the very princi-
ples of art and appears corrupt and pleasant. Thus, the division of the
field of modern art into two spheres and the “antagonistic coexistence of
two modes of production and circulation that obey opposing logics”1 are
already inherent in the specific social dynamics of its production and
ideology.
From then on, the development of the art, ethos and self-relations of
its protagonists will be shaped in a more or less radical form. At one pole
of this dual field is found an “anti-economic economy” of “pure” art,
based on the rejection of material economy, “commercial” and (short-
term) economic profit, and a type of cultural production that relies on
the accumulation of symbolic capital, the only legitimate form of a “capi-
tal” that can throw off long-term economic profits. Correspondingly, one
finds the economic logic of the “cultural industry”, which seeks immedi-
ate and short-term success by adapting to the “demand” of the clientele.
But while a work of art is obviously a commodity that is highly mar-
ketable and can satisfy the considerable commercial interests of different
actors, “trading” with that commodity remains subject to the “as-if ” rule.
That is: an ensemble of collectively constructed and shared normative
attitudes and practices that allow one to live with the paradox to trade
with non-tradable things, and to claim a concrete price for goods of ines-
timable value. The radical anti-economic pose in the field of “pure” art
and its denial of the economic dimension of the production and circula-
tion of its goods necessarily rest on the negation of the inherent socioeco-
nomic gravity of the artistic universe. This “collective hypocrisy”, to use
an apt concept developed by the anthropologist Marcel Mauss (1925), is
expressed primarily in the taboo of equating art goods with “goods” and
art trade with “trade” for that would mean the cancellation of their
All translations by the author.

1
special status and the associated loss of their aura of sublimity—it would
destroy her spell.
Art and Financialisation: A Metamorphosis?

Since the turn of the millennium, the problematic character of the rela-
tionship between “art” and “money”, as a result of an epochal emancipa-
tion of the arts from those immediate contexts of utilisation and
unmediated standards of evaluation that had characterised the European
Middle Ages, the Renaissance, and the early Modern era, has acquired
another dimension. The “modern” constellation of a more or less radical
antagonism of “pure” and “commercial” art has since been renegotiated.
For now, under the impact of a historically unprecedented boom in the
art market and intensified institutional change, it is possible to observe an
astounding metamorphosis of the established art field. The phenomena
encountered are, in a number of ways, novel, at least by their scale: the
more and more open trading of goods of high culture, the quite astound-
ing prizes in deciding such trade, the monopolising tendencies of this
market, the awarding of art fairs, galleries, artists, and buyers in a cascade
of mutual economic and symbolic self-insurances, the constant and tar-
geted promotion of art in the eyes of a public who demonstrate an
increasing appetite for the “old” institutions of the art world, the public
museums, and so on.
Above all, there is the often stated and lamented advance of “money”
into the art world, its “economisation” or even “financialisation”, linked
to the globalisation of the art market. And indeed, since the 1980s, and
especially since the financial crisis of 2008, we have seen a massive eco-
nomic and geographical expansion of the art market, especially towards
Southeast Asia, which has tripled its volume in the past ten years alone, a
clear sign of an “expansion of the market zone”. There is a lot of money
flowing into that market: its rapid expansion corresponds to the fast
increase of the group of people with high income and wealth. More than
30 million millionaires are counted worldwide, and the population of
so-called “High Net Worth Individuals”, with assets in excess of one mil-
lion US dollars, has even reached the double-digit millions (Statista
418 F. Schultheis
2019). It is precisely the group of buyers who is behind the increased

demand above all for contemporary art and who is at least partially
responsible for its sometimes extraordinary price increases.
How can these developments be classified? The “art world” is deeply
divided in this respect, because its “genetic code” only allows more or less
shameful, defiant or cynical concessions to this new market—everything
else would contradict a logic that is that of an exorbitant, literally “extra-
terrestrial” value of art, with which it wants to earn its paradoxical posi-
tion in this world. Obviously, the art world is different from a hundred,
even from 50 years ago. Not only in terms of its increasing visibility in the
public sphere, but also in its very concrete appearance, its forms of work,
its exchange processes, its cycles of utilisation. But have the “rules” of art
changed, the laws of a market that deals with “symbolic goods”, the cri-
teria for the recognition of a “work”, the primacy of the artistic field itself
in determining its value?
At least it seems that these undoubted changes in the art world have
the effect of updating the structural ambivalences of this “denied econ-
omy” and its ever-problematical relationship between “art” and “money”
with unprecedented urgency. In particular, the balance of power between
the “primary market” of the galleries, which make a decisive contribution
in the art world through the visualisation of yet nameless artists, and the
market for the capitalisation of its products—the fairs and auctions,
which benefit parasitically from the preparatory work of the primary
market—has become radically shifted in the last 10 to 20 years. Further
on, the limits of this newly visible market to the always visible institu-
tions of public consecration, between market and museums, have become
more permeable due to growing economic imbalances. The professionali-
sation of the presence of the market in all its materiality in the ateliers
and manufactures of artistic production and its weight in the symbolic
takeover of the product by the museum—which sometimes looks like an
increasingly impotent, decrepit patriarch—are only one unmistakable
sign of the mutation the art world is currently undergoing.
Today it seems more and more that the value of invaluable, priceless
art goods is simply socially represented and legitimised by its market
price. The sales revenue rankings are developing more and more into hit-
parades of artists and barometers of their supposed importance. There is
some evidence that the aura of art inevitably begins to erode in an era in
which it is treated like one luxury among many others (Graw 2010).
If, in spite of its taboo on market and money, the art trade today
reaches a tremendous public interest—not only by the buyer and the
seller, but also by the spectators and the media, who are not involved in
this trade—then it is indeed necessary to consider whether this histori-
cally evolved normative structure has not fundamentally changed in view
of the sheer economic and media power of this “business”. Even an
unadorned look at these changes cannot ultimately be free from it—but
what it is able to reveal is remarkable: it is the disruption of a social con-
figuration that guaranteed the very value of being able to be stripped of
its social connotations as a seal of value.
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Reckwitz, Andreas. 2018. Die Gesellschaft der Singularitäten. Frankfurt a.
M.: Suhrkamp.
Salganik, Matthew et al.. 2009. Social Influence. The Puzzling Nature of Success
in Cultural Markets. In The Oxford Handbook of Analytical Sociology, Ed. By
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Weber, Max. 1972. Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. Tübingen: Mohr.
Index1
A Art critic(s), Art critique,

Academy, 33–34, 42, 129, 130, 132, 133, 134, 136, 137, 141,
133, 134n4, 137, 139, 230, 240, 240n2, 280, 344, 345,
232, 327, 328, 414 348, 372, 414
Adorno, Theodor W., 2, 3, 47 Art dealer, 11, 77, 132, 185, 186n6,
Alexander, Victoria, 77, 151, 241 230, 231, 239, 242–245, 250,
Alienation, 75–93 253, 256, 258, 260, 263, 264,
Alpers, Svetlana, 3, 184 264n2, 267–269, 280, 282,
America, American, see United 288, 289, 291, 295n3, 296–298,
States (USA) 302–304, 308–310, 321n3,
ARCO, see Arte Contemporaneo 322n9, 328, 332, 336, 365, 366,
Armory Show (New York), 372, 374, 366n1, 367n2, 368–371, 373,
375, 379n8 375–381, 379n7
Art Basel, 8, 11, 215, 217, 218, Art Dubai, 372
226, 266, 297, 305, 308, ARCO, see Arte Contemporaneo
348, 352, 365, 367, (ARCO) (Madrid)
367n2, 368, 372, 373, Arte Contemporaneo (ARCO)
375, 376, 379n7, 379n8, 380 (Madrid), 372, 374
Art Cologne, 372 Art expert, 5, 140, 184, 217, 240n2
Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

1

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-39013-6
422 Index
Art fair, 5, 11, 12, 77, 110, 134, 135, 332, 334, 343, 348, 377, 380,
151, 217, 240, 258n8, 265, 381, 412, 414, 416
266, 273, 293, 295, 295n3, Asia, see Southeast Asia
298, 298n6, 301, 305, 308, Auction house, 7, 8, 11, 184–186,
310, 339, 342, 346–349, 184n4, 191, 192, 193n10,
346n2, 351, 352, 365–383, 417 207, 217, 219, 240n1, 289,
Art market, see Market 289n1, 292, 293, 298, 299,
Art Stage Singapore, 367, 372 302, 303, 309, 310, 321n7,
Art workers, 75–93 366, 368–370, 374, 375, 412
Art worlds (Becker), 4, 8, 99, 133, 151 See under House’s names
ArtFacts (ranking), 8, 10, 215, 217, Audience, 6, 31, 49, 50, 50n5,
219–222, 226, 320, 320n2, 60n17, 61, 66, 67, 76, 134,
323, 326, 334, 336, 342, 343, 137, 151, 152, 160, 163,
355, 366, 373 166–168, 171, 173, 175,
Artfairisation, 366 177, 216, 377, 394
Artist Authentic, authenticity, 2, 5, 8, 12,
accursed artist, 2 48, 62n21, 63, 64n23, 117,
artist collective, 8, 233, 280 184, 184n3, 189, 190, 193,
artist critique, 4 (see also 196, 198, 200, 202, 204, 206,
Criticism, critical, critical) 207, 256, 260, 388–390,
collective-artist, 8, 213–233 400–403, 405, 413
critical artist, 7, 148–150, 152 Authentication, 7, 184, 187–189,
entrepreneurial artist, 3 198, 201, 206
female artist, 6, 113, 114, 323 Author, authorship, 2, 4–10, 13, 20,
Artnet (ranking), 321, 321n3, 21, 23–25, 26n7, 27–29, 31,
323, 347 33–38, 41, 43, 50, 97–99,
ARTnews (ranking), 10, 320, 321 122, 130, 136, 146, 166, 167,
ArtNewspaper, 379n8 169, 171, 183n2, 184, 184n3,
Artprice (ranking), 8, 10, 215, 217, 186, 187, 190, 191, 193,
218, 226, 298, 320–323, 197–202, 199n16, 204–207,
321n6, 325, 334, 335, 412 214–216, 222, 225, 228, 232,
ArtReview (ranking), 10, 321, 321n5 233, 242n4, 249, 276, 331,
Artron (art media), 295, 298 340, 341, 346
Artwork, 3, 4, 7, 29, 47, 55, 61, Autonomisation of art, 3, 230
61n19, 99, 101n3, 129–134, Avant-garde, 25, 82, 224, 248, 251,
134n4, 136, 137, 139, 141, 254, 296
143–153, 184n4, 193, 206, literary avant-garde, 5
214–217, 219, 229–232, 259, Award, 5, 20, 21, 25–28, 26n6,
277, 292, 293, 296, 297, 299, 26n7, 33–42, 206, 233, 299,
301–303, 305, 306, 308, 328, 301, 329, 351, 393–395, 417
Index 423
B Buyers, 132, 183n2, 184–187,

Bayrle & Jäger (artistic 191–194, 198, 199, 201, 202,
collective), 225 204–207, 205n22, 251, 296,
Becker, Howard S., 4, 8, 77, 99, 133, 324, 331, 370, 371, 377,
151, 241–243, 246–249, 378, 417–419
246n7, 252, 258, 259, 267,
344–346, 393
Beethoven, Ludwig van, 3 C
Benhamou, Françoise, 355 Canonisation, 5, 78, 383
Beyoncé, 6, 48, 48n3, 50, See also Consecration;
50n5, 53, 55–60, 56n14, Recognition, artistic
57n15, 59n16, 62–65, recognition
62n21, 63n22, 67 Capital
Biennale Arte (Venice), 372 cultural capital, 12, 83–85, 216,
Billionaires, 12, 13, 65, 324, 282, 334
371, 417 social capital, 23, 105, 114
Boltanski, Luc, 4, 49–52, 51n8, 54, Capitalism, capitalist, 4, 11, 12, 99,
58–63, 65–67, 98, 136, 136, 387–405, 412–415
388, 391 Career path, 4, 6, 281
Bongard, Willy, 219, 319, 329, Cassirer, Ernst, 160–162, 161n1
341, 342 CCA, see Contemporary Chinese art
Bourdieu, Pierre, 2, 3, 8, 9, 20, 24, Charle, Christophe, 12n5, 24
29, 42, 43, 77, 99, 116, 119, Chiapello, Eve, 4, 77, 98, 136, 213,
121, 135, 167, 185, 213–216, 388, 391
227, 228, 230, 240–243, China, Chinese, 9, 41, 42, 148, 169,
245–247, 249–251, 253, 254, 170, 183n2, 266, 272, 274,
257, 259, 260, 263–266, 277, 287–310, 290n1, 324,
281, 326, 328, 339, 371n5, 326, 375
381, 393, 395, 414–416 China International Gallery
Brazil, 288, 289 Exposition (CIGE), 295,
Bruce High-Quality Foundation 298n5, 301
(artist collective), 219 Christie’s, 7, 185, 189, 189n7,
Brueghel the Younger, 7, 183–207 190n8, 192, 194, 298, 303,
Business, 9, 65, 83, 98n1, 134, 135, 321, 330, 370
167–172, 185, 245, 258, 265, See also Auction house
266, 269, 271, 279, 293, 303, CIGE, see China International
309, 322, 330, 367, 369–371, Gallery Exposition
373, 375–378, 380, 382, 413, Cinema, 3, 21, 22n3, 99, 122,
414, 419 162, 393
424 Index
Class Criticism, critique (by art), critical

class position, 80 (critical art)
social class, 13, 76, 260 critical artist, 7, 148–150, 152
Collective-artist, see Artist, artist (see also Artist)
collective; see under Cultural industry, 2–5, 393, 416
Collective’s names See also Creative economy
Collector, 8, 12, 110, 129, 132–134, Cultural institution, 6
134n4, 136, 185, 205, 217, Culture, 47–67, 76, 87, 89, 106,
230, 240, 246, 249, 254–257, 116, 122, 161, 163, 171,
263, 268, 269, 275, 281, 230, 243, 252, 259,
296–298, 303, 307, 308, 310, 272, 334, 355, 373, 382,
320–322, 324, 330, 332, 343, 395, 417
353, 365, 367n2, 369, 371, popular culture, 47–67
372, 374, 375, 377, 378, 414 Curator, 9, 11n4, 87, 132, 139,
Commodification, 2, 12, 48, 186, 185, 229n12, 240, 263,
266, 389, 390, 392, 403 268, 270, 271, 275, 276,
Connoisseur, connoisseurship, 5, 293, 294, 296, 297n4,
184, 187–191, 251 306, 320, 321, 336, 340,
new connoisseur, connoisseurship, 341, 367n2, 372, 375,
8, 183–207 381, 414
Consecration, 5, 118, 214–216,
258n8, 268, 273, 280, 340,
381, 393–397, 403, 418 D
See also Canonisation; Recognition, David Zwirner (gallery), 380
artistic recognition Dealer (art), see Art dealer
Contemporary art, 8, 11, 12, 75, 76, Demand (supply and demand),
98, 100, 133, 213–233, 240, 187, 332, 374, 412
240n1, 240n2, 241, 249, 252, Democratisation, 7
253, 263, 264, 266, 287, 289, DeNora, Tia, 3
290, 294–296, 295n3, 298, Diffusion, 9, 287–310
304, 321n5, 324, 328, DiMaggio, Paul, 290, 290n2
339–361, 365, 367–371, Distinction, The (Bourdieu),
373–375, 378, 382, 418 167, 245, 371n5
Contemporary Chinese art (CCA), Division of labour, 3, 116, 186, 188,
288, 290n1, 294 275, 278
Crane, Diana, 216, 383 Documenta, 8, 133, 134, 150, 215,
Creative economy, 4, 75 219, 222–227, 368
See also Cultural industry Dominant position, 9, 216, 249
Index 425
E Fonds National d’Art

Earning, see Pay Contemporain, 351
East, Eastern, 7 Fordism, Fordist, 388–390, 403
Elias, Norbert, 3 France, 11, 19–21, 24, 25, 29,
Elite, 9, 83, 88, 103, 107, 29n9, 30, 32, 36–42, 99, 113,
122, 217, 249, 254, 322, 123, 166, 169n10, 220n5,
368, 373 233, 233n13, 296, 339, 344,
Elmgreen & Dragset (artist 347, 348, 352–355,
collective), 218, 222 357–360, 373
Europe, European, 9, 26n7, 33, 102, Frankfurt School, 2
112, 113n16, 121, 134, 166, Frieze Art Fair (London, New York,
177, 228, 233, 265, 266, 366, Los Angeles), 372
370, 372, 373
G
F Gagosian (gallery), 306, 353, 356,
FIAC, see Foire Internationale d’Art 357, 359, 377
Contemporain Gallery, galleries
Field, cultural production field gallery owner, 8, 9, 107,
field of music, 8 110, 130, 132, 134, 134n4,
literary field, 20, 24, 26, 27, 30, 135, 137, 141, 143, 146, 150,
37, 42, 214, 258n8 151, 232, 239–260, 263–282,
subfield, 3, 20, 24, 30, 185, 216, 287, 290–294, 297, 297n4,
239–260, 416 298, 300, 302–307, 309, 310,
subfield of large-scale production, 321, 343, 345, 350, 351, 358,
5, 19–43 360, 368, 370, 376,
subfield of restricted (or limited) 378–381, 414
production, 3, 5, 19–43, 216 gallery scene, 9, 344, 345, 350,
Financialisation, 12, 12n5, 13, 217, 357, 359, 370
371, 417–419 Gender, 6, 30, 52, 57n15, 76,
Fischli/Weiss (artist collective), 8, 78–80, 83, 89–91, 100,
214, 219, 220, 222 102n7, 103, 105, 111–115,
Flemish, 187–191, 200n18 122, 223, 225
Florida, Richard, 136, 393 General Idea (artist collective),
Foire Internationale d’Art 214, 222n9
Contemporain (FIAC), Gilbert & George (artist collective),
351, 360, 372, 379n8 8, 214, 218, 220, 222
426 Index
Global, globalisation, 8, 9, 11, 27, Individualisation, individuality, 7, 8,

75, 77, 79, 84, 98, 100, 108, 85, 90, 122, 159–177, 213,
122, 133, 183, 183n2, 215, 227–233, 401
213–233, 291, 307, 323, 325, Inequality, 6, 75–93, 114–116
340, 341, 348, 366, 373, 375, Integration, 6, 7, 107, 114, 115,
395, 417 137, 248, 353, 354, 373, 401
Goffman, Erving, 162, 163, 401 professional integration, 6
Growth, 12, 135, 147, 288, 295, Intermediary, 4n2, 5, 11n4, 25, 110,
304–309, 369, 371, 374, 379, 113, 159, 184, 246, 269, 297,
381, 390, 399 310, 349
Irwin/Gelitin (artist collective),
214, 221
H
Hauser & Wirth (gallery), 306
Heinich, Nathalie, 97, 99, 116, 213, J
227–229, 294, 328, 389, Japan, Japanese, 7, 159–177, 297,
392, 393 353, 357, 359, 360
HiArt (art media), 295, 299, 301
High culture, 417
Holy, see Sacral K
Hong Kong, 84, 296, 299, 303, King Kong Kabinett (artist
367n2, 372, 375 collective), 232
Honour, 13, 243–246, 303, Kunstkompass (ranking), 8, 10, 215,
304, 414 219–220, 220n5, 226, 320,
Horowitz, Noah, 134, 309 329, 342
Hualang (art media), 299 Kunstmarkt 67, 368, 368n3
Hughes, Everett, 4, 118, 240, 242,
243, 243–244n5, 245,
259, 260 L
Lahire, Bernard, 106, 213
Legitimacy, legitimate, 13, 28, 29,
I 49–54, 49n4, 50n5, 56–66,
Illusio, 13, 119, 121, 414 84, 188, 230, 249, 289n1,
Independent Brussels, 379n8 290, 298, 345, 350, 355,
Index, see Ranking 394–396, 398, 403, 416
India, 288, 289 Literature, 2, 5, 19, 22, 24, 25n5, 27,
India Art Fair, 372 28, 29n9, 30, 31, 33–36, 76,
Index 427
85, 99, 107, 116, 139, 167n5, Market-publishing market,

168–171, 170n15, 192, 194, 7, 167–172
213, 288, 367n2, 393n3 Mass consumption, 5
See also Field-literary field McRobbie, Angela, 77, 85, 92
Luhmann, Niklas, 55, 61n19, 130, Media, 10, 27, 31, 36, 37, 49, 50n7,
131, 137, 140, 141, 159, 62, 66, 78, 113n16, 119,
163–166, 164n3, 164n4, 131–133, 139, 150, 160–165,
177, 394 167, 167n5, 206, 226, 295,
332, 369, 372, 380, 394,
402n5, 412, 419
M Menger, Pierre-Michel, 4, 99, 107,
Madrid, 372 213, 214, 390
Mannheim, Karl, 265, 265n4, Merton, Robert K., 10, 333, 340
276, 276n9 Mexico City, 372
Market Millionaires, see Billionaires
art business, 365, 369, 376 Modiano, Patrick, 5, 19–43
art market, 5–9, 11, 75, 76, 79, Money, 27, 36, 42, 64, 67, 85–87,
84–88, 92, 98–100, 105, 108, 110, 132, 133, 149, 204,
110–113, 116, 122, 129–153, 207, 245, 264, 267, 271, 273,
183–207, 216–220, 227–233, 274, 309, 334, 366, 371,
254, 288–295, 297, 299, 305, 373, 415–419
307, 319, 320, 322–324, 330, Morin, Edgar, 3, 340
331, 334–336, 339–341, Moulin, Raymonde, 8, 9, 12,
343–350, 352–354, 360, 366, 185, 207, 215, 229n12,
367, 369–378, 382, 411, 412, 241, 242, 248, 255, 263,
415, 417 (see also Art market) 269, 292, 293, 299, 308,
book market, 30–33, 165, 339, 345, 346
166, 171 Moureau, Nathalie, 10, 12, 132n2,
international art market, 9, 92, 292, 296, 328, 329
99, 216, 217, 346, 353, 373 Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 3
labour market, 4, 12, 75–93, 112, Music
118, 130, 137, 400, 401 musical market, 3
market boom, 10, 183, 294, 299, musicians, 3, 6, 33n12, 80, 88
305, 306, 309 pop music, 6
market logic, 4, 100, 110, singer, 6, 56, 56n14, 59, 60,
120–123, 257 63–65, 67
market structures, 76 video, 6, 50, 50n6, 51, 51n9, 55,
musical market (see Music) 56, 61–63
See also Business See also Field of music
428 Index
N Pay, 6, 78, 83–88, 91, 109, 111,

Network, 4, 6, 12, 23, 84, 101n3, 187, 191, 193, 201, 202, 205,
122, 147–149, 167, 167n5, 206, 213, 221, 277, 292, 300,
171, 216, 246, 246n7, 248, 304, 333, 380
252, 253, 272, 374, 412 Potential, potentiality, 12, 23, 25,
Networking, 89, 90, 146, 305, 309, 27, 31, 36, 56, 66, 84, 85, 87,
367, 372 91, 105, 117, 129, 131, 136,
New Delhi, 372 150, 161, 185, 194, 207, 214,
New York, 48, 84, 194, 198n14, 296, 224, 249, 251, 258, 265, 267,
332, 352, 353, 368, 372, 375 276n9, 320, 352, 357, 372,
99 Art (art media), 295 387–405, 402n5
Nobel/nobility, 3, 28, 30, 31, 34–37, Pragmatic, pragmatism, 49, 50,
39, 41, 42, 413 145–149, 152, 274
Nobel Prize for Literature, 5 Precariousness, 4, 6, 77, 86, 92,
Non-profit, 305, 309, 343 106–108, 213, 413
North America, North American, Print, 21, 25, 28, 30, 36–39, 159,
121, 372 167–169, 168n9, 172, 175,
See also United States (USA) 177n21, 197n13, 239, 259,
394, 402n5, 412
printing techniques, 160,
O 165–172, 177
Oevermann, Ulrich, 50n6, 265–267, Prize, see Award
269, 281 Profession, 6–8, 79, 83, 93, 99,
Os Gêmeos (artistic collective), 219 101n4, 136, 139, 140, 140n9,
147–148, 214, 229, 263,
264n2, 269, 388, 415
P Professional space, 105, 107–110,
Pace (gallery), 377 112–114, 116, 118, 122
Painting, 7, 8, 101, 131–134, 162, Professional trajectory, see
173, 177, 184, 186–194, Career path
193n11, 196–199, 197n13, Profit, profitable, 58, 107, 118, 121,
200n19, 201–206, 258, 122, 135, 170, 186, 200, 232,
289n1, 295n3, 296, 298, 293, 294, 303, 305, 306, 369,
300, 302–305, 307–310, 370, 376, 379, 380, 382, 416
326, 327, 332, 349 Publisher, publishing house, 5, 21,
Paris, 21, 22, 29, 29n9, 37, 324n11, 23–26, 28, 30n10, 35–39, 41,
339–361, 366, 368, 166–171, 171n18, 175, 177
372, 379n8 Publishing market, see Market-
Parsons, Talcott, 269, 270, 274, 393n3 publishing market
Index 429
Q Rules of art, The (Bourdieu), 2, 99

Quemin, Alain, 11, 99, 103, 112, Russia, 183n2, 288, 324
132n2, 207, 215–217, 220,
220n5, 223, 229n12, 231,
241, 321, 339, 340, 343, 344, S
346, 347, 352, 354, 367 Sacral, 166, 411, 414
Sale, 7, 21, 27, 28, 30, 31, 36–42,
38n16, 110, 129, 130, 132,
R 143, 145, 150, 170, 184n4,
Rank, 215, 219, 220, 222, 222n9, 185, 186, 190–194, 190n8,
321, 331, 341, 346, 355, 356, 191n9, 193n10, 200, 218,
358, 359 232, 249, 257–259, 277, 279,
Ranking, 5, 8, 10, 11, 30, 30n10, 289, 292–294, 296, 297, 300,
67, 184, 203, 204, 206, 301, 303, 305, 307, 332, 335,
215–222, 226, 319–336, 348–353, 356, 365, 366, 366n1,
340–361, 394, 418 368–370, 374–380, 412, 418
Reception, 20, 29, 41, 42, 51n9, 99, Salesroom, 8, 11, 184–187, 184n4,
139, 151, 152, 183–207, 214, 186n6, 191, 192, 194,
265, 266, 279, 360 196–201, 204–207
Reckwitz, Andreas, 98, 136, Sapiro, Gisèle, 42, 43, 258n8
391–393, 413 Savage, Mike, 12, 80, 82–84
Recognition, artistic recognition, Schultheis, Franz, 12, 13, 77, 214,
5–9, 11, 22n3, 23, 25, 26, 265, 266, 367
28–30, 36, 42, 52, 67, 88, 91, Secularisation, secular, 160, 169,
110, 121, 142–149, 221, 222, 176, 392
225, 231–233, 233n13, 254, Self-conception, 9
258, 280, 296, 326, 326n12, See also Self-representation
350, 355, 357–360, 381, 383, Self-financing, self-financed, 6, 277
411, 418 Self-fulfilling prophecy, 220,
See also Canonisation; Consecration 333–335, 340
Religion, religious, 3, 166, 268, 413 Self-realisation, 12, 116, 388, 391,
See also Secularisation, secular 400, 415
Rembrandt (Rembrandt Self-representation, 6, 50n5, 105,
Harmenszoon van Rijn), 3 116–121, 123
Renaissance, 8, 417 See also Self-conception
Reputation, reputational, 3, 132, Sex, see Gender
184, 220, 268, 273, 276, 277, ShanghART, 296, 297, 302, 304
293, 294, 307, 309, 350, 355, Simmel, Georg, 165, 177
376, 382, 383, 393n3 Singer, see Music
430 Index
Social class, 13, 76, 260 Symbolic goods, 3, 12, 243, 381,
Sotheby’s, 7, 189, 189n7, 190n8, 412–414, 418
192, 194, 298, 332, 370, 375 System, systemic, 2, 11, 12, 26,
See also Auction house 27, 30, 55–57, 57n15, 66,
Southeast Asia, 367, 375, 417 67, 75, 76, 78, 87, 88,
Speculation, speculative, 8, 24, 92, 93, 123, 130–133,
116, 132, 215, 216, 227, 136–151, 153, 159–162, 165,
229–233, 253, 277, 294, 298, 167, 169, 170, 177, 186, 187,
299, 304, 307, 308, 326, 334, 189, 189n7, 197, 200, 215,
336, 371 219, 221, 227–231, 229n12,
Star, 6, 47–67, 340, 341, 354, 358 233, 242, 254, 290, 291, 294,
State, state subsidies, 2, 3, 6, 7, 24, 295, 310, 326, 327, 330, 346,
54, 59, 61, 77, 83, 105, 122, 369, 391
123, 184n3, 198, 395, Szeemann, Harald, 226, 341–342
397, 401
Status group, 13, 160, 165, 166,
171n18, 177 T
Strategy TEFAF (Maastricht, New York),
commercial strategy, 11, 28 349, 372, 374, 375, 379n8
selling strategy, 8 Theatre, 5, 12, 25n5, 78, 99, 107,
Subfield, see Field, cultural 162, 175, 387, 389,
production field 393–397, 403
Success, successful, 5–7, 11, 20, 37, Thévenot, Laurent, 49–52, 51n8, 54,
38, 50, 52, 53, 56n14, 57, 59, 58–60, 62, 63, 65–67
64n23, 66, 88–91, 99, 100, Thompson, Don, 12n5, 76, 292,
101n4, 105, 117, 122, 129, 293, 299, 306, 367, 375
132, 134, 135, 142, 146–148, Thornton, Sarah, 76, 367
151, 214, 216, 220, 230, Typology, 8, 137, 144–150, 152n13,
232, 245, 248, 250, 256, 164n3, 246, 263–282
268, 290, 291, 293, 294,
299, 301, 302, 306, 309,
340, 366, 367, 370–372, U
374–378, 380, 381, 383, United States (USA), 9, 29, 30, 34,
387, 393, 398, 413, 416 77, 252, 265, 266, 296,
Supply, 12, 41, 184, 187, 191, 320n1, 353, 357, 359, 360,
194–201, 207, 293, 332, 374, 366, 370, 373
399, 401, 412 See also North America
Index 431
V Weber, Max, 13, 143, 266–269, 275,

Value 277, 278, 414
economic value, 5, 216, 217, 293, Weiwei, Ai, 148, 297
323, 376, 383, 401 West, Western, 7, 9, 136, 213, 272,
market value, 4n2, 43, 47, 58, 67, 287–292, 296–306, 308–310,
184, 204, 205, 231, 242, 373, 388
247, 412 See also East, Eastern
Veblen, Thorstein, 277 White, Cynthia, 122, 215,
Velthuis, Olav, 9, 12, 77, 135, 227–231, 263, 264,
183n2, 241, 272n8, 288, 289, 291–293
291–293, 302, 303, 332, 367, White, Harrison, 122, 227–231,
373, 381–383 263, 264, 290–293
Visual art, 5, 78, 97, 99–101, Winner-takes-all, 130, 333–335
101n2, 103, 105, 108, 109, Woman (artist), 221
113, 113n16, 113n17, 115, See also Artist-female
116, 118, 120–122, 214, artist; Gender
231–233, 340, 345 Work (i.e. professional), 6, 106, 133,
visual artist, 6, 7, 97–123, 130, 250, 256, 372
146, 151, 214, 220, 232, 233, work of art (see Artwork)
233n13, 340 Wuggenig, Ulf, 2n1, 214,
Vocation, vocational, 6, 77, 82, 86, 215, 217
87, 91, 97–99, 120, 122,
227–229, 251, 281, 415
Z
ZERO (artist collective), 225
W Zona Maco México
Wage, see Pay Contemporaneo, 372

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SOCIOLOGY OF THE ARTS

More information about this series at

The Sociology of Arts

Thomas Mazzurana Olivier Moeschler

Valérie Rolle Franz Schultheis

ISSN 2569-1414 ISSN 2569-1406 (electronic)

Cover image © Anna Goulding

Part I Creators in the Market: Artists Between Aesthetics,

2 Patrick Modiano, Between the Fields of Limited

3 A Star Down-to-Earth: On Social Critique in Popular

Part II Artistic Career Paths: Trajectories and Inequalities in

4 Art Workers, Inequality, and the Labour Market: Values,

5 Visual Artists’ Professional Situations and Trajectories

6 The Art Market: Art’s Incomplete Mirror—Artistic

Part III The Economy of Idiosyncrasy: Art Dealers and

7 When Market Promotes Individuality: Arts in Early

8 The Art Market Facing New Connoisseurship: The

9 Collective-Artists: Actors on the Margins of the Global

Part IV Marketable Art: Galleries and Gallery Owners as

10 Hierarchies and Divisions in the Subfield of Gallery

11 Mapping the Professional Self-Concepts of Gallery

12 The Diffusion of Galleries in China (1991–2016)287

Part V Market Assessments: The Increasing Role of Art

13 Magic Index on the Wall: Who Is the Most Valuable Artist

14 Can Contemporary Art Galleries Be Ranked? A

Part VI Features of the Art Market in Advanced Capitalism:

15 The Art Fair Boom and Its Contradictions365

16 Art Meets Capitalism: In Praise of Promising

17 The Art, the Market, and Sociology: Concluding

Pierre Bataille is a lecturer at the Université Grenoble Alpes. His

Michael Gautier is an editor at the Swiss Parliament. His research inter-

Olivier Moeschler is an associate researcher at the University of

Robert Schäfer is a researcher and a lecturer at the University of Fribourg

Fig. 5.1 ACM dimensions inertia 108

Fig. 8.3 Price index by attribution qualifier (By = 100) 203

Table 2.1 The most frequently invited writers on Apostrophes between

Table 13.5 Top 10 young contemporary artists (under 30)—

This book draws on the papers presented at a congress at the University

© The Author(s) 2020 1

economic properties—although, in reality, it never truly escapes eco-

given to individuals to buy, listen to and compare several versions of the

for Renaissance paintings, Radermecker assesses the effects of academic

activities and practical knowledge of gallery owners; furthermore, she is

“price-centered model”, which flourished above all in the years of the

mechanisms that lead to lies becoming true or an originally inadequate

to be considered as another market as a result of an illusio of disinterest-

Denis, Benoît. 2010. La consécration. Quelques notes introductives. Contextes.

Merton, Robert K. 1948. The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy. The Antioch Review 8

Translated by Phoebe Weston-Evans

Peter Englund, former permanent secretary of the Swedish Academy, https://www.youtube.com/

watch?v=lg1ix8qauGY, accessed 14 June 2018.

© The Author(s) 2020 19

It is our aim here to ascertain the degree to which Modiano’s position

Before the Nobel Prize

Gallimard, Modiano’s publisher, gave the following author description

Patrick Modiano was born in Boulogne-Billancourt on 30 July 1945. He

website has since been modified and abridged, http://www.gallimard.fr/Contributeurs/Patrick-­

Modiano’s connection to Queneau3 is crucial, especially for the publi-

It is intriguing that while Modiano was being actively championed by

Modiano’s proximity to these well-known writers at the end of the

Prestigious Publishing Houses

The role a publishing house plays in the career trajectory of an early-­

therein. Bourdieu proposes three principal groups of publishing houses

Part I Creators in the Market: Artists Between Aesthetics,

2 Patrick Modiano, Between the Fields of Limited

3 A Star Down-to-Earth: On Social Critique in Popular

Part II Artistic Career Paths: Trajectories and Inequalities in

4 Art Workers, Inequality, and the Labour Market: Values,

5 Visual Artists’ Professional Situations and Trajectories

6 The Art Market: Art’s Incomplete Mirror—Artistic

Part III The Economy of Idiosyncrasy: Art Dealers and

7 When Market Promotes Individuality: Arts in Early

8 The Art Market Facing New Connoisseurship: The

9 Collective-Artists: Actors on the Margins of the Global

Part IV Marketable Art: Galleries and Gallery Owners as

10 Hierarchies and Divisions in the Subfield of Gallery

11 Mapping the Professional Self-Concepts of Gallery

12 The Diffusion of Galleries in China (1991–2016)287

Part V Market Assessments: The Increasing Role of Art

13 Magic Index on the Wall: Who Is the Most Valuable Artist

14 Can Contemporary Art Galleries Be Ranked? A

Part VI Features of the Art Market in Advanced Capitalism:

15 The Art Fair Boom and Its Contradictions365

16 Art Meets Capitalism: In Praise of Promising

17 The Art, the Market, and Sociology: Concluding

Fig. 5.1 ACM dimensions inertia 108

Fig. 8.3 Price index by attribution qualifier (By = 100) 203

Before the Nobel Prize

website has since been modified and abridged, http://www.gallimard.fr/Contributeurs/Patrick-

Prestigious Publishing Houses

The role a publishing house plays in the career trajectory of an early-

Accumulating Literary Prizes

Flourishing in the Book Market

After the Nobel Prize

Effects of the Nobel Prize in France

Effects of the Nobel Prize Abroad

nalysing Social Critique in Popular Culture:

stablishing a Social Cause: “Always

The Quest for Legitimate Representation

Distinction: “I’m a Star!”

Identification: “I Am One of You”

Unification: A Star Down-to-Earth

Understanding Artists and Inequality