The Emerging Artist’s Guide to Gallery Representation

The American filmmaker John Waters once said: “If you go home with somebody and they don't have books, don't fuck 'em.” 

Waters was a voracious reader. He had little interest in spending a night, let alone a life, with someone who didn’t care for them. The same principle applies when choosing a gallery, says Ellie Rines, founder of New York gallery 56 Henry. “Work with someone who genuinely loves art and cares about advancing the artistic canon, instead of someone that thinks it’s a good way to make money,” she says. “Because, I promise you, there’s much better roads to go down for that.”

This summer, thousands of graduates will leave art school with the hope of becoming the next breakout young artist. It’s an exciting time. Perhaps you’ve sold a work at your degree show, enough to make the first month’s rent on the shoebox studio you’ve just committed to. A gallerist has slid into your DMs wanting to include you in a group show. Momentum feels like it might be building. But where might it lead? 

For most young artists, gallery representation is the ultimate goal. The right gallery can introduce your work to collectors, curators and institutions, opening doors that can be difficult to unlock alone. But before rushing into the first opportunity that comes along, it’s worth asking: what does a good artist–gallery relationship actually look like? If we're to continue John Waters's analogy, it pays to know exactly who you're getting into bed with.

“Often, people say yes to an opportunity without really knowing what they’re saying yes to,” says Jorg Grimm, founder of Grimm, whose programme has helped launch the careers of artists such as Louise Giovanelli, Francesca Mollett, Gabriella Boyd and Caroline Walker. Before signing or exhibiting with a gallery, he recommends speaking to peers: to artists and other gallerists to try and get as much information as possible. “I’d always pick up the phone to an artist asking about a gallery they’d been approached by,” says Rines, who gave Anna Weyant her first solo exhibition. “It’s no different from carrying out a reference check on someone you’re thinking about employing.” 

Finding the right opportunity

The temptation is to mistake any opportunity for the right opportunity. “It’s exciting and you naturally want to say yes,” says one London-based artist, recalling the offers she received after graduating from the Royal College of Art. “But it’s important to do your due diligence.” Before accepting a show, she now researches the programme, looks at the artists it has worked with and, if she doesn't know any of them, messages them directly on Instagram. “Ninety-nine percent of the time they’re willing to help and give you an honest opinion,” she says. 

Just as importantly, she says, young artists shouldn’t be afraid to ask questions of their own. Where do you see my work? Why do you think we’re a good fit? "When you are young, it’s easy to forget we have the power to ask those questions," she says. "But people respect it. They respect the interest and confidence it takes to open up a wider conversation." 

It could help in more ways than one. Doing your homework on a gallery you would like to work with will not only get the relationship off on the right foot but also avoid irritating the people you're trying to impress. "Sometimes I get an email that's been sent to me and 20 other gallerists," says Grimm. "If you don't take an invested interest in learning what I do or present, then why would I put in the time to see what you do? It’s no different from a writer pitching to a magazine, or someone applying for a job.”

Showing up and communicating

To gain good representation, one should understand who you are approaching, and ascertain whether you are suited to their programme. And the best way to do that, says Alice Amati, is simply to show up. Amati opened her Fitzrovia gallery in 2023 and has since launched Apollo Painting School, a Manchester-based non-profit summer programme supporting emerging artists. “Go to the exhibitions. Turn up to a private view. They’re free and open to anyone. Attend talks and events at the gallery,” she says. “Engage with the programme and it will increase your chance to meet whoever runs it.” 

Like all relationships, compatibility might be what brings an artist and gallery together, but good communication is what keeps it healthy. “If a gallerist is showing up to the studio for the first time two months before an exhibition,” Grimm says, “then they have left it too late.” Rather, conversations should begin months in advance, giving both the artist and gallerist time to discuss the direction of the work as well as more practical questions: how much of an artist’s oeuvre belongs in a single exhibition? what should be saved for the next? What will production costs for the show be? 

One London-based artist I spoke to said that some of the most enjoyable and productive group exhibitions she’s been part of are those where communication with the curator or gallerist have been best. “They don't send generic invitations,” she says. “Rather, they explain why they want you in the exhibition, they are curious in the studio and they bother to introduce you to the other artists participating.”

Don't ghost

The same is true once an exhibition has opened. Grimm says one of the most common criticisms he hears from artists is when galleries go quiet on them when a show might not be as successful as originally hoped. “Rather, the exact opposite should be true,” he says. “You should constantly be in conversation; telling them when a new visitor shows interest, or relaying the feedback we are getting.” That can feel especially difficult for artists exhibiting with a gallery for the first time, particularly when there's the hope that the relationship might develop into representation. 

"It's like dating before getting married," says Rines. Not every exhibition will lead to representation, nor should it. "But you don't ghost. There are some collaborations that are an uphill battle. If an artist has made a body of work for an exhibition with me, I am going to do my best to continue placing that work. I'm going to keep working on it after the show is done." 

Amati makes a similar point. Not every exhibition can develop into representation (as a team of three, there’s only so many she can take on), but neither does that mean the communication ends. “Often we have a show and keep the relationship going,” she says. “If another opportunity comes up, then we will pick up where we left off.” Representation, she adds, "means a lot more than offering someone a show every couple of years. It means I'm invested in their career." 

Amati founded her gallery after starting her career working at David Zwirner. When I asked what she had brought with her from a gallery that, at times I’m sure, feels more like a corporation than an art gallery – with its departments, hierarchies and systems – she mentioned professionalism. “Small doesn’t mean scrappy.” Artists, too, need to hold themselves to the same professional standards, particularly when it comes to the less glamorous side of a career: contracts, paperwork and conversations about money.  

Taking yourself seriously

"It's super important from the very start to take yourself extremely seriously," says Grimm. That means keeping track of what comes in and out of the studio, knowing where your work is, making sure it's properly photographed and keeping a clear record of where it ends up. Good galleries won't be fazed by that level of organisation. If anything, they should expect it. Amati agrees. "Don't give a gallery a work without a signed consignment agreement," she says. Far from signalling mistrust, a consignment agreement simply sets out the terms of the relationship. "It's the only way you can protect yourself," she says. "If you don't have a contract, no lawyer will ever help you." 

Yes, it can feel overly administrative at the beginning of a career, but those details become invaluable years later. If a museum wants to borrow an early work for a retrospective, you will know exactly where to find it. "You never really think about the legacy and what is going to happen afterwards," she says. "Planning long term – that's the job of a good gallerist." 

A contract sets out the terms of a relationship, but it can't guarantee how either side will behave. That still comes down to trust. "These people are your managers. They should know what’s right for you, and be advocating for you," says one artist. "But, if something makes you feel uncomfortable, you have to say so. You have to be brave, because it's normally those things that come back to bite you later." In her case, she agreed to let the majority of the works in her exhibition  be sold to some of the gallerist's friends, simply because she was grateful to have been offered the show. Within a few years, many of those same paintings had resurfaced at auction. 

“It’s terrible, but it does happen,” says Grimm. “But your role as a gallerist is to step up on behalf of the artist and be there together to right any wrong.” That might mean bidding to buy a work back yourself or alerting a trusted collector who has been waiting to acquire one before it goes to auction. “It’s the gallery’s job to place the work well. That’s the level of trust you have to have”. Having since joined a gallery with a more professional process in place, the artist says the difference has been night and day. 

Ultimately, a gallery's role is to deal with everything beyond the studio so artists can concentrate on making their worlds. That, says Rines, "takes a tremendous amount of trust". After all, both artist and gallery are investing in a future neither can predict. "Everybody has skin in the game."