If you’re somehow involved with art, this must have happened to you. You’re scrolling through your Instagram feed, and badly-shot images of worthless things appear at regular intervals, and eyerolls abound. The originator of such visual gibberish is usually a white, straight, mildly successful artist, whose work you’d qualify as mediocre at best. He attends the residencies you didn’t get into, participates in group shows in trendy galleries, and possesses the crucial ability to consume large amounts of hard drugs with a rakish type of nonchalance. If you’re a young woman, his success might be hard to stomach — and even harder to replicate. If you aren’t dead or senile yet, allowing your work to be pigeonholed into the contextual lanes of second wave feminism or feeble mental health, forget about it. If you’re a person of color, your chances are even more meagre, unless your work references traditional African fabrics or shamanism. And if you happen to be a woman of color: even being dead, senile and interested in African textiles somehow all at once probably won’t be enough to allow you to get a seat at the table with your mediocre male contemporaries.
Missed opportunity.There may be patterns to the “art on Instagram” to the MWMA but holy crap, we should talk about “Mediocre Wealthy White Artists Of Any Gender Pretending To Give A Fuck About Queer Politics” on Instagram