There’s an identifiable human type out there—I don’t know what others call it, or how its particularities manifest themselves in academe or the rest of the world, but in the art world, I call it the “Résumé Reader.”
Say I’m at an art opening for a friend’s exhibition and I see someone I know. I smile, walk over to the person, and offer the usual, “Hey, nice to see you. How are you?” With a non-Résumé Reader, what follows is the ordinary stuff—something like this:
“Hi, great to see you, too! I’m doing OK. My classes are going really well—I have a couple of really interesting students. Plus I’m lucky because I’ve got a course off, so I’m getting more studio time this semester. I’ve stretched up some big canvases to work on. I’ve been feeling pretty good—swimming again regularly. Anyway, how are you?”
Thereupon follows a chat—some pleasant back-and-forth bits of conversation with some art opinions, talk about movies, new restaurants, children and friends.
With the Résumé Reader, however, the words, “How are you?” prompt the following:
“You know, I had a review of my last show in ArtNEWS and it was incredibly positive. The critic really liked my ‘Lexington Series,’ and a dealer from Dallas came up and told David that he wants to do an exhibition of me at his gallery. Really big names show there, so it’d be good. And there’s also a real possibility now that the New Museum will buy one of my drawings for their collection.”
To this I respond, “Wow,” to which the Résumé Reader then responds, “The only trouble is, I hardly have any time to myself. David wants to do another show right away, within the year, so I’m totally stressed out. Our summer at our home in Tuscany is ruined now—unless I rent an extra studio space from one of the local farmers.”
While I stare blankly, the Résumé Reader proceeds apace: “This is all OK, though, because I’m going to be area chair next semester, and I need to get a head start. Going to Tuscany will relax me, as it always does. I’ll be choosing the artists for the visiting lecturer series—you should really come along to some of them because the talks are incredibly interesting. I’ll be coordinating the seminars on Derrida and Abject Painting. Enrollment is way up since I got them to hire Steve Waxenhut in New Media. Maybe you don’t know him. He’s been in three Whitney Biennials in a row, and he just moved to a gigantic new studio in Greenpoint. The students think he’s fabulous.”
Even though my eyes have glazed over by this point, the Résumé Reader barrels ahead:
“Did you know I had an Acme Fellowship last year? I’m applying for the Ding Foundation Fellowship this year. You ought to think about it—although they don’t really tend to give them to artists like you. Anyway, what I really need now is a major museum retrospective. Unfortunately, they don’t usually give those to artists in mid-career. It’s such a pain. But Art in America has approached me about doing a monograph. Do you think I should go for one book about both the paintings and the prints, or hold out for a two-volume set?”
At this, I smile and say, “You’re a vain, full-of-yourself, total jerk. Anybody ever tell you that?”
Actually, that’s not what I say. What I really say is, “Wow. What the hell, go for the two-volume set.”
