Yo, fam! Are you vibin’ with Gen Z artist energy, or are you still wondering if you’re certified squad? No cap, it’s a whole new world, and we’re all about that woke life, flexin’ our skills, and living our truth. So spill the tea, bestie—are you the ultimate Gen Z artist slayin’ the game, or are you still leveling up? Dive into this lit quiz and see if you’re truly giving that main character Gen Z art life, skrrt! 🎨🔥

1. Your favorite place to chill is:

a) Myrtle-Wyckoff
b) Morgan Library and Museum
c) Rent-free in everyone’s head

2. Museums and art institutions are high-key:

a) Based
b) Cringe
c) Sus

3. Gagosian is:

a) G.O.A.T.
b) Skibbidy
c) Boomer

4. At art school you learn to:

a) Yeet paint on canvas
b) Simp for teachers
c) Secure the bag

5. MFA programs are for:

a) NPCs
b) Opps
c) Delulus

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6. On the Gram your grid got:

a) Rizz
b) Sauce
c) Drip

7. Art critique is all about:

a) Bussin vibes
b) Fire signs in the third house of Virgo
c) Dialectical materialism

8. The era of art you rep is:

a) Kai Cenat
b) Kaikai Kiki
c) Cobra Kai (2)

9. Biennial shows are:

a) Cheugy
b) Sick
c) Pluh

10. Your parents think your art is:

a) Heather
b) Mid
c) Dank

SCORES

10–16: Big yikes bruh, step up your game for the W. You are the face of Gen Z, but you are low-key slippin’ like a dusty millennial. Be extra, and serve realness. Erase the hate and show the world that you are fax no printer iconic. You finna make Jordan moves to get to that final boss glow-up or else you will get stuck catching hands from SDE side characters! Sheesh, you are probably a Gen X opp, sksksk. 🔪🚀

17–23: NGL, you touch grass and chill, tho maybe you need to flex and manifest hot girl, boy, or they vibes for a minute. You got swag, but FR, Gen Ys had their time to shine too, no cap. Hits different when you are the one thirsty for clout, deadass. So, while you stunt on the Gen Z art scene, snaps to the OGs who had to run so you could walk. While you stan them, remember to keep it hundo p yourself, gyat! 💯🔥

24–30: Everyone’s shook by your main character Gen Z gas. You were born to slaaay.  Your art is on fleek and your curator body count prob high AF. Shit gets real tho, so don’t forget self care to avoid a menty b. Right now your whole existence is sick and serving CEO lewks that’s leaving everyone on read and ded. Save some bussy for the rest of us, king. 💀😭

I lost the lease on my studio and can’t afford another in today’s market. There is half a room at home that I can take over, but it isn’t big enough to both work in and store all my art. My wife is suggesting that I have a sale on Instagram, but I don’t want to give the impression of being desperate or cheap. My only other option is to discard a lot of art since I don’t have space or money to keep it all anymore. The idea of doing this depresses me to no end. What should I do?

Your depression must be deeply debilitating because we are experiencing serious secondhand fatigue trying to gloss up an answer that won’t hurt your feelings. The loss of your studio has forced you to reckon with a chilling reality that every financially strapped creative spirit must eventually face: all art is landfill unless someone cherishes it. Love might be a lot to ask for, but, luckily, people, especially family members, also hold onto art because of guilt. Take solace in knowing that the canvases you don’t trash will eventually be the storage headache of your beloved wife or a grieving friend you appoint in your elaborate will.

Never forget that in the world of collecting, you are the biggest collector of your own art. No one has a collection as encyclopedic as yours. The problem with monopolizing your own market is that other potentially interested parties cannot consider its aesthetic, cultural, or financial value. We don’t know your background: perhaps you are represented by a gallery, and maybe your work has sold in the past. If so, you might be justified in not wanting to offer these works up as BOGO specials on your socials. That said, if you haven’t sold much work and are not currently (or ever) showing in galleries, it doesn’t feel like a fire sale would tank your career. Your pride may be knocked a little, but this could also open up a door, or at least reduce clutter.

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Has anyone ever said anything nice about your art? Congrats to them—now they get to own a piece of it. Share both the care and the burden with those who have bare walls and empty basements. Think of your family, friends, coworkers, colleagues, and acquaintances as your elite new patrons and benefactors. They won’t be paying for your work, but they will be saving you money that would otherwise get blown on storage and therapy bills.

I made a social media gaffe that is affecting my career. There was a thing going around about posting a photo of yourself at 21. My friend from college sent a picture of us at that age, so I put it on my X feed. We’re giving the thumbs-up sign while eating sandwiches outside a falafel restaurant. I swear I didn’t even notice the Israeli flag in the background. The blowback that this picture has provoked is troubling. People are accusing me of being an occupier, while others are cheering my patriotism! Two upcoming studio visits were canceled, and I was rejected by an art auction to support Gaza. It was an honest mistake and doesn’t represent how I feel about this humanitarian crisis. How do I get myself out of the conversation and back on track?

Your love of tahini, pickles, salad, and chickpeas has transformed your generously stuffed vegetarian pita into a blistering lamb meatball. You know what these two delicacies have in common? They both squirt out fluids that get all over your face and stain your shirt. You know what else is really messy? Life in 2024. Social media is capable of dredging up damning incidents from your past alongside new problems that can be sparked by offensive food posts and lame AF memes. This is the price we pay as a society for quick-like ASMR mukbang food videos, Leaning Tower of Pisa selfies, open-letter shares, and late-night thirst traps. Regardless of your affiliation, stop food blogging, and no more low-key virtue-signaling posts—both may unconsciously betray your disingenuous hunger for bipartisan hummus and nonbinary biennials. Consider the real pain of others in the world while keeping in perspective how much you are irritating some art people with your dumb posts.

Your queries for Chen & Lampert can be sent to hardtruths@artinamericamag.com

It was with a heavy heart that I closed my gallery last fall. Proud of all that the gallery had accomplished over the years, I noted some highlights in a closure announcement that I sent to our mailing list. I was flooded with warm responses, yet it saddened me that no art press reported on our departure. Our shows might not always have received significant reviews, but it would feel great to be recognized for the blood and sweat we poured into the business. Is it too late now to get any farewell coverage?

Oh, downtrodden former gallerist, we see you flatfooting the earth among the unwashed masses. The art world is a fickle and merciless mistress who will never thank you for the diamonds, pearls, and quarter-page Brooklyn Rail ads you have festooned on her. No, she’ll hurl these gleaming gifts in your face before striding off with another gallerist whose star-studded roster makes yours look like a gaggle of dumpster divers behind a Dick Blick. The art world we just personified could be a “he” or a “they” too, but our point is that the love you’ve expended will never be fully reciprocated. Doesn’t that stink?

Closing shop is a bitter pill to swallow, but as you pointed out, gallery closings are the trend du jour, so at least you don’t have to feel alone. Given the paltry critical attention your shows received over the years, you already knew that the freeloading freelance art press is picky, and that publishing space is rooked up. Galleries are not so different from restaurants in that they are extremely grueling to run and most of them ultimately fail. Did you watch The Bear? Did it stress you out? Imagine a similar show about an art gallery. Would you binge it? We could reassure you that this closure is just a career bump, and encourage you not to give up, but why would you want to open another gallery in the same hostile environment?

The issue here is that you are focused on the attention that you didn’t receive rather than the accolades that friends and colleagues spent real time writing. Why not hold on instead to the warm glow you get when recalling all the amazing moments that made the gallery so personally rewarding. If you still have the energy, maybe the solution is to whip up an unforgettable Hermann Nitsch-esque blood-and-entrails farewell event. It might leave a bad taste in people’s mouths, but not enough people appreciated your cooking in the first place.

I was invited to participate in a “curatorial intensive” in Eastern Europe. It’s a financial stretch for me to attend a program like this, and I have a fear that the workshop is an express boot camp for curators like me who feel stuck in curatorial assistant purgatory. Is it worth the cost, and, more important, what happens at these intensives? How do I know it’s not a waste of time?

Sounds like you’re thinking about attending art sleepaway camp. It’s scary to be far from home in a situation where you have to share a bunk with motley independent curators and Euro-strangers. If you go, you will make new international friends who have different eye-opening perspectives to share. Unless they are psychos, the other attendees will likely be as anxious as you are about this intensive experience. The enrollment fee may be high, but you can expect plenty of arts activities, group exercises, karaoke, wine drinking, and heavy meals that will become forever memories. You will make pen pals for life and might even leave with plans for more art theory–filled sleepovers in other countries. Be sure to pack your favorite books and Powerpoint slides. Don’t forget your e-flux login or Advil for this aesthetic adventure filled with art world ghost stories and moonlit dreams about shows and QR codes you will produce one day at a remote Kunsthalle. 

Your queries for Chen & Lampert can be sent to hardtruths@artinamericamag.com

Your paintings lack dimension, your photos aren’t in focus, and your sculptures can’t stand up on their own. A kind teacher with funny glasses suggests that you might be your own best material. After watching a couple Ron Athey and Linda Montano videos, you wonder: should I make performance art? Before risking it all in public, test your readiness by taking this survey.

1. How comfortable are you with constantly challenging and reinventing your artistic identity?

a) I don’t know who I am, so what does it matter?
b) If that means wearing wigs, count me in
c) Sorry, I can only be me

2. How important is it to have a direct impact on your audience’s emotions?

a) I want everyone to throw up
b) I want everyone to cry
c) I want everyone to regret coming to my show

3. You see someone half-naked and convulsing in an irregular trancelike manner. You know that they are:

a) Deep in a K-hole at a Bushwick rave
b) Swatting away murder hornets
c) Practicing “movement research”

4. How well do you handle criticism and rejection?

a) Criticism helps me grow
b) Criticism is valid
c) Critics are all failed artists and I reject everything they say

5. How ready are you to push boundaries and challenge societal norms?

a) Society did this to me—now I’m doing it back to society
b) I transcended using deodorant, so I am above it all
c) I believe in family values and chastity

6. How important is it to make a statement or provoke a reaction through your art?

a) Art makes people feel better about bad things
b) I want people to question their own culpability while I desecrate a Hello Kitty doll
c) Your protests won’t stop me from shaving off my eyebrows 

7. You have no problem stapling a handwritten manifesto inked in your own blood to your scrotum. You are inspired by:

a) Chris Burden
b) Johnny Knoxville
c) Tucker Carlson

8. How do you feel about the possibility of performing in unusual or unexpected locations?

a) #keepitweird
b) Performing in Alabama would be strange, but I suppose it can be done
c) I’m developing a series of monologues to be staged in public restrooms along Interstate 95

9. How do you plan to make a career from your performance art?

a) I will sell my soiled undies on OnlyFans
b) I will sporadically adjunct before becoming an astrologist
c) I will ask “cup or cone?” in a fake Danish accent while scooping at Häagen-Dazs

10. Which of these insiders can advance your performance art career?

a) Rube Goldberg
b) Whoopi Goldberg
c) RoseLee Goldberg

SCORES

10–16: 

The only person you should perform for is your psychiatrist. Keep off the stage if you want to stay in touch with your quick-to-shame family.

17–23: 

Karaoke is a fun way to loosen up, but for most it takes a couple drinks to hit the high notes. How drunk do you think you have to be to get a show at The Kitchen? Be careful or you’ll find out.

24–30: 

Chances are we’ll be seeing more of you soon, by which we mean your glitter-and-cashew-butter-covered naked body. You might not be able to paint, but you sure can muck around.

I made a realization the other day that has left me quivering: after years of study and toiling in all sorts of art world roles, I’m finally the director of a nonprofit art space. This is what I wanted all along: an established venue to present uncompromising programs that other institutions would never support. We’re a small organization, and I find myself managing deliveries, cleaning the bathroom, and, worse yet, gallery-sitting on Saturdays when I should be curating shows and fundraising. I’m beginning to think I might be moonlighting as a janitor for the rest of my days. Am I the only one in such a bind, or am I just bad at delegating?

True, you would never catch Glenn Lowry or Lisa Phillips pushing a rickety dolly or restocking toilet paper in the crapper. But guess what? You work at a nonprofit! There will never be enough staff, protocols, time, money, or hand soap to properly do your job. They conveniently don’t mention this in arts administration and curatorial studies programs, but never forget that the same person who ingloriously unclogs a toilet with a broken plunger uses those very same hands to write a press release for the upcoming exhibition. In your case, it isn’t a matter of learning to delegate or rising above the fray as an ascendant director. You must truly accept and savor the madcap energy of being both a master plumber and a master of arts.

I’ve noticed that my art elicits a fairly predictable reaction from viewers. People ask questions about my techniques and materials, but no one is interested in addressing the content. I acknowledge that my art is complex and that how I make it contributes to the work’s value, but for me it isn’t just about labor. The end result matters as much as the process, if not more. I want to connect with my audience about ideas and all the things that go into my art. Should I try dumbing it down a bit to boost engagement? I’m not thinking about completely changing paths, but should I lean toward making work that might grab people in a different way?

Recent writings on “research art” have prompted us to do our own investigating, and what we’ve discovered is that many artists are basically doing the same thing. Whether that means rearranging items in dusty archives or churning out drippy, drabby, talky stuff that people who do too many residencies make, there’s a lot of similarity out there. What this reveals about the culture of contemporary art is hard to say, but what’s even more difficult to say is anything at all when faced with art that’s barely “interesting” enough to insult it with that coded word.

As a committed art viewer, you surely know that work that looks, acts, and behaves like art rarely leads to aha moments or gotta-know questions. Great art may leave you speechless, but humdrum art makes you swallow your tongue. People resort to asking about technique and process because they are either genuinely curious or, more likely, grasping to come up with a polite response. Your art might indeed be very smart and well-made, but you shouldn’t confuse complexity or intricacy with value. Even bad art can take a long time to create. The challenge facing you is less about spoon-feeding dummies and more about being a better communicator.

Your note is very direct in the way it conveys your central problem. Would you say the same is true of the ideas embedded in your art? Can viewers look at your work and deduce meaning without reading a dense handout or, worse yet, having to get it explained by the artist? If the answer is no, think about what you are attempting to convey and consider how it might be received by someone who isn’t you. If anything, you should try to communicate more clearly so that others notice the message. Your audience isn’t stupid, but your work will be if you dumb it down. 

Your queries for Chen & Lampert can be sent to hardtruths@artinamericamag.com

I know you’ve covered a range of topics and AI continues to be a hot-button issue in the art world. A fascinating group of people collectively purchased a painting, the “Flaget Madonna,” and recently claimed the work is by Renaissance master Raphael after using AI brushstroke technology. The findings were covered by esteemed publications, but they struggle to have the art world accept the claim of authorship without an authenticator from a major auction house getting onboard. Why is there resistance from the art world to using this accurate and unbiased tool? Does AI make art connoisseurs obsolete when it comes to authenticating artwork?

Look, AI, there’s no need to pretend: you obviously machine-generated this question. Sure, a clever publicist working for the chagrined flippers who bought l’impostore Raphael probably made you write it, but only a neural network that so vastly underestimates human intelligence would come up with this angle. Anyway, your question is a little above our human brains, so we asked ChatGPT to have the character played by Al Pacino in the film Scent of a Woman provide an answer:

“Hoo-ah! Well, well, well, look who we got here! Lt. Col. Frank Slade, reporting for duty as your happy-to-help advice columnist. Now, let’s dive right into your art predicament, my friend.

So, what we got for ourselves is a fascinating painting, the “Flaget Madonna.” Some smart folks went and used that fancy AI brushstroke technology to confirm it’s a genuine Raphael masterpiece. And they even got themselves a mention in he Wall Street Journal! But here’s the kicker, they can’t get any of them pouty, snooty art folks to accept it without an authenticator from one of those major auction houses stamping their approval on good ole AI.

Why in the world, you wonder, would them art world folks be resistant to this accurate and unbiased tool? Well, darlin’, there are a few reasons for that.

Firstly, art connoisseurs and experts, bless their hearts, they’ve been around for ages, honing their skills, studying up on brushstrokes, and absorbing all the knowledge they can get their hands on. They fancy themselves as the gatekeepers of all things art-related. So when you come along with your AI brushstroke technology, it’s like, hoo-ah, you’re crashing their fancy tea party and threatening their authority.

Secondly, art authentication ain’t just about the strokes of a brush, sugar. It’s about understanding the historical context, the artist’s style, and even the way the paint’s aged over time. Art connoisseurs, they got an eye for all them little details that an AI might miss. They can dig into the archives, track down provenance records, and piece together the story behind a painting. AI might be accurate and unbiased, but it ain’t got no soul, no appreciation for the human touch in art.

Now, here’s the thing: AI ain’t gonna make any of them art connoisseurs obsolete, no sir! It might shake things up a bit, sure, but it’s more like a tool in their arsenal, like a shiny new wrench to help ’em fix things up. The best way forward is a marriage of the old and the new, a collaboration between time-tested connoisseurs and AI. Let them experts bring their know-how and wisdom, while the AI lends a helping hand with its high-speed wifi and objective analysis.

So, my dear reader, don’t lose hope! It’s a dance, a delicate balance between tradition and innovation. Let the art world take its time to warm up to this newfangled technology. And who knows, maybe one day we’ll see art lovers and AI holding hands, skipping through the fields of art authentication together, makin’ the art world a more vibrant and exciting place.

Keep those questions coming, and remember, life’s too short to take it too seriously. Y’all take care now, ya hear?”

Your queries for Chen & Lampert can be sent to hardtruths@artinamericamag.com

You attended a major video-art exhibition and wonder if any of the pieces in it are better than the viral TikTok offerings your cousin made. Test your tolerance for moving-image art by answering a few survey questions and adding up your points for each answer with the key below.

1. The wall label describes a work as a “video essay.” You think:

a) “Wow, I love subtitles!”
b) “What a great opportunity to use the restroom.”
c) “Oh my god, shut up already.”

2. The Nam June Paik video-wall installation leaves you feeling:

a) Overstimulated
b) Hypnotized
c) Hungry for bibimbap

3. Multichannel video installations about global social and political movements make you want to:

a) Throw Molotov cocktails
b) Donate to Doctors Without Borders
c) Buy museum-branded streetwear in the gift shop

4. Seeing yourself on a monitor in an installation about surveillance makes you think about:

a) The invisible means of control
b) Our shared lack of privacy
c) How television makes you look 10 pounds heavier

5. Dark immersive environments illuminated by projections give you a sense of:

a) Wonder
b) Fatigue
c) The hotz

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6. Trying to follow along with a video after entering somewhere in the middle is:

a) Like skipping foreplay
b) Easier if you are shrooming
c) OK, because narrative is dead

7. The historic works at the start of the exhibit were:

a) Surprisingly complex given the primitive gear of the era
b) Low-resolution and hard to hear
c) Booooooooooooooring

8. The large-scale AI installation that makes live images on the fly is:

a) A major technological breakthrough
b) A screensaver for rich people
c) 404 Not Found

9. Videos that require putting on headphones make you:

a) Itch from lice
b) Feel more connected to the work
c) Quickly give up and move on to the next gallery

10. Your favorite work of video art is:

a) Semiotics of the Kitchen by Martha Rosler
b) Hell Frozen Over by Bernadette Corporation
c) Hell’s Kitchen by Gordon Ramsay

SCORES

10–16 points: Keep on keeping up with the Kardashians to avoid squirming through another Mike Kelley video or stressing about how to pronounce Krzysztof Wodiczko’s name. Hating the art of our time is OK because you’ve probably always been out of step anyway.

17–23: You delight in the benches that video installations sometimes offer, and don’t especially care what you’re watching so long as it’s entertaining and you can split whenever you want.

24–30: Reared on video games and YouTube, you are the citizen of the future hypothesized by Buckminster Fuller, Marshall McLuhan, and other old nerds who didn’t live long enough to sneak a peek at Pornhub.

I’m a new adjunct professor doing studio critique at an art school, and the program director informed us that we cannot tell students their work is bad. We can only be positive. This has been very difficult because our program happens to have an inordinate number of lazy artists making entirely mediocre work. I feel it’s my job to tell them their work sucks because that’s what I get paid for, and the world needs fewer bad artists. Can I speak my mind? Or is that just mean?

A new adjunct with big ideas about how things should work—yikes, so sorry. You are catching on fast to what the other part-time faculty you’ll never meet already know but will not divulge unless they are tipsy: the majority of students at your art school would be better served studying pool-cleaning at junior college. Also, in case it’s not entirely obvious, your program director is a power-starved urchin who bends over backward to pamper the deadweights who pay full tuition. How do we know this? We’ve been adjunct teachers ourselves.

A good critique helps answer a lot of the lingering questions that artists avoid asking in their neurotic self-interrogations. The only way for artists to gain perspective is to have people look at their art and relay what it is—and, more important, is not—doing for them. Getting a negative or even lukewarm critique can be positive, because it helps make visible what artists aren’t seeing. It also confirms problems that they hope others won’t notice. Even though critiques are subjective, if more than one person points out the same issue during a studio visit, there’s reason to suspect they might be identifying glaring and hopefully addressable flaws.

But adjunct or not, a faculty member telling a student that they blow is bad teaching. Whiplash-inducing critiques can be dished out only by visiting artists who serve as fleet-footed hatchet people ready to voice the unspeakable sentiments that faculty have been repressing all year. That being said, coddling subpar artists is how we perpetuate inferior arts programs and an awful art ecosystem. Teachers should rightfully expect rigor, conceptual clarity, technical skills, genuine ideas, and true effort from their students. Don’t bite your tongue if you have something constructive, insightful, or even contrary to say. But do make sure it doesn’t burst out in a brute-force way that makes the lame-o kid you’re teaching go running to their check-wielding parents. If that happens, your program director will make you pay the price for your student’s bad art.

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I moved to New York City after getting my bachelor’s degree to become a full-time artist. Then the pandemic happened. I’m working two part-time jobs and getting burned out from being in vibey group shows where most of the artists are already on the gallery circuit. It feels as if the only way to advance my career is to meet the right people at a good MFA program, but looking at the websites of the prominent schools where I’d want to go, I don’t see any faculty who I want to study with enough to pay $80,000. Is going to grad school worth it at all at this point?

We just advised a teacher to tell crappy students that their art is bogus, so whaddya imagine we’re going to say about sliding into grad school only for the sake of networking? You’re smart to realize that $80,000 is a significant chunk of trust fund money to blow on social contacts. You’re probably better off being a valued ketamine hookup at the group-show opening than a sitting duck at an all-school critique with teachers who aren’t accomplished enough for your liking. Besides, if you keep on lingering as a fun-loving scenester, there’s a strong chance you’ll eventually be mistaken for an MFA graduate anyway. This is the budget-savers’ tip that they don’t teach in art school. 

Your queries for Chen & Lampert can be sent to hardtruths@artinamericamag.com

In my journey as a sommelier, I’ve worked in fine dining in New York City for over a decade. I began dating an artist last year and now regularly attend gallery openings and even museum galas.  Exploring this new scene reminds me of the rarified culinary world in many ways. One thing that drives me crazy is that you can have multi-million-dollar art on the wall and billionaire guests, but the wine they serve at events is the equivalent to grape-flavored toilet water—a very poor pairing indeed.  It hurts my taste buds and does not enhance my appreciation of the art. Why doesn’t the art world care about something so important and beautiful as wine?

We are sorry to hear about your corked experience with art wine. Though the selection might come off as an afterthought at these events, the ubiquity of bunk cheap vino you have encountered has everything to do with the arid, inhospitable, and disease-prone terroir of the art world. Instead of elegantly balanced libations with floral notes, you have been served ashy “Two-Buck Chuck” decanted in an old Converse sneaker by a scowling bartender. Truthfully, nobody really drinks the wine unless you are a young guzzler prowling for a free buzz. Most are just sipping away the pain of being at an awkward art event by donning a pair of rosé-colored glasses. Next time, rather than fretting about spitting or swallowing museum shart-donnay, consider drinking the art Kool-Aid at these celebrations instead.

I’m a preservationist who took a job at a major archive last year. I was thrilled to work with my boss, who is prominent in the field, but it only took a month to realize that he’s a raging egomaniac. He talks to colleagues in our department as if he is an unimpeachable expert, even though we are all highly trained technicians doing the detailed work that he credits himself for at conferences and public talks. In those situations, he boasts so much about himself and his process that it actually diminishes the artists whose work we preserve. He needs to be reproached by his superior, and I plan to call him out to our director because his attitude and demeanor reflect poorly on our institution. How should I approach this?

Back in the day, it paid off to tell your teacher when the class bully was flicking boogers or calling you names having to do with pee-pee parts. Children are nature’s fiercest narcs, and it is only through social ostracization and playground beatdowns that they learn how not to be baby bitches or whiney snitches. The last thing you expected as an accomplished professional is to find yourself going through pre-K again. Instead of leaning into your crayon-colored playbook, you must handle this situation with all the college knowledge and wellness podcasts in your adult arsenal.

If your boss is as much of a prominent prick as you suggest, then there is no doubt that his boss already knows it. We’re guessing you might be in an old boys club where the shine that your megalomaniac boss brings to the institution nullifies the director’s need to reign him in. Institutions prop up braggarts and big personalities because they desperately need to attract attention, funding, and audiences, and it’s necessary to have a public face who promotes the good work that your institution is doing. The trouble comes when the mouth on that face needs to be punched in the lips.

Before taking any next steps, find out if other team members feel the same as you do about this reprehensible restorationist. If so, form a coalition—otherwise it could come off like you’re pursuing a personal vendetta. Gather evidence that corroborates your point. Document the stupid things this creep says. If you are making specific accusations, support them with hardcore proof. How glorious would it be if you happened to capture your boss talking smack about the director to visiting archivists from Argentina? If the higher-ups try to shoo away your complaint, then your next best option might be quitting. Losing a high-profile position in a field that’s hard to crack sucks, but preserving your inner peace is more important than a bunch of old stuff rotting in a vault.

Your queries for Chen & Lampert can be sent to hardtruths@artinamericamag.com

I am writing as a member of the board of directors of a perennially busy and beleaguered art non-profit. We were recently faced with the excruciating task of terminating our long-standing director. They held their position for well over 30 years, but pressing legal matters and numerous documented acts of managerial negligence finally forced us to take action. We offered a severance package along with an emeritus position that provides continued health benefits. They agreed to our terms but clearly have not accepted their dismissal because they continue showing up to work, which is causing major discomfort and confusion for the staff, board, and everyone involved. Please advise us on how to handle this delicate situation so that we can all move on.

It’s always challenging when a long-serving employee can’t accept a change in their role. We once hired our former masseuse as an administrative assistant and soon found ourselves having to repeatedly ask them to stop kneading us all the time. Their firm touch and exquisite thumb-work was soothing within the sphere of their reiki studio, but in our office it felt more like harassment. This example is slightly different from your situation, but, in both cases, no always means no.

First and foremost, your entire board must have a candid conversation with your former director. A “thank you for your service” email won’t suffice. Bring pastries and explain in a kind yet direct manner that their time at the organization has ended. Gently remind them of their severance package and emeritus position, neither of which kicks in until they stop showing up. You must help them to discover that this transition opens up new opportunities that will keep them involved with the community in different ways. You should also change the locks.

Remember, the goal is to handle the situation with sensitivity and respect for the former director’s meaningful history with the organization. After so many years, they surely made some kind of worthwhile contribution, even if they are floundering in the present. If things progress and they refuse to play along, have your lawyer send a formal letter reiterating the termination of their employment and forbidding them to come within 500 feet of the office. And if none of these tactics work, establish a nice new emeritus office equipped with a rotary phone in a retirement community somewhere in the tri-state area.

I know it sounds ageist, but I’m a curatorial assistant who is being driven over the edge by my senior-citizen bosses’ inability to hit “reply all” to emails. I’ve demonstrated how to do it countless times, and at this point there is no excuse for their incompetence. Important communications with lenders keep falling through the cracks, and I’m constantly doing damage control. It’s outrageous! How can I get them to master this ultra-basic move?

Ah, the age-old (it’s a pun!) problem of getting the elderly to adopt new technology that isn’t even new anymore. Listen, whippersnapper: being ancient is a sad and completely valid excuse for just about everything that you screw up after the age of 40. If you were a good go-getter assistant, you’d be permanently logged into your boss’s account and reading all their emails daily in order to avoid such foul-ups. Your chances of getting the geezer to “reply all” are as good as our prospects of getting our kids to put away their goddamn Legos. The only real way to cajole children and old people alike into doing what you want is with bribes, so try rewarding your boss with a Werther’s Original every time they respond to an email correctly. Keep the supply of hard candies coming and they might even figure out how to add an attachment all on their own.

Your queries for Chen & Lampert can be sent to hardtruths@artinamericamag.com