Majority Rules

May 18, 2025


In the pristine galleries of Chelsea, the sprawling booths of Art Basel, and the curated feeds of Instagram, a handful of voices rise above the noise. These are the tastemakers — the collectors, curators, critics, and mega-galleries whose influence quietly (and sometimes loudly) shapes the landscape of contemporary art. Their preferences ripple outward, affecting what’s shown, sold, praised, and remembered.

But when a system built to celebrate creative freedom starts revolving around a small, self-selecting circle, the results can feel less like innovation and more like repetition. And the artists who don’t fit that mold? They often find themselves on the outside looking in.

The truth is, the art world runs a lot like an oligopoly. A few key players set the tone, and what they choose to endorse quickly becomes the next big thing. One season it’s bold figuration, the next it’s conceptual ceramics or AI-driven visuals. Trends don’t appear out of nowhere — they’re curated, backed, and echoed by those with the power to decide what counts.

This isn’t always a bad thing. Tastemakers can lift up brilliant work, spotlight important voices, and create the momentum needed to spark a movement. But the danger comes when the same names, styles, and narratives are recycled again and again. When the loop tightens and starts to exclude more than it includes.

For artists trying to make a living, the pressure to conform is rarely overt — but it’s always there. When success is tied to sales, grants, or institutional support, it’s hard not to adapt. Aesthetic choices shift. Risk gets dialed down. The work leans toward what sells, what fits, what won’t rock the boat. And in that subtle recalibration, something vital can get lost.

Because real experimentation isn’t always marketable. It’s messy, unpredictable, and often uncomfortable — the exact opposite of what many systems, and buyers, prefer. And yet, it’s at those messy edges that real breakthroughs tend to happen.

Look back at art history and the pattern is clear: the most revolutionary work rarely came from the center. Van Gogh, Basquiat, Hilma af Klint, David Hammons — they didn’t wait for permission or validation. They worked outside the frame, sometimes literally. They weren’t optimized for success. They were busy reinventing the language altogether.

That kind of freedom — working without the gaze of the market, without the need to please or perform — is where the most radical ideas often emerge. It’s not about being contrary for the sake of it. It’s about creating without compromise.

In an age where algorithms measure engagement and data drives decisions, it's easy to forget that art isn’t just content. It’s not something to be optimized. It’s a way of thinking, of questioning, of seeing the world — and reshaping it.

So the real question isn’t just what’s being shown. It’s what isn’t. Whose work isn’t making it into the white cubes and slick catalogs? What voices are being overlooked because they don't fit the current market mood? And what happens when we stop looking to the same handful of people to tell us what matters?

As viewers, collectors, curators — as participants — we can shift the conversation. We can look beyond the obvious, support the unproven, and pay attention to the spaces that resist the spotlight. Not because it’s trendy, but because that’s where culture renews itself.

Tastemakers will always exist. But when a few begin to define the many, it’s worth asking whether the system serves art — or just itself. The most meaningful work often starts where approval ends. And history has a habit of remembering the ones who didn’t follow the rules.