Who Decides What Counts as Art?
Defining art is often chimerical, elusive, and slippery. It refuses to be contained, categorized, or pinned down, at least, not definitively. What one person finds profound, another might dismiss as nonsense. And yet, despite art’s inherent subjectivity, there’s a long history of gatekeeping around what gets to be called “art” and who gets to make that decision.
Gatekeepers can be critics, curators, historians, or institutions. They often play a role in shaping our artistic landscape. But is their influence about maintaining artistic standards, or is it about preserving power structures? I’m not sure.
Consider Jackson Pollock, for example. He probably wasn’t the very first to experiment with the drip technique, but his work undeniably propelled a new way of thinking about painting. Did he invent something entirely new? Probably not. But his work absolutely shifted the conversation. This is one of the most valuable functions of art criticism, which is to help situate artistic expressions within the broader conversation of what came before and what might come next. In that sense, the act of art gatekeeping isn't necessarily about shutting doors but rather placing works in historical and thematic contexts.
But context, as we know, is often shaped by privilege. Museums, galleries, and academic institutions have historically been dominated by certain socioeconomic and cultural classes, and that’s no accident. The same goes for other creative fields such as food, wine, film, and theater. Who gets to decide what belongs in a prestigious gallery? Who determines whether haute cuisine is worthy of Michelin stars while other cooking traditions are overlooked? Why was horror cinema historically dismissed as lowbrow when it has long been a vehicle for complex societal critiques? These decisions are often shaped by embedded cultural narratives, ones that reinforce existing hierarchies.
Now consider wine. Anyone can enjoy a good glass of wine, and ultimately, drinking it should be pleasurable, not stressful. But sommeliers likely experience wine differently. It’s not because their palates are inherently superior, but because they’ve trained themselves to detect subtleties, to recognize craftsmanship, and to place a bottle in the context of history and terroir. In this way, they function as gatekeepers by influencing what wines appear on restaurant menus or what is considered “exceptional.” And yet, the world of fine wine, much like the art world, has often been inaccessible, catering to an elite few. Is this expertise enriching our appreciation of wine, or is it maintaining an exclusive club?
The same questions arise in the realm of theater and film. Major venues determine what productions get staged, and those decisions influence the stories that reach audiences. Film awards historically overlooked entire genres because they weren’t seen as “serious” art. I mentioned horror as an example. And yet, horror films have long explored deep, resonant themes such as social anxiety, political unrest, and existential dread. If Get Out had been released two decades earlier, would it have received the same acclaim? Or did the industry finally start re-evaluating its biases?
None of this is to say that critics and curators are inherently bad or that we should discard expertise. I think quite the opposite, actually. Gatekeepers can serve a valuable function in helping us make sense of art and creativity in a world drowning in content. But they are also fallible. Their perspectives are shaped by personal biases, institutional traditions, and broader societal structures. And that means we, as audiences, have a responsibility. We should question whose voices get elevated and why. We should seek out perspectives that challenge the status quo. And we should, ultimately, define art for ourselves.
That’s because I think art belongs to everyone. The more we push back on rigid definitions and gatekeeping, the more expansive and inclusive our creative world can become.
