What People Get Wrong About My Job
“You Must Have the Most Romantic Job!” Spoiler: Not Every Artist is a Muse-Wielding Tornado of Love
When you tell people you grew up surrounded by art and now curate exhibits in a gallery, the collective sighs of envy are almost audible. “That sounds so romantic,” they say, as if my days are spent bathed in golden light, sipping wine, and debating passionately with brooding artists draped in linen scarves. Sure, there are glasses of wine involved (never discount an opening night), and I won’t deny the art world can be intoxicatingly beautiful. But please, let’s set the record straight: most of my job is less “romance novel” and more “wrangling a thousand logistical headaches.”
Let’s take a closer look at the myths—and truths—behind my work.
Myth #1: “You must be surrounded by beauty all day.”
Ah yes, strolling among paintings and sculptures while whispering poetic thoughts to myself. Who wouldn’t want that life? But here’s the thing: half the time, the “beauty” is bubble-wrapped, swaddled in cardboard, or hiding in a crate that’s heavier than my existential dread at a singles mixer. For every breathlessly gorgeous moment admiring a perfectly lit watercolor, there are hours of sweating in paint-streaked jeans while rehanging the same 200-pound sculpture three times because the lighting feels “off.”
Let me toss in a dating metaphor here. Imagine going on a first date with someone breathtakingly attractive, only to later find out they have six months of unwashed laundry shoved behind their closet door. That’s the art world: breathtaking at first sight, but there’s so much effort behind the scenes to keep up the illusion of effortless beauty.
The reality check? Sometimes beauty comes with hard work, and connections—whether to art or people—are built not just on admiration but on rolling up your sleeves and doing the labor.
Myth #2: “All artists must be passionate romantics, right?”
Oh, if only. Hollywood loves this trope—a tortured-yet-brilliant artist seizes your hand and says something devastatingly poetic like, “You’re a canvas, and I’m a mess of paint!” Cue the steamy romance montage. In reality? I’ve witnessed more artists arguing over pricing or realizing they forgot their gallery key than reciting lines from Rumi.
Artists, like everyone else, are human, prone to creative high points but also cranky mornings. There’s profound beauty in their work, but working with them? Sometimes it feels like matchmaking—navigating tantrums, disagreements, or dramatic unveilings of “new ideas” at the eleventh hour. An artist once showed up with something completely different from what their contract promised, saying, “I followed my muse.” (Translation: deadlines mean nothing to me.)
Here’s the romantic parallel: in a relationship, passion can be exhilarating, but dependable communication will always—in my book—outshine last-minute, grand-gesture flourishes.
Myth #3: “Curators just pick the pretty stuff and hang it on a wall.”
The dating equivalent of this myth? “You’re single because you just haven’t picked the right person yet.”
Curating, much like forging deep relationships, involves so much more than “picking.” It’s about storytelling. A good exhibit guides someone on a journey—provoking thought, stirring emotions, offering ways to connect. Does this watercolor make sense next to that charcoal sketch? Will the textures overwhelm? Am I spotlighting diversity, underrepresented voices, and emerging talent fairly?
And like dating, there’s also heartbreak involved. I can’t tell you how many pieces I’ve fallen in love with but had to let go because they didn’t fit the broader vision. Sometimes, too, good art just doesn’t photograph well—which is kind of like going on a date with someone whose profile photos were all candlelit selfies.
Lesson for love-seekers here? It’s not about stringing together random “pretty” moments. Whether it’s art or relationships, the magic comes from creating meaning out of the mess.
Myth #4: “Working with your family must be so rewarding!”
If by “rewarding,” you mean “a test of patience that rivals parallel parking,” then sure. Don’t get me wrong—my parents are incredible. Their gallery is the heartbeat of my childhood, and I’ll forever be grateful to them for introducing me to the joy of meaningful work. But as anyone who’s ever had holiday dinner debates with their family knows, mixing business with blood ties can be… complicated.
I once spent three days trying to explain why we couldn’t host a turquoise jewelry pop-up in the same space as a modern sculpture exhibit. My mom thought it “added eclectic flair.” I argued that the dangling earrings might pierce straight into someone’s vision of contemporary minimalism. She won, obviously. Sometimes love (and family dynamics) means picking your battles.
My dating-life takeaway? Families—yours or theirs—will intrude, in one way or another. The key isn’t to avoid these overlaps, but to approach them with humor, boundaries, and, when necessary, a nice glass of pinot grigio.
Myth #5: “Curators don’t get stage fright—they own the gallery.”
Oh, honey. I’ve literally given a whole speech about avant-garde surrealism while simultaneously realizing I had a burrito stain on my dress. Public speaking is part of the job, yes, but it never stops being awkward when all eyes are on you. The same goes for mingling during gallery openings. There’s always a switch to flip—Move, Lila! Charm them! Network! Sell the thing!—even on nights when all I want is to hibernate under my Taos-woven blanket.
If first dates are terrifying pressure cookers of self-presentation and small talk, gallery nights are just professional first dates on steroids. (At least no one’s asking if you’re looking for a “serious relationship” mid-art tour. Small wins, I guess?)
Reminder for the romantically nervous: Even the seemingly confident have their doubts—and that’s okay. Sometimes you shine despite the burrito stain.
What We All Get Right About Art (And Love)
Here’s the truth: There’s something endlessly rewarding about building connections—whether that’s between beautiful works of art on a gallery wall or between two people sipping lattes on a Sunday morning. I’ve seen couples hold hands wordlessly in front of a painting, their silence saying more than a thousand words. I’ve witnessed solo visitors shedding tears during interactive exhibits, certain they’ve found some catharsis. Art, like love, has that ability: to expose us, comfort us, teach us.
So yes, maybe curating isn’t all bohemian-chic idealism, but it has its magic. Not the kind they show in rom-coms, but the quiet, day-by-day kind—the connection-building, creative effort that makes life richer and more meaningful.
And in both art and relationships, that’s the kind of magic worth fighting for.
