Giovanni Aloi is an author, curator, and faculty member at Sotheby’s Institute of Art. His recent book, I'm Not an Artist Reclaiming Creativity in the Age of Infinite Content, delves into the romanticization of the artist and why many aspiring young artists struggle to bring their careers to fruition. Read on for a conversation in which Aloi unpacks the “artist myth” and his vision for a more equitable and diverse art world.
Banner image by Ruben Ramirez, sourced on Unsplash.
What motivated you to write I’m Not an Artist: Reclaiming Creativity in the Age of Infinite Content?
Many things motivated me but most of all, it was the substantial number of former students who, years after graduation, came back to me saying, “It’s not working out…” Some were in tears, others simply sounded defeated. Talking to these talented individuals again and again made me realize that their struggles had little to do with their actual talent—or any lack thereof—and much more to do with a lack of true preparation for navigating the art world.
I’ve worked in a variety of art institutions in both the UK and the US. Over the years, I’ve noticed a major disconnect between the tools art schools (where fine art studio practice is taught) provide and those that artists actually need to make headway in the professional world. Art education is still primarily focused on developing practical skills and techniques, with an emphasis on cultivating an original artistic voice. That’s all well and good—but it’s not enough.
Students also need to learn project management, budgeting, and a range of practical skills typically associated with more commercially oriented careers. Most importantly, they need to understand the workings of the art market—something that remains taboo in many art schools. An outdated and idealistic notion still prevails: that money somehow taints the purity of art. And yet, nearly all students entering art school share the same aspiration—to build successful, financially sustainable careers as artists.
The book stems from a sincere desire to help students recognize a fundamental choice they must make: either choose to reject the idea of selling their work (and plan to support themselves through other means), or invest time and effort in understanding how the art market works—what it takes to build a career like the artists they admire in textbooks and museums.
The art we celebrate in art history books didn’t end up there because it was “objectively the best.” It was purchased by influential collectors. We also know that certain art historians have promoted specific artists to serve the interests of collectors and investors, and that museums themselves are embedded in networks that rely heavily on powerful commercial galleries. The cultural system we call the “art world” is driven as much by money as it is by a love for art—sometimes, the former overshadows the latter.
So why don’t we talk about money in art schools? Why do we deny students the very tools they need to thrive?
That’s what the book is about. I truly hope it helps students take off the blindfolds to see clearly what they are stepping into.
Can you describe the research process for the book?
This is primarily a research-based book, but it’s also deeply informed by years of conversations with colleagues and students who have opened up to me about the complex relationship between money and art over the past 25 years.
Part One is essentially art historical. As I explain in the introduction, I’ve re-written a fragmented history of art by “following the money trail”—something that traditional art history books often avoid to preserve the myth of the solitary artistic genius. That myth, in turn, plays a significant role in motivating collectors. From the figure of the artist-shaman to the Chinese literati, from the rise of the Renaissance star to the birth of the modern rebel, I uncover the financial strategies many artists employed to secure their place in the art historical canon.
The second half of the book turns its focus to the present—addressing key, often unspoken issues in both art schools and the wider art world: elitism, exclusion, hierarchical structures, the lack of regulation, and the opaque mechanisms by which artworks are assigned value. In a sense, I aim to reveal the inner workings of a system that most insiders know well but rarely discuss openly.
To complement this, I interviewed ten contemporary artists who—like me—believe that art education needs to be fundamentally reimagined. I invited them to share their experiences and insights into how we might begin to chart a more transparent and equitable path forward.
I'm Not an Artist invites readers to “give up the artist myth” to reconnect with creativity in a more authentic way. Could you elaborate on what this means and what it asks of readers?
The artist myth—that old cliché—is still very much alive, especially in the minds of art school students. Often, they don’t visit contemporary art galleries; they only go to museums. As a result, their understanding of what an artist is or can be is often quite outdated. They’ve been told—by pop culture and, regrettably, sometimes by their professors—that money taints art. So, they genuinely believe that success will come when they’re “discovered” by someone powerful, as if that alone guarantees a career. Or they think that painstakingly refining their style will be enough to carry them forward.
Many students also struggle to imagine alternative or original career paths that might suit them better. Most still dream of being represented in a major museum—even in today’s age of social and digital media—without any real sense of how the artworks they admire ended up on those walls in the first place. This disconnect between their aspirations and the actual mechanics of realizing those dreams is powered by the artist myth: the enduring fantasy of the artist as mercurial and capricious, unreliable and aloof, emotional and volatile, intense and disorganized.
These clichés—rarely conducive to long-term success—continue to shape how young artists see themselves. They may not call it the “artist myth,” but they are living it.
My book proposes a radical shift: to give up the very label of “artist” altogether, at least temporarily, to see whether doing so might help people reimagine creativity outside of those entrenched narratives. The hope is to encourage growth that’s organic and authentic, rather than driven by myths and ambitions that, in the end, have little to do with the joy of making art.
The book’s central idea is that, over the past century, we’ve conflated art—a social construct involving both creative and financial components—with creativity—a deeper, more instinctive desire to reconfigure the world through various forms and gestures. There is no great art without creativity, but creativity doesn’t require art to flourish. Creativity is the fundamental force that animates all life on this planet. It’s much bigger than art.
While conducting your research, which lesser-known stories of artists rising to prominence surprised or inspired you most?
I stumbled across so many fascinating stories—I only wish I’d had room in the book to include them all. One of the most intriguing figures was Guan Daosheng (1262–1319 CE), who faced criticism for painting bamboo—a subject traditionally reserved for male artists—in an unconventional style.
I was also familiar with Rosa Bonheur and knew she had been widely celebrated during her lifetime before being largely written out of art history. But I didn’t know that she became so famous that dolls were made in her likeness—an extraordinary detail that speaks to the reach of her influence.
Another surprising discovery was that Marcel Duchamp never worked a single day in his life; he lived off a monthly stipend provided by his father. This certainly complicates the myth of the self-made avant-garde artist.
But the most inspiring figure for me is Betye Saar. In fact, the book opens with a quote from her:
“I was an artist, but I still needed a job so I could pay my mortgage and put my girls through college. I worked as a social worker, designed enamelware and jewelry with Curtis Tann, and did some costume designs for the Inner City Cultural Center. I taught and lectured and traveled, but I always still made my art. I’ve never been an artist for the sake of making art to sell. I just like to do what I want and if it sells, fine.”
I think that’s such a grounded and healthy perspective for any aspiring artist. I always share this quote with my students—it’s a reminder that there are many ways to live a creative life with integrity, outside of the myths we’re often told.
In this book, you envision a more equitable, diverse, and inclusive art world. What steps do you believe art institutions must take to move toward this vision?
There’s so much to undo—and of course, we’ll never have a perfect art world. But I would love to see more transparency and honesty from both art schools and museums about how the system actually works. Right now, the art world often feels like it’s trapped in a state of collective denial, caught in what resembles a kind of fragmented personality disorder. On the surface, museums and art schools go to great lengths to present themselves as purely cultural institutions—yet behind the scenes, money drives so much of what they are and how they operate.
If I could push for one urgent change in each sphere, it would be this: art schools must begin teaching students about the art market and all the financial dimensions of being an artist. It’s essential knowledge, and omitting it does a disservice to those preparing for a career in the arts.
As for museums: they need to let go of the habit of recycling the same handful of (predominantly white, male) modern artists to draw crowds. How many Monet or Van Gogh exhibitions do we really need? Sometimes it feels as if the last 200 years produced only 15 artists worth exhibiting. It’s absurd—and deeply limiting.
Every time a major museum dedicates its galleries to yet another blockbuster show featuring the usual suspects, it misses the opportunity to spotlight something new, bold, and genuinely exciting. That’s where real cultural relevance could happen—and we’re wasting it.
This book examines the relationship between artists and the education system. How do you see the education system influencing artists—and vice versa—in shaping creative identities and trajectories?
The whole book is, in many ways, an attempt to make up for what aspiring artists are not being told in art school. At this point, I believe most art schools fail the majority of their students by refusing to frame the pursuit of art as a profession.
There’s no ambiguity—art students want to make a living through their art. They want to sell their work. And yet, schools continue to promote the outdated idea that thinking about money somehow compromises artistic integrity. Meanwhile, tuition fees are astronomical. The paradox couldn’t be clearer: how can we tell students not to worry about money while saddling them with enormous debt?
Precisely because of that financial burden, art schools have an ethical responsibility to equip students with the tools they need to build sustainable practices as soon as they graduate. This should be seen not as a concession to capitalism, but as a necessary form of care and accountability. Equipping students for the economic realities of a life in art is not just practical—it’s principled.
As a faculty member at Sotheby’s Institute of Art, what do you see as the most pressing insights your students need to gain about the art market and the institutions that shape the art world today?
Through my courses, I encourage students to begin with demystification. For me, that’s the essential first step in any genuine learning process. I’ve come to value this deeply over nearly twenty years of teaching at Sotheby’s Institute of Art—first in London, and now through their online programs. It was through working with market experts like Jeffrey Boloten and Anders Petterson and attending their lectures that I came to develop a richer and more complex understanding of art history in which the financial and diplomatic dimensions of art making are treated with honesty.
How do your experiences as a researcher and author inform your approach to teaching, particularly in the context of art history courses?
I’ve been fortunate to work across various sectors of the art world from the very beginning—galleries, museums, universities, and publishing. This broad experience has given me a 360-degree view of the recurring issues, strategies, limitations, and opportunities that each of these environments presents.
I always bring those experiences and perspectives into my teaching. They allow me to provide students with a more realistic, well-rounded understanding of the art world—one that bridges theory and practice, and prepares them for the complexities they’re likely to encounter.