Five Surprises from My Experience at Sotheby's New York Art Intensive
From Seeking Permission to Shaping the Conversation
This past May, I participated in the Sotheby's Day Intensive course, “Key Concepts of Art History.” I went to New York City expecting to absorb centuries of static art history knowledge I’d tried to acquire in the summer of 2011 by reading my way through a 1200-page art history textbook. I craved formal education, hoping to fill the gaps in my self-taught art knowledge, something to make me feel legitimate in conversations about art.
What I discovered instead was that art history isn't a fixed body of knowledge to be memorized—it's a living, breathing field that's being written right now. The five-day course in New York City accomplished far more than its stated objectives of teaching key concepts through lectures and museum visits. It revealed that I was already contributing to a field I thought I needed permission to enter.
For someone who has completed the 25th grade and vowed never to go back to school, the course proved to be a welcome alternative to a full degree—and a transformative reminder that the most important learning happens not in classrooms, but in the active engagement with art itself.
Surprise No. 1: “the white Western male viewpoint, unconsciously accepted as the viewpoint of the art historian, may--and does--prove to be inadequate.” (Linda Nochlin).
No, the statement was not a surprise, but the fact that this is how the course reading started was. The two assigned readings for day one were titled: Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists? and Decolonizing Art History. These fiery texts would incinerate the dry art history textbook I'd lugged around in 2011. By starting with these seminal, provocative readings, the instructor, Giovanni Aloi–an Italian art historian, on faculty at the School of the Chicago Institute of Art–set the tone: this field we novices saw as a monolith to be revered was actually meant to be interrogated.
Linda Nochlin’s 1971 article, Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists, is just the critique it sounds like, and more. She directly addresses the question her white male counterparts were really asking: “Well, if women really are equal to men, why have there never been any great women artists?” In 25 pages, she blasts every male-centered response by “stressing the institutional, rather than the individual preconditions for achievement or the lack of [women] in the Arts…”
The word 'institutional' jumped out—my social scientist brain instantly connected this to my years working toward health equity. I had expected the course to be steeped in the past, but it was spot on for 2025.
The second reading expanded this critical approach. Decolonizing Art History (2020) provides space for debate about racial inequities in art history, raising many more questions than it answers. Thirty art professionals (historians, curators, academics) in American institutions respond to a series of questions, such as, What does a decolonized art history look like? The end result confirms their notion that “there is no one way to “decolonize art history,” and that there is much work to be done.
“The doing is the thing,” is a phrase I would repeat often when encouraging my public health colleagues to push toward health equity. My point was that we could either drive ourselves mad because we could not achieve health equity instantly, or we could do one thing now to move closer to health equity. It’s difficult and slow, but the only way.
I realized the same could be said for the field of art history. I could see how those inside the field were working step-by-step despite the challenges of centuries of precedent. And considering the diverse art I had seen in the world’s highest art institutions, I think they are winning.
Surprise No. 2. This was not your traditional art history survey course.
Instead of the familiar and chronologically ordered art periods and movements, Giovanni organized the five-day course by theme: “What is Art History?,” “Beauty,” “Materiality,” “Conceptualism,” and “Politics.” This conceptual framework contributed to a more graduate-level feel than an undergraduate-level one. Rather than memorizing rote facts about Renaissance beauty standards, we debated the more philosophical question of "what is beauty?" The result was that instead of simply re-learning what we now recognize as a limited, biased perspective, we engaged in critical thinking to consider how to modernize the field.
That is not to say that he did not teach us the traditional timeline of periods and movements, their significance, and distinctions. Giovanni had deftly embedded teaching the traditional canon of art history within the thematic framework. I gleaned that his perspective was that there was value in knowing the traditional schema, to then examine it through a contemporary lens to contextualize, bend, and even break it.
At the same time, he had not given up hope that art history would be reconstituted as a more inclusive and exciting field. He acknowledged he had no idea what that looked like or when the field might arrive there, or if it would arrive in that better place at all. His subversive perspective felt thrillingly rebellious.
To have an art historian, born and trained in Italy, affiliated with prestigious art institutions, critique and subvert the traditional approaches was riveting. His candor made clear he wasn't indoctrinating us but recruiting us to help dismantle and rebuild the field.
Surprise No. 3. Museum visits that brought the lecture themes to life.
We began each day with a few hours of learning at the Sotheby's Institute, then relocated to one of New York's world-class museums to watch theory become practice. We attended Cooper Hewitt, MoMA, the Whitney, Guggenheim, and the Met.
Each visit elucidated the day’s theme. The first museum visit was the perfect praxis for the theme of the first day, “What is Art History?” We toured Cooper Hewitt’s exhibit, Making Home. For the triennial, 25 invited artists addressed social issues such as institutional power imbalance, colonization, and historically marginalized communities. We experienced how decolonization and de-masculinization of art could activate a 1902 English Gregorian style house built for the wealthiest man of his time, Andrew Carnegie.
An extraordinary example was the installation of “The Underground Library,” by the Black Artists + Designers Guild, installed in Carnegie’s former private library. The modern installation recontextualized the space by filling it with objects honoring African diasporic ancestral legacies in art and design. Among the many books on the bookshelves, I saw The 1619 Project: A New Origin Story by Nikole Hannah-Jones. Paintings that told Black stories filled the 13-foot walls, and ebony sculptures, Afro-centric textiles, and even Black Barbies graced the mantles and display cases. When the day ended, I returned to this room to let the majestic juxtaposition wash over me, meditating on the what-ifs of decolonization of art history.
Other visits similarly guided our thematic journey—'Materiality' through MoMA's textile exhibition, 'Conceptualism' through Amy Sherald's work at the Whitney. Even our varied experiences with docents became part of our learning. (Here is the source of my only negative feedback on the week.) We were surprised at the inconsistency in the quality of our museum docents and found ourselves critically evaluating not just the art, but how art knowledge gets transmitted.
Surprise No. 4. Watching an auctioneer’s performance confirmed that art value is actively created, not inherent.
On Day 3, we explored the staging room for an auction that would take place the following day. We were greeted with Renaissance and Baroque collections, including a single 5"x 7" painting with such dark colors we had to get very close to make out the image: Chestnuts on a Ledge (1705) by Coorte, Adriaen. The work itself did not excite us—a painting of nuts on a table within a bronze baroque frame. However, the estimated auction price did: $600,000-800,000 USD! The class collectively guffawed and wondered why, or if, anyone would pay such a price for it.
The next day, we watched these objects get auctioned off. A fierce auctioneer gave us a masterful performance, commanding the room from a raised podium in a sophisticated double-breasted black suit with gold buttons. Her foot-long sleek black ponytail whipped and danced with even the slightest movement, while she spoke with a slightly British lilt that kept us mesmerized.
When the bidding on one object slowed, she flexed her power. Sensing the lull, she glided closer to where the bids had been most active. Gracefully crossing her forearms on the ledge, she closed the distance between herself and the dueling phone bidders. Getting no response, she casually allowed her right hand to dangle off the podium, activated a smize Tyra Banks would have gagged for, and when the sleek black ponytail seemed to flick itself, I'm convinced her hairography cast a spell that captured an extra $5,000 (see the video evidence below).
The performance perfectly reflected our conversations about why art is valuable at all. We witnessed the synergy between market forces, art historical importance, and a little bit of magic. We were gobsmacked when that ponytail secured $550,000 for Chestnuts on a Ledge—a reminder that art value isn't discovered in dusty textbooks, but actively created.
Surprise number 5. The student creates a teachable moment.
Our final exhibit of the week was Rashid Johnson's A Poem for Deep Thinkers at the Guggenheim. We had absorbed many of the 90 objects in Johnson's exhibit, then ended in a wing exploring 12 paintings that perfectly demonstrated the arc from Impressionism, Post-Impressionism, Cubism, and Fauvism—extremely helpful, even if very distinct from the main exhibit.
It was time for our final reflection and discussion. We students sat on a small stage in the rotunda while Giovanni stood facing us, leaning against the rail, and asked us to volunteer our reflections. While my mind was trying to formulate something meaningful to contribute, the twenty-something aspiring gallerist spoke first (I'm paraphrasing):
“I preferred the last group of works we saw. I did not like the exhibit very much. It was a lot of the same stuff repeated. Perhaps, it is because it was not my culture. The exhibition art was more connected to African themes, and I just do not connect with it as much as the impressionist and other works.”
My mind had now formulated a contribution.
“I find it curious that you simply ‘did not like it,’” I said. Preferences are fine, of course, and I can understand how a lack of cultural familiarity might play a role in how art resonates. However, Giovanni repeatedly pointed out how Rashid Johnson’s work incorporated, was inspired by, and directly referenced elements and artists of those movements you prefer.”
I continued, pointing to a large triptych sculpture across the rotunda. “In that triptych, anyone can see the Cubist influence of Picasso. You can also see those triangular tiles that almost form an African mask. But I find it telling that you prefer the work that appropriated African elements by Picasso or Matisse, yet when a contemporary Black artist draws on the same themes authentically, all of a sudden you can't connect with it because it's ‘not your culture.’”
I hoped she'd reflect on this, though her expression suggested otherwise. It occurred to me in that moment that I was now fully participating—I had even facilitated a teachable moment. I got the tiniest taste of how art historians from marginalized groups must feel every day in their efforts to decolonize art history. I had brought an unspoken perspective into the conversation, used what I had learned to challenge the traditional mindset.
And this is what I would get to keep doing in my journey as an art enthusiast, collector, and writer—not just consuming art history, but actively participating in shaping it.
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I had come to New York seeking permission to enter the art world. I left understanding that the permission had always been mine to grant myself—through thoughtful engagement, critical questioning, and the courage to add my voice to conversations that matter.
This was refreshing and a great read! Thank you Everette for sharing this experience.