4.5/5 stars

Thank you to Smith Publicity and NetGalley for the ARC!

Poor Artists is a creative non-fiction novel that toes the line between a whirlwind of surrealist storytelling and scathing critique of the art industry. The narrative follows Quest Talukdar, a struggling artist who amasses an audience by creating a fake identity to sell marketable work while contending with the institutional forces that exploit, tokenize and patronize (literally and figuratively) artists.

Many artists are familiar with the serendipitous feeling of looking down at a palette mid-painting and seeing a bizarre ecosystem formed on it. Buttery slabs of paint swirl into psychedelic patterns and strange coral-like forms, ridges and valleys. Poor Artists is thoughtful and analytical but I can only describe its offbeat vibrant surrealism as traversing that weird and wonderful terrain. It's a splotchy, chaotic and deeply satisfying work.

As a student and artist who loves a bit of magical realism, I enjoyed the strange and whimsical territory the book would slip into. Puente and Mohammed construct bizarre mythologies around characters that seem to have stumbled out of a looking glass, like Mark, the university head who lives in an ever-changing mountain of art supplies and sparkling substances, or the nefarious Art King with his unearthly silver courtiers. The writing style is accessible and lively with a very distinct narrative voice. It was also evident to me that the authors are artists because the way they craft imagery was almost painterly in its richness and detail.

I was both delighted and frustrated by the very chaotic structure. Reading this might give you whiplash but it’s up to you to decide whether that’s a good thing. Things sort of shimmer in and out of existence going from more calm, focused chapters to kaleidoscopic whip-fast scenes that flit by like train tunnel graffiti. Childhood memories melt into the present day into summaries of artwork then cut-and-dry commentary. At first, I thought I would’ve liked to see some of the commentary synthesized into the narrative for a smoother reading experience but on reinspection, I don’t think it would feel like the same book without its fragmentary charm. I liked the brief discussions on different artworks interspersed between plot-heavy chapters because I love discovering interesting art and it was always relevant to the narrative's themes. On the other hand, when the narrative would veer off into memory for a bit too long creating these lulls in my reading experience

Two parts that really stood out to me were the first chapter and the Art King’s court. The first chapter beautifully frames museums in a child’s eyes. That wondrous experience of being little there and looking at that big painted or constructed or collaged or sculpted something. Framing the entire narrative through the lens of a child at first really highlights the idiosyncrasies and ridiculousness of the art world revealed later in the book. It starts from somewhere fresh and unmarred by knowledge of the industry. But more than anything it just resonated with me. I didn’t look around museums much as a kid but I had my museums in the form of the walls of artwork by upper-year students from years past that I’d gaze in wonder at as a kid. No matter my school, place or age the work my art teachers exhibited in their classrooms occupied a space of reverence in my mind art historians reserved for old masters. I’d look at them, they’d look back. My gaze bored into walls like I was trying to magically make a space appear, a little placeholder for what I was itching to make.

I also really enjoyed The Art King’s Court but wished it had been established earlier. Here the authors frame the contemporary art industry as court jestering for people who are, by and large, awful. It’s a very apt way to look at things in an age where the public is even more acutely aware of artwashing, tokenization and censorship. All the ways institutions flatten more radical ideas and celebrate a neoliberal facade of diversity while more sinister things are shoved under gallery floorboards. Artists are not lords and ladies who can somehow end up on the throne and seize the narrative completely for themselves. Often there’s a performance, a sanitized spectacle, protest is laughable and the artist is always a clown when their work is refracted through the lens of an oppressive force.

As someone who reads a lot of books in the nonfiction arts space, this one was not what I expected. It reads like more of a surrealist/speculative novel, though much of the text is taken directly from interviews with artists and others working in the art world. It's on this level - the quotations from artists - that I found the book most interesting, underlying whole passages that spoke to me and my feelings around making art and the art world at large.

That being said, it was never clear who the intended audience was. (At the beginning, it felt like it was describing art to non-artists, but as the book went on, it went deeper into art theory.) And I struggled with the ways the book perpetuated the stereotypes that to make money as an artist is to sell out and debase your work.

I'm glad I was able to read an advanced copy of this book and will likely return to some of the more interesting quotes, but as a creative business coach, I doubt I'll be recommending other artists read this book.

Thank you to the publisher and NetGalley for the review copy.

“Once upon a time, I believed the ladder was real. But the ladder was simply an image of a way out created by zombies who knew they could capitalise on our all-nighter joy. They understood full well the conditions did not allow poor artists to thrive, and they knew we had nowhere to run”

Having followed The White Pube for years now, I was thrilled to get my hands on their first book, Poor Artists. It’s a raw, pointed series of vignettes, each one exposing the trials and tribulations that British artists face today. Gabrielle and Zarina hold a mirror up to the current state of the arts and culture sector, and the reflection staring back is not a pretty one.

The book takes an unflinching look at so many of the hurdles that artists encounter: the relentless funding cycle that requires work to bend itself to fit narrow funding criteria; the question of where artists are meant to find the money to create work that falls outside these public funding structures; debates around what qualifies as “good” art in today’s landscape; and the role galleries play in shaping what ultimately becomes the nation’s accepted “understanding” of art. The questions raised are painfully relevant for anyone working in the arts and culture sector.

While I’m not a visual artist myself (though I do dabble in the occasional cross-stitch), Poor Artists hit home. The book’s reflections on what it means to be a creative in Britain today feel universally relevant, touching on the experiences of nearly everyone I know who’s trying to work within the arts; be it as a visual artist, filmmaker, writer, or theatre maker. In particular, the sections that address the unique struggles of creating while self-employed and chronically ill struck a personal chord. There’s something profoundly validating about realising you’re not alone on this relentless uphill path.


The book is packed with theory, which I’ll admit felt a little dense at times, but I think that’s probably down to my perspective as someone outside the visual arts. There’s a certain weight and complexity to The White Pube’s arguments that I don’t think Gabrielle and Zarina could have simplified without sacrificing the essence of what they’re trying to say. In that sense, it feels less like a shortcoming of the book and more of a reflection of the integrity with which they approach this topic.

Poor Artists is an essential read for anyone navigating or simply observing the creative industries in Britain today. It’s cathartic, insightful, and, perhaps most importantly, unapologetically honest: a work that feels like a lifeline for artists everywhere who are grappling with the impossible task of sustaining themselves and their art in a system that feels indifferent.
I’ll end this review with one of my favourite quotes from this gorgeous book:

“All artists are worthy, even if nobody has written about them, even if they don’t want to be written about”


Thank you to the publisher and to NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

An insider take on the lives of those brave enough to venture into the world of art.

With such vivid snapshots from a torn artist's perspective, one can’t help but to admire the unifying experience of creative self expression. It goes beyond class and status. In a way, this is a love letter to all the artists, big and small.

Thank you to Netgalley and Prestel for this ARC.