When the Department of Art History’s own Professor Christy Anderson became Editor-in-Chief of the Art Bulletin in July 2021, she inherited a century’s worth of tradition and looked to chart a new course, post-pandemic, for the storied journal.
Over the next four years, Anderson guided this important dispatch with the same generosity and inclusiveness that have marked her career as a historian. As her term wrapped up over the summer, we asked her to reflect on what she learned about the state of art history.
How was your tenure as editor-in-chief?
Great! It was an incredibly steep learning curve. To be on the other side of the desk, not an author or someone submitting, but actually working with authors and then seeing their essays through to completion. But it was one the very best experiences I’ve had as an academic.
The Art Bulletin spans a vast chronological, geographical, and thematic range. What did you learn about the state of global art historical research?
One of the most exciting things about being editor of the Art Bulletin was seeing the range of things that people are working on—especially young scholars who have just finished their PhDs. The diversity of places, time periods, and questions is fantastic to see. That really told me that the field is healthy, it’s moving forward, it’s contemporary and relevant.
In a recent editor’s note, you wrote about assigning a “first questioner” in the classroom—a student tasked with listening closely and asking a thoughtful question to help the presenter move their work forward. How did this practice shape your editorial philosophy?
One of my main tasks as editor was to find appropriate peer reviewers for essays—people who not only were experts in the field, but had a kind of sympathy for what the scholar was trying to get across. I was seeking readers who would not only find flaws and suggest corrections, but also really push the author, through a detailed reader’s report, to make the article better. That skill—and I really do think it is a skill—came out of the classroom. I teach my students that one of their most important tasks is to listen carefully to their fellow students. And to cultivate a spirit of kindness, of generosity, of putting themselves in that person’s shoes.
Although the Art Bulletin is a research journal, these are challenges we all face from our very first undergraduate class. All the things we teach students in the classroom are the kinds of attitudes we should have in dealing with our colleagues, too. There’s not such a difference between what happens in the classroom and what happens in the leading journal of art history.
What kinds of collaborations—with authors, peer reviewers, the editing team—were particularly rewarding?
I saw one of my jobs as outreach. Of course it’s important for scholars to have their work published in such an important journal as the Art Bulletin. But I also realized that, as editor, I had a voice that could be used to talk to young scholars who might or might not submit to the Art Bulletin, to share what I’d learned as a scholar.
Whenever I could, I offered to give talks to graduate students, to tell them what kinds of things we were looking for in the journal, and how to give yourself the best chance at getting your essay accepted. Not just waiting for people to submit things, but actually going out and talking with them.
I wanted to do that because the Art Bulletin has such a “venerable” reputation. And young scholars often find it frightening or off-putting to submit to us. I really wanted to say, “You should try! Send it in! Give yourself the best chance.”
You inherited a century-old journal. How did you keep it sharp and current?
The Art Bulletin is over a hundred years old. That’s one of its strengths and also one of its challenges. The journal only has relevance if it’s kept up to date and publishes the most current research, whether those topics are of-the-moment or part of a longer tradition. My job was balancing those two aspects. I didn’t want to produce a journal that was going to seem either out of date or so of-the moment that it wouldn’t be read in twenty years. I wanted the essays to have legs.
But I also wanted to publish essays that really speak to the moment: to what people are working on, to challenges, to innovative new kinds of research, and new kinds of writing. So, it was a constant balancing act between history and innovation.
After years spent shaping others’ prose, are you returning to your own writing with a fresh perspective? What’s next?
This year I am a fellow in the National Humanities Center in Durham, North Carolina. This is a chance for me to finish the book I’ve been working on for several years about early modern ships as architecture. One of the new approaches I’ll be bringing, which really came out of my time as editor, is that I’m not going to write a straight scholarly historical narrative. I’m going to combine it with memoir, because much of my own childhood was spent on my parents’ boat.