In the crowded landscape of art criticism, Jennifer Braun, known as The Gen Z Art Critic, stands out with refreshing candor and accessibility. Breaking from the tradition of dense, academic art writing, she brings a distinctly generational perspective to contemporary exhibitions and artistic practices. With a direct, conversational approach that reflects the digital age, The Gen Z Art Critic creates writing that bridges the gap between institutional art worlds and everyday viewers. This interview explores the founding philosophy behind this unique critical voice, examining how generational identity shapes artistic perception and how modern platforms have transformed the relationship between critics, artists, and audiences. At a time when art can feel increasingly isolated from broader cultural conversations, The Gen Z Art Critic offers a compelling alternative that invites readers into the discussion rather than lecturing from a distance.

What inspired you to start The Gen Z Art Critic and write about art?

Originally I just wanted to do a kind of translation of Artspeak. I was reading these meaningless, unnecessarily complicated exhibition texts everywhere that don’t take the art itself seriously. Everything sounds so impersonal hidden behind an institution’s name. I felt like honesty was missing. And a year later I spoke to someone about it and was recommended Substack, where I can just write and the platform handles everything else. A few days later I was walking past the Peggy Guggenheim Collection in Venice and, as luck would have it, I saw the perfect book in the window of the museum store: How to Write about Contemporary Art by Gilda Williams. I picked it up straight away. While reading it, I realized that writing about art always means making an assessment and that there is no such thing as a neutral description. On the contrary: Criticism can be written about anything if supported by good arguments, which helped me shake off this fearful submissive awe. And now here we are 144 exhibition reviews later!

You’ve named your blog The Gen Z Art Critic, how does being part of Gen Z influence you? Which Gen Z attributions do you resonate with – or not – and how does this guide your view of art?

Gen Z is humorous and doesn’t take the honorable and respectable too seriously. It’s like in that one SpongeBob meme where a monster screams at him and he just stands there completely unimpressed. But this humor doesn’t necessarily come from arrogance. I think we have a lot in common with Dadaism: when structures that were considered eternal and secure are now crumbling, and the future is uncertain, nihilism and absurdity are ways to deal with this outlook. But Gen Z is also a generation that seeks connections. We inherit important knowledge and understanding from Millennials. We have terms for experiences that previous generations didn’t have. We can approach problems with completely different tools. I’m very proud that as Gen Z, we don’t let anyone tell us we’re too young for whatever—after all, we grew up with Phineas and Ferb. I’m always overwhelmed by how tirelessly Gen Z fights for our future. My generation combines absurdism and seriousness; both exist together. But in a certain sense, being Gen Z can be performative. When I see someone on the street with an extremely niche aesthetic, I go Wow, that’s Gen Z. Through aesthetics and behavior, Gen Z becomes an entire brand. Then I wonder if you can also be “not Gen Z enough.” But then I remember our range defines Gen Z, not how well you fit in.

Being Gen Z doesn’t so much influence what I write about, but how I write – loosely, directly, mixing German and English, and with memes. I don’t take art seriously through a serious, distanced tone, but through close observation. Because you can sound authoritative and respectable while saying nothing of substance. I go in the opposite direction: I like to break the fourth wall, share counterarguments to my views, and express doubts—because there’s no such thing as “picture perfect” here. I write the way I would speak in a YouTube video – with outtakes, slips of the tongue, and digressions. Regarding topics, I want to stay versatile and look beyond what I’m familiar with. But by referencing pop culture and whatever else I know, it remains relatable. If an artist paints Britney Spears, why shouldn’t I quote Britney in my analysis? I also want to pick people up where they are – I’d rather explain a concept again than assume it’s common knowledge. I aspire to write the way I talk to my friends: yeah, we have fun and laugh. But sometimes we sit down in a circle with plastic chairs and get deeply philosophical for hours.

In your articles, for example, you also mention the generation of artists you are discussing, to what extent do you find the generation-specific imprint in artistic works? How does this manifest in your contact with the artists?

This categorization, just like the name of my blog, came from Gilda Williams’ book. In it, she advises aspiring art critics to focus particularly on artists of the same age and one generation above and below. I find it fascinating how we are all children of our time. Individually, we can form our own views, but how these are conditioned by the time and place where we live—that can only be fully seen with historical distance. The fact that Western generations have names like Silent Generation, Baby Boomers, or Millennials is fascinating—how much context is packed into these labels!

I notice in conversations with artists that we sometimes approach the same phenomena or aspects of their work from different reference points. Then the generational difference is a whole lot of fun. I talk to an artist about his work and he asks, “Do you know this punk band from the 80s?” – “No. Do you know this TikTok trend with AI voices?” – “No.” And yet both ultimately have to do with the same phenomenon.

How important is resonance to you? Traditional art criticism in magazines or feuilletons is not associated with direct interaction with the readership – except possibly with a time delay and occasionally via letters to the editor – contact is more direct today via social media platforms. Do you interact a lot with your readers, does contact with the community inspire you?

Totally. My work thrives on it. I understand everything I write as an impulse to think for yourself and join the conversation. Because that’s what’s missing in art today—that people talk to each other instead of just saying something. I regularly receive feedback on my reviews and Instagram stories; we discuss further in DMs and emails. People send me articles, recommend artists, and forward calls for submissions—I value this exchange enormously. Just recently, we researched a quote together as a community. And sometimes people ask if I could go to a specific exhibition and comment on it. Then I feel like a reporter who plunges into the hot spots to report on current developments. Everything for the community!

What criteria do you use to select the exhibitions and works that you review?

They are—with some exceptions—contemporary art and thematic exhibitions. If a gallery does an overview exhibition with a cross-section of all represented artists—I don’t think a review is very useful there. Apart from that, quite simply: First: Does the exhibition claim to initiate a discourse? Second: Can I contribute something meaningful here with a review? It’s not about passing a final judgment, but about asking questions. Sometimes I like an exhibition, but I can’t articulate why. Or I can’t relate to something at all, and instead of just claiming it was whack, I’d rather say nothing at all. Also, the ambition of an exhibition is important to me. I won’t review a mediocre exhibition in an equally mediocre institution—for what? But a bad exhibition that promises to be groundbreaking? Better provide receipts, or else I will.

Is there an exhibition that has particularly impressed or influenced you? Which institutional exhibitions or biennials have shown particularly exciting artistic positions in recent years in your opinion?

Where do I even begin? The exhibition “Remembering Forward: Australian Aboriginal Painting since 1960” at the Museum Ludwig in 2010/11 was fundamental to my development. I will never forget how moved I was by Dorothy Napangardi’s huge white-dotted black paintings. In 2023, the M HKA Antwerp showed me Dorothy Iannone as I had never seen her before. And the Kunstverein in Hamburg is doing great work: last year there was a wonderful survey exhibition on Turkish performance art and Prateek Vijan is currently showing a provocative thought experiment on decolonial repatriation.

What is your favorite medium and style?

I particularly like art that works on its own terms. I want to understand a work because I spend time with it, look at it closely, and think about it. Not because I’ve read the necessary theory by an Argentinian writer that’s only accessible in an archive in Copenhagen, and an artist has decided that I can only decode his work with that info. I find art becomes boring when my experience depends entirely on external information. I want the concept, the idea to be within the work itself. But then there are exceptions like Felix Gonzalez-Torres’ “Untitled (Ross)” (1991): How could I possibly understand this moving work without knowing beforehand that it’s an ode to his lover who died of AIDS?

I’ve noticed that I’m particularly drawn to political art. Art that doesn’t just appeal aesthetically but also raises questions beyond the artwork itself. I also like art that at first glance is something other than what you believe and then has a plot twist—like a good thriller.