The Meaning of Awards in Art: Recognition, History and the ARTLO Award
- Jessie S. Martin
- 15 minutes ago
- 5 min read
Published on 15 September 2025
Awards in the arts are paradoxical. They are coveted and dismissed, celebrated and criticised in equal measure. For some, they represent a seal of legitimacy, the moment when an artist’s voice is acknowledged by peers and institutions. For others, they are a reflection of fashion, politics or compromise rather than true artistic merit. Yet despite these tensions, awards have been part of the fabric of art history for centuries. They have shaped reputations, created opportunities, opened doors to patronage, and placed artists into the wider conversation of their time. To understand their role, it is worth remembering the nineteenth century, when the Salon de Paris was the epicentre of recognition. For an artist in France, exhibiting at the Salon was essential. A medal from the jury could transform a career overnight. Gustave Courbet, then a relatively unknown painter, received a gold medal in 1849 for After Dinner at Ornans. This recognition did not make Courbet a great artist in itself — history and his body of work did that — but it gave him visibility, connections and the confidence to challenge academic norms. Without that moment of recognition, the trajectory of Realism might have been different.
The pattern repeats across history. Édouard Manet, who was initially rejected by Salon juries and forced to exhibit in alternative spaces, eventually received the Légion d’Honneur in 1881, a gesture of institutional reconciliation after decades of resistance. Pablo Picasso, presenting Guernica at the 1937 Exposition Internationale in Paris, turned a commission into one of the most powerful political statements in art. Recognition there was less about medals and more about the power of visibility: the Spanish Pavilion became a symbol of resistance, and Picasso’s name became inseparable from modernism.
At the same exposition, two years later, Wassily Kandinsky was awarded the Grand Prix de Peinture. His Composition IX was among the works shown, representing the maturity of abstraction. Here again, the prize did not invent Kandinsky’s genius — but it marked a milestone, a public affirmation of his place within the international avant-garde. These episodes show that awards do not define art, but they matter. They mark moments of visibility, and visibility has consequences. The history of art is filled with figures who never received recognition during their lifetimes — Vincent van Gogh being the most famous example. His genius was ignored by juries, patrons and critics, yet his letters reveal how deeply he longed for validation. Today his name is synonymous with artistic integrity, but one cannot help but imagine how recognition in his lifetime might have changed the trajectory of his work, or at least the conditions under which he lived and painted. In the twentieth century, awards evolved into a more international stage. Biennales, triennales and newly created prizes became the markers of cultural authority. The Biennale di Venezia, founded in 1895, established its Golden Lion as one of the most prestigious honours in contemporary art. The Turner Prize, launched in Britain in 1984, has since become a touchstone — and a lightning rod. When Damien Hirst won the Turner Prize in 1995, it propelled him from enfant terrible to a household name, fuelling both acclaim and backlash. Here lies the paradox again: awards do not guarantee universal respect, but they guarantee attention, and attention is a currency in itself. So what do awards mean in art? They are not absolute truths. They cannot capture the full spectrum of creativity, nor can they predict what history will remember. Many award-winning artists have slipped into obscurity, their names forgotten, while others who were overlooked are now celebrated as geniuses. But to dismiss awards entirely would be naïve. They play a functional role: they provide validation at crucial points, they draw public attention, they open access to resources, and they create a shared narrative. It is important to recognise that awards often reflect the values and biases of their time. The Salon juries of nineteenth-century Paris upheld academic painting while marginalising the Impressionists. Today’s juries may uphold diversity, conceptual experimentation or political engagement. No award can ever be neutral. But the existence of bias does not cancel the significance of recognition. It simply means that awards are cultural artefacts in themselves — records of what institutions valued at a given moment. The ARTLO Award situates itself consciously within this tradition. It does not pretend to dictate universal canons, nor does it claim to determine the future of art. To do so would be dishonest, and contrary to the very spirit of artistic freedom. Instead, the ARTLO Award acknowledges that recognition has value in itself: it shines a light on voices that deserve to be heard, it provides resources to support creative work, and it creates a bridge between artists and audiences. By offering €2,500 to the winning artist, the ARTLO Award affirms that support need not always be monumental to be meaningful. Sometimes recognition at the right moment in an artist’s trajectory can make all the difference. The award is conceived not as an ultimate judgement but as an act of solidarity and visibility, echoing the historical function of prizes while adapting it to the realities of today’s art world. There is also a symbolic dimension. To stand in the lineage of Courbet’s medal in 1849, of Kandinsky’s Grand Prix in 1939, or of Hirst’s Turner Prize in 1995, is to acknowledge that awards, however imperfect, are part of how art’s story is told. They are not the story itself, but they help mark its chapters. Without them, the narrative would be less visible, less connected to its public, and less anchored in memory. In a global art scene marked by fairs, markets and social media, awards may seem small against the scale of spectacle. Yet precisely for that reason, their role as focused recognition becomes more important. In a world of distraction, to pause and name an artist, to say this work deserves attention, is an act of clarity. That is what the ARTLO Award seeks to do: not to impose judgement, but to create space for recognition, visibility and dialogue. Ultimately, awards in art are neither infallible crowns nor meaningless rituals. They are tools — imperfect, contextual, but deeply human. They reflect our need to honour, to celebrate, to acknowledge talent. They remind us that while art itself resists competition, artists live in a world where support, validation and visibility matter. And they allow us, as a community, to say: we see you, we value your work, we want your voice to be heard.
The ARTLO Award is not about crowns or verdicts, but about bridges — between artists and audiences, between voices and visibility. Its meaning lies not in finality, but in opening paths.
