Libby Rosof Remembers Roberta

At a New York gallery show of work by British sculptor Antony Gormley, Roberta and I recognized simultaneously everything that was wrong with the art world. Gormley’s material was deadly—lead. The visuals were an array of small squeezed lumps arranged like the army formations of a sick-in-bed-child. And the larger metal sculptures were labeled as women, but looked like men.

We became co-conspiritors at that moment, finishing each other’s sentences.

We knew immediately that we wanted to change the whole art world, the men who curated it, the men who owned so much of it, and the men who were celebrated in it for their lack of vision beyond their own navels.

We decided we could do better. So we started making art together. Okay, it wasn’t really better, but because we had each other, we pushed on with projects large and small, heaving two ton concrete installations and giving away bits of paper we declared were art to anyone on the street who would listen.

Roberta gave me courage to make art again. And I gave Roberta courage to realize her ideas on a bigger stage. The turning point for her was to apply as art columnist for the Philadelphia Weekly, an alternative tabloid. The editor was taking a chance on her, but a few weeks later he said, where did you come from? How did you learn to write like that?

In covering the galleries all around town, on and off the beaten track, she saw artists changing where art was shown and what kind of art was shown—so much good art that she couldn’t squeeze all that she had to say in the space allotted for the art column in the Weekly. Even the dailies weren’t stepping up. Yet Philadelphia was in the midst of an art revolution.

Roberta realized that Philadelphia artists needed more information about what was going on in their own backyard. And they needed a public track record of reviews on which they could build a career. Roberta knew that between the two of us, we were people who could provide all that.

Roberta’s husband Steve suggested blogging software was the answer for two people who wanted more words, more images, and zero production and distribution problems. Thus Roberta Fallon and Libby Rosof’s artblog, now known as TheArtblog, was born. And lo and behold, somehow in the wilderness that is the internet, people found us. Our first call came from Philadelphia artist Tim McFarlane. Shortly, we had readers not just in Philadelphia but in California, in Paris, in Australia and in New York.

Roberta was limitless in her ability to pour out words, find new galleries, and make everyone feel like they were part of something happening here. Whatever ideas we each had, we made them happen.We said yes to videographer David Kessler, when he offered to make videos of us visiting galleries. We called them Look! It’s Libby and Roberta. We were grateful to WHYY’s art reporter Peter Crimmins for helping us make podcasts of studio visits. And, thanks to a Knight Foundation grant, we created artblog art safaris, hiring airport vans to bring people to galleries even in sketchy neighborhoods. Roberta’s energy and enthusiasm for every project we undertook, and then she alone undertook, kept pouring forth. Her vision kept expanding.

Even when I needed to move on, Roberta kept going. Her goal was to bring Philly art to the world, and the world’s art to Philadelphia., and to chronicle it all on The Artblog. She did it with me. She did it without me. But we remained support systems, sounding boards and co-conspirators until the end. And with her untimely death, that’s what I’ve lost.

—Libby Rosof