As a child of the sixties I learned to ask embarassing questions of every such institution, looking for blood in the cracks on the walls, investigating third world marketing policies of all the suppliers and distributors along the whole chain of being. Like every other cause taken up by the left brain, this chore is carried to excess all too often. All the flowers get tossed into the compost. That's okay, too. It depends on what you want.
Art is out-front.
Life is behind but supplies the telling spirit for what is shown, shared, shaped. Sometimes it even comes all together.