Coloured Mud

Slap some work up on the wall and throw a party, how hard can it be to have an exhibition?

While I’ve never gotten married and thus have never planned a wedding (that changes in the next year) I have put on a number of exhibitions of my work. Truly I don’t want to pretend exhibiting a bunch of paintings equates to the biggest day of your life but in terms of stress slicing at least a few months off your life expectancy I bet it’s approximate. Ok, maybe an exhibition is more like throwing a really big party except at this party, art that represents months and more likely years of your deeper thoughts and feelings are on display for all to see and of course, judge. Imagine at your wedding having to explain why you chose the music you chose, or “shouldn’t the food have been cooked this way?” or “what were you thinking when you chose your partner?” Necessary isolation in your studio has probably manifested itself into a simmering fear for human contact (artist aren’t really as introverted and unapproachable as we seem – we sometimes just forget how to talk.) You’re stressed, probably sleep deprived, most likely vulnerable and apprehensive about reactions to the work and now, at your opening reception, you have to charm a room full of friends and strangers! As well, the financial debt you’ve incurred indulging yourself with cobalt blues, life shortening but paint extending chemical mediums and overpriced frames sits before you as a complete gamble with random factors such as the time of year, the economy, who shows up and any number of unknowable variables dictating if anything might sell. Nobody is obligated to buy a piece of art unlike the guilt of showing up empty handed at a wedding (one year gift giving rule not withstanding.) To top it off, those last thirty, ten+ hour days without a day off to finish all the work have led you to eat pretty poorly and that great suit you were going to wear is now way too tight to feel comfortable… can you wear jeans? In the end, you’re on a public stage maybe once or twice a year and all the emotional, spiritual and financial expectations you carry usually rise up or even crash hard during those three hours of your opening reception.

Finding that place to show your work is often more frustrating than making the work itself. Galleries have certain flavors of work and clientele that they cater to and compiling a list of potential spaces means hours of searching through online lists and directories and best guessing those galleries that might have an interest in your work. A physical visit to a gallery is beneficial as is a conversation with the gallery people but the chilly look you got when you walked into the gallery says, “I don’t really want to hear from another artist.” You also need to figure out how your choice gallery likes to see images sent from artists, be it slides (expensive and slow) digital images (file format and image quality issues galore) or a website visit (will they even look?) Most galleries receive dozens if not hundreds of submissions of new artists every month so in the game of percentages sheer exhaustion on the side of whoever is looking at your hopeful submission must lower the odds. Why don t they look at the actual work you ask? When I graduated from college years ago, I thought showing galleries my actual work made the most sense! On a hot, humid Saturday about a year after my graduation, I dressed in my best garb and took a sweaty trek up and down Newbury Street in Boston (the gallery center for the city) with a massive 3×4 foot portfolio chock full of every piece in my arsenal of paintings. I stopped in every gallery on the strip, about 20 in all, and asked if someone would like to look at my art. Not a single person showed any interest. This is often how it is.

Ok, you’ve got your show and now you need to go over the checklist. Preliminary agreement with the gallery about what work you will show? Check..uh, wait… The gallery doesn’t like the proposed work because it seems very different than what you’ve shown before? In principle you agree but it means completely reevaluating the direction you intended to go. Mailing list of 300 plus contacts updated? Check, after days of data entry. Press release says what you want it to say? Check, but you wrote it yourself to make sure it made sense. Postcard announcement designed to your liking and printed and mailed? Check but the image on the card is an unfinished piece – it was the only image available when they needed it. Catalogue of the exhibit designed and printed with your images included? Check? Um, no… the work wasn’t finished in time to be photographed because you just moved into a new studio thus no catalogue for this show (of course you just saved $1000 – self sabotage to save money?) Work is finished and ready to be put into the gallery? Check, but only after those thirty days straight in studio making sleep deprived decisions that are supposed to be the “finishing touches.” It’s not your best work but it’s the best you can do – why did you think you could pull off oil paint after three years of only using acrylic? When is the opening night? You gallery folks rescheduled it to a Saturday? Your openings are always on Thursdays! um…check, but now you cant go to the opening because of a prior commitment – not good. No sales on the opening night? ……check…a little unexpected… Hey, you got a small write up in the Boston Globe – that will help! What? The write up came out the DAY BEFORE THE SHOW COMES DOWN! …check… The final outcome; only one sale for the entire three weeks because of who knows what variables at work ……gulp…..check…..

That one sale for $1200 that leads people to say “that’s great – you sell your work for so much!” well, let’s break it down. First, the gallery gets half (give or take – basic standard for the industry) so you’re left with $600 for what was probably 20 hours of work, not bad. Really, you don’t know how long a painting takes to make because you worked on it for months and when it was done, it was done. Time spent isn’t usually the final arbiter of finish. Wait… the frame cost $100? Ok – $500 left for profit! Wait again, the canvas for that piece cost $25 and what about all that paint? You spent $150 in paint alone just for this show. What about all the other canvases you bought? That nice new brush (hey, you deserved it!) $30. And the other 10 frames? Ok, so there is no profit and in fact you are in debt again. Lets get ready for the next show!

Luckily, you’ve been down this road of no sales before and belief and experience remind you that the next show will be different. Since you’re happy with the work and you love what you’re doing isn’t that enough? (Very slight sarcasm here – yes you do love and probably cant envision doing anything else but it’s not quite such a rosy picture in total) You also trust that the roller coaster arc that you define as career momentum must only be in a valley right now and will hit a huge peak at the next show, next year.