The gallerist, or art agent if you prefer, is a salesperson. Their job is to sell art. This requires the cooperation of the artist who, leading up to the show, can be rather difficult. Nonetheless, the publicity must be posted, the guests must be invited. Faith must be maintained that the work will be produced, that it will be excellent, that buyers will buy it.
Of course, buyers will not buy it, if the gallerist does not push it. In this current global economy that is not as easy as it once was.
Nothing sells itself...even if once it seemed as if it did. I used to work in sales and learned a great deal from my difficult boss who was a wonderful friend. A common duality in sales managers. When the economy collapsed in the autumn of 2008, when we all thought that nothing could be sold as companies and families slashed their budgets, she proclaimed that there was still money. The trick was simply to convince them to spend what money they were spending with you, rather than the other person. Whereas before, money could be sent in both directions, now everyone would have to choose between you and your competitor. She was right and we all worked harder to maintain, develop and enhance new and old relationships.
Likewise, it seems with me that the art market is still in action. Art is still selling. But a certain amount of effort is required. The promotional materials can be developed, albeit creatively if the work is still in progress. Clients can be cultivated even if the artist is still trapped in the studio, too neurotic to be allowed to speak to potential buyers. Hype can be established through the absence of the artist as easily as with their presence. It is all a matter of angle.
As with anything, a good agent continues to sell work. My boss put so much effort during that horrendous fall and winter that she has built a base of too much work and had to request additional hires. She was exhausted by the work but is now proud of the capacity to keep going that she did not know she had. Perhaps more caffeine was consumed...
Needless to say, I encourage my artist friends to plan as best they can with their representation for that trying time before a show. Work can be sold. Or rather, good work can be sold with a good try.
Hang the Show- Sleeping
The artist hasn't slept in weeks. Potentially, the artist has not slept in up to and including 53 hours.
The gallerist is not sleeping well. Even melatonin doesn't help.
The artist's family isn't sleeping because the artist, in a sleep-deprived fury, said horrible things about them, the past, some random other person, and now the family is wondering what to do.
If the artist has a partner, then he/she hopefully has reconciled themselves to cooking and running errands for someone who will return to them, when the show is complete, a depressed shadow of the ego-driven artist currently barging around. The partner sleeps only a little bit more than the artist.
The artist's friends have disappeared and are presumably having a good time, sleeping in or around–depending on the person. They are looking forward to the opening when their friend will hang out all night and, after the show, enjoy much drunken revelry.
Sleep is portioned to the work. It is necessary but disdained, until the eyes droop despite caffeine, the brush shakes in the stiff hand, and the electric bill suggests that some time off might not be such a bad thing.
The gallerist is not sleeping well. Even melatonin doesn't help.
The artist's family isn't sleeping because the artist, in a sleep-deprived fury, said horrible things about them, the past, some random other person, and now the family is wondering what to do.
If the artist has a partner, then he/she hopefully has reconciled themselves to cooking and running errands for someone who will return to them, when the show is complete, a depressed shadow of the ego-driven artist currently barging around. The partner sleeps only a little bit more than the artist.
The artist's friends have disappeared and are presumably having a good time, sleeping in or around–depending on the person. They are looking forward to the opening when their friend will hang out all night and, after the show, enjoy much drunken revelry.
Sleep is portioned to the work. It is necessary but disdained, until the eyes droop despite caffeine, the brush shakes in the stiff hand, and the electric bill suggests that some time off might not be such a bad thing.
Hang the Show-Selecting
For several years, or several months, the artist has been producing work. Some is hidden before anyone sees it. It does not even get considered for the final selection. The rest are placed throughout the studio to be studied.
What naturally goes together?
Which ones will someone want to buy because of x, y, z?
Which ones have already been sold and so need others to offer like work?
Which ones are reminiscent of previous work?
Which ones are suggestive of work to come?
How do they go together again?
And if it is done once by the artist, it will be done again by the gallerist, possibly by the gallery, and likely when the show is hung for good measure. The process edits cruelly because each painting was produced at some point with care, and then it gets dismissed, rejected possibly simply for its suitability.
Unless you are one of the required selectors-avoid this time assiduously.
What naturally goes together?
Which ones will someone want to buy because of x, y, z?
Which ones have already been sold and so need others to offer like work?
Which ones are reminiscent of previous work?
Which ones are suggestive of work to come?
How do they go together again?
And if it is done once by the artist, it will be done again by the gallerist, possibly by the gallery, and likely when the show is hung for good measure. The process edits cruelly because each painting was produced at some point with care, and then it gets dismissed, rejected possibly simply for its suitability.
Unless you are one of the required selectors-avoid this time assiduously.
Hang the Show- Studio Time
I have a friend who has been working in the studio continuously trying to complete the work for his upcoming show. Everyone has been banned except for a few, and his temperament has slowly deteriorated as he becomes sleep deprived and blind to his own progress.
He was also earning a living by teaching so he would occasionally leave the enclave to supervise the budding skill of others. He picked up some commission pieces and quickly lost his mind juggling all the work. The bubble of the studio became the only safe place in which to operate because the rest of the world was such an extreme distraction from the mental space necessary to be continuously producing creative work.
Friends forgot how often he used to enjoy going for a drink.
Family wondered why he never answered the phone.
Food came from a delivery man rather than a market.
And eventually...he went 52 hours without sleep, refused to see anyone for a week and completed the show miserably disoriented but at least a little satisfied.
Had I listened to anything said about the work in the weeks leading to the opening, I would have feared for his sanity and the success of the show. Instead, I took it as a bit of melodrama. In other words, ignore artists before a show.
You will hear the artist say something like: “Hang the show. I quit. I want to be a car mechanic.” Ignore it. He is unlikely to quit it all to become a mechanic, plumber, hairdresser, or join the family business–ideas that I have heard from various artists at different times. If one decides to move to Nepal, do not look into plane tickets.
All of this is so concerning of course, because stuck in the studio, you never do hear any news. When what you hear is that the work is terrible and Abu Dhabi is their next destination, it can be a trifle concerning.
Leave them to the studio and it will work itself out. If you are ignored, do not take it personally. The studio becomes a sacred space and only those involved in the sacrifice may be permitted to enter. It isn't pretty and the cost of entry is your blood and brains.
Wait for the show opening, where the work can glow without your sweat, where the artist can rhapsodize about an experience mostly forgotten in the swell of speed that heightened the last effort. Some memories are best left to the silent walls of the studio.
He was also earning a living by teaching so he would occasionally leave the enclave to supervise the budding skill of others. He picked up some commission pieces and quickly lost his mind juggling all the work. The bubble of the studio became the only safe place in which to operate because the rest of the world was such an extreme distraction from the mental space necessary to be continuously producing creative work.
Friends forgot how often he used to enjoy going for a drink.
Family wondered why he never answered the phone.
Food came from a delivery man rather than a market.
And eventually...he went 52 hours without sleep, refused to see anyone for a week and completed the show miserably disoriented but at least a little satisfied.
Had I listened to anything said about the work in the weeks leading to the opening, I would have feared for his sanity and the success of the show. Instead, I took it as a bit of melodrama. In other words, ignore artists before a show.
You will hear the artist say something like: “Hang the show. I quit. I want to be a car mechanic.” Ignore it. He is unlikely to quit it all to become a mechanic, plumber, hairdresser, or join the family business–ideas that I have heard from various artists at different times. If one decides to move to Nepal, do not look into plane tickets.
All of this is so concerning of course, because stuck in the studio, you never do hear any news. When what you hear is that the work is terrible and Abu Dhabi is their next destination, it can be a trifle concerning.
Leave them to the studio and it will work itself out. If you are ignored, do not take it personally. The studio becomes a sacred space and only those involved in the sacrifice may be permitted to enter. It isn't pretty and the cost of entry is your blood and brains.
Wait for the show opening, where the work can glow without your sweat, where the artist can rhapsodize about an experience mostly forgotten in the swell of speed that heightened the last effort. Some memories are best left to the silent walls of the studio.
A Penny or Two
When I was modeling in Santa Fe, I had the great joy of working with Lyndall Bass. I was recently in contact with her and discovered that she won the design contest for the new penny! That is right. Look in your wallets and pockets and her design is there. The prize is a two-sided joy. On one hand, she worried, she might forever be known as the penny lady. On the other hand, it provided her with the ease to work on her own pictures.
Lyndall is mostly known for her flowers and still-life pieces, but when I was working with her she was working on a series of mythic women. We used to call me the moon-faced girl because any photographs she took to use when I was not sitting made me look so flat, like some chubby lady squashed in the moon. She would take them nonetheless. Sometimes there was something she could work from. Sometimes, I returned later that week or the following week to find out she hadn't been able to do anything and we could not converse because she had to keep working on my chin.
I really enjoyed working with Lyndall because though we were sometimes silent, we also talked about our families, mythology, the steps to figuring out life. One of the joys in working with someone over several sittings is the relationship that develops. I am glad that Lyndall won the penny contest, but mostly because now she can do her own work without worrying about scrounging for pennies.
Lyndall is mostly known for her flowers and still-life pieces, but when I was working with her she was working on a series of mythic women. We used to call me the moon-faced girl because any photographs she took to use when I was not sitting made me look so flat, like some chubby lady squashed in the moon. She would take them nonetheless. Sometimes there was something she could work from. Sometimes, I returned later that week or the following week to find out she hadn't been able to do anything and we could not converse because she had to keep working on my chin.
I really enjoyed working with Lyndall because though we were sometimes silent, we also talked about our families, mythology, the steps to figuring out life. One of the joys in working with someone over several sittings is the relationship that develops. I am glad that Lyndall won the penny contest, but mostly because now she can do her own work without worrying about scrounging for pennies.
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