Lunar Windsurfing

How often we get locked into a box may be less than how often we lock ourselves in. At a recent social event I went to with some friends, I ended up talking for a few minutes to a young artist. At these kind of things there are almost always a bunch of people who present themselves as artists, and while I believe wholeheartedly that we are all art spirits, I often take the announcement with a grain of salt. This guy was a graffiti artist, a form I deeply respect when it's done well, and at the mention of a few of his pieces around town, I recalled that I liked very much what I saw. So somebody asked him if he would do commissioned in-home murals, which is where it got interesting. He wasn't rude, but his face very quickly took on a few years around the edges and a deep weariness appeared around his eyes. He said he has done commissions before, that he probably would again, but that right now he couldn't be any further from caring about commercialism. For a graffiti artist, it might seem like commercialism would be the goal. It affords them a way to make money and gain some notoriety for what they do. But not everyone wants to be Shepard Fairey, like not every traditional painter wants to be the Rembrandt of their day. Despite what your tv would have you believe, money is not the ultimate. It's pretty nice, but if it becomes the reason then something really vital may have been lost. So what made our artist perk back up? Though cryptic and vague, he explained that he has something new he's working on. Something new. The way that he explained it was a boomerang that could use the full energy of the sun to shoot out to the edge of the galaxy and then back home. Solar sails? He said, kind of. It wouldn't work, detractors insisted. He just shrugged and said that it's hard to explain. I don't know what he's working on, but acording to him, it is like nothing he's ever seen and like nothing he's ever done. I'm sold. There's something so moving and electrifying about an artist on the rickety edge of their own exploration. Instead of a nice, easily recitable three sentence explanation of me, my influences, my medium and message, I could just tell people how it feels. If it's something honest, it should feel like all kinds of things. Right now, I feel like my first phase is heading to a close. What comes next is new territory. I am leaving home. I think I'll take a note from the spraycan spaceman and tell everyone I meet that I'm working on transparent pet clothing, or that I'm making a map of only corners. I think I'd love to hear people explain their projects this way. It would be confusing, yes, but that's better than predictable any day.

Is Hope All There Is?

Don't get me wrong. I am a fan, a big fan, of hope. And no, this is not a political statement, a religious statement, or my argument for cynicism over optimism. It's a simple question that has me prickling a little. Enough to write about it, at least, and sharing my observations here with you. Thank you for joining me again. Just clear off a stack of papers anywhere and pop a squat. This question exists purely in the realm of the artist's experience, for my benefit, and maybe yours. What happens after the show is hung, after the reception, but before the show is over?

Having an art show is a weird thing. It's the culmination of a lot of work both physical and emotional. It's the big event I work toward a few times a year, and it seems like it's over in the space of one evening. But it's not. The work is never really done, of course, but what can I do now that the buzz of opening night is over? I could start working on the next collection, start networking for more opportunities, and I do, but something still itches at the back of my mind. My work is still up. My buzz is still happening. How to make it contagious?

Anyone who's done this before knows the feeling of running into people who were invited to the reception that didn't or couldn't make it, and their (usually) apologetic manner and general curiosity about the way things went. There's the usual smile and shrug and rundown of the evening, and then the mention that the aquaintance hasn't actually missed the show. "Oh well, it'll be up through the month if you'd still like to see it". But something is missing. The main event has passed. So now I can only hope that random people will happen upon my work and fall in love? I can hope that the friends of mine who really wanted to see it will find a way to get over and see it, yes. I can hope that an art critic will happen by, or a dealer, or an agent, sure. But hope can't possibly be all there is. The thing that's missing, the "main event" feeling of the opening reception can be renewed in perpetuum with a little effort.

The show I'm talking about now is one that is currently on display at the Blue Wing Gallery in Woodland, California. It'll be up through the end of the month, and while the reception was fun and exciting and incredibly flattering and even a little lucrative, the opening reception is only the opening number. I propose we keep this thing going as a play in three acts, a three course meal, a sonata in three parts. After the Act I opening recpetion party, it goes like this:

ACT II: Media frenzy! Art critics don't like to be pushed or sold on a person most of the time, but they do like to be excited by new work, new ideas, new experiences, just like the rest of us. They don't want to feel like they are being manipulated, but they do want to be invited, and they are aware it's because of what they can do for an artist's career that they're asked. If they were included in the mass email announcement, but didn't show, I propose emailing a personal invitation to local reviewers, critics, bloggers, etc. to see the show and maybe meet to discuss if they are so inclined. Some may prefer to skip the hubub of the reception to see the work on a quiet afternoon when they have the time and space to get to know the pieces. If you know anything about their work, their likes and dislikes, it's helpful to everyone to keep that information in mind. This is a mutual respect experiment. If they want to see the work on their own, let them. If they want to know more about you and your experience, have something to tell them. If they don't, avoid pushy! Give them enough time before the show ends to write something about a show people can still go see.

ACT III: Closing reception! This can be just as fun and exciting, if not more so, than the opening reception. Many galleries will have a closing reception, but if one doesn't, propose having one. If you didn't have a chance to speak about the collection during the opening reception, see if you can work it into the closing. It's been my experience that buyers want to know about the artist, even if not about the pieces. The experience of making this particular collection, travels that sparked your imagination, conversations, books. The way an artist interprets his or her surroundings is half if not more than half of what makes the art interesting. But there is a fine line between revealing the curve of an ankle, so to speak, and overdoing it. The viewer gets to have their own experience with the pieces. Locking them in to your intention can dull the magic a little. I went to a lecture a while back by an old professor and very well respected artist at his show. It was standing room only to listen to him talk about a series of thirty paintings of the same simple subject. Each one was fascinating on its own, a completely new experience on every canvas. But he only talked about the light, the window, trying to paint something white, and why he even attempted this series. The thing is to guide people, but not get in their way.

Throughout the month, I hand out business cards, I ask interested people if they'd like to be on my mailing list, and I tell them where they can see my work today in person. I cultivate my own excitement about this collection every time I talk about it. Being an artist is about sharing, it's about unspoken language, connections. It's about inviting people to try on my glasses, if you get me. At the end of the day, none of this might work, it might not get me even one more sale or commission or fan, but when I take the show down at the end of the month, I'll know I tried everything in my toolbox. I'll know I wasn't just sitting on my hope and waiting.

My toolbox is an expandable file. Any suggestions you may have would always be appreciated. So what's worked for you or others you know? Completely disagree with me? I can handle that too.