Thought you may be interested in this article :
http://www.cairns.com.au/article/2011/04/06/157711_local-news.html
You may have heard that we had a cyclone hit the Queensland coast a couple of months back. This is how one community is adding some life back into their town - with art :)
A post by Wendy Rosen yesterday identified VIZ art glass as flooding America with artists copies: Google Viz--Alibaba.com arrives which is everything from China. Antitrust, and copyright lawsuits are being filed as we speak.. BUT IT IS UP TO THE GALLERY OWNERS AND ART FAIR DIRECTORS TO ALSO HELP STOP THIS RIP-OFF;; JUST SAY NO;;SIMPLE--AND A BOOTH SLIDE WON'T STOP THIS- THE ONLY WAY THE BOOTH SLIDE WORKS IS IF THE PERSON IS KNOWLEDGABLE -NOT AN OVEREMPOWERED VOLUNTEER-
By the way in Winter Park there were 5 2-d artists with very similar work-they removed the $39.99 artist from what I heard;; and are researching the possible chinese supplier--reminds me of the string painters-
Let us all stay on our toes and protect our industry. Most of us all know who is real and not; it is time to police (I hate this word,but) your specific mediums. There is no way any art fair director will look down on anyone for making their show better (quality) and integrity wise. This issue is just beginning for us in all mediums- beware the ides of march-- Fair Winds
This first piece that I saw of Susan’s shows what every twelve year old girl knows is the truth: horses are the coolest animals on earth. The image of Kickin’ Up captures the spirit of the animal in an amazing shot of all four feet off the ground, and reminded me of the utter joy of being astride my first snorting steed.
She uses digital techniques to enhance a scene artistically –“painting “ within the digital darkroom, which creates flowing motion like Golden Mane:
Susan’s eye for the dramatic moment extends to landscape also, capturing swooping plains, soaring mountains, jagged natural shapes and vibrant color:
And Sunny Susan herself:
See more of Susan’s artistic photography at http://susanquinphotoart.com/
The Coconut Grove Arts Festival is a very well run show. Attendance is high all three days, but the type of audience varies significantly over the weekend. Monday's crowd consisted mainly of tire-kickers, strollers and museum-viewers. Sunday was my best day, although the serious buyers were out early on Saturday morning. Sales for higher-end work seemed strong in our section of the show all three days, however. I was on Pan American Drive, almost at the end of the show. Traffic was slower than on Bayshore, but I still had a booth full of people until about 4PM every day. After that, it tapered off. We did have our share of fun people, including this guy who wandered in off the street.
Communication is generally good, although load-in instructions were vague. There were no instructions on how to actually reach the load-in entrance most appropriate to your booth included in the packet, just general instructions on a Google map on how to reach Coconut Grove. The load-in instructions specifically stated that no booth setup was allowed before 3PM, yet when we arrived at 3PM, it seemed like half the show was set up already. We drove around a bit before finding the right parking lot entrance. And I'm familiar with the Grove -- for artists that had never been in that area, it would have been a nightmare. Traffic in the area is very heavy, especially after they close Bayshore Drive. Expect to wait a bit. Patience will be rewarded.
Artist treatment is very good. There were many volunteers available to booth sit, and the zone captains were on hand to make sure that logistics ran smoothly. Security is great -- the show is fenced on the perimeter to allow them to collect the $10 gate fee, and it's locked up tight as a drum at night. Never had a worry about my work being safe in the tent overnight. They have a terrific hospitality area, with breakfast every day, and a nice artist awards dinner on Sunday night. They give you tickets for lunch too, but only one per booth, so if you have a spouse or a partner, you end up sharing the food. Which is decent. We had rice and beans, chicken, a bit of salad, and plantains every day. Plus a little sandwich. Enough to keep you going without having to resort to arepas, hot dogs or slushies. No free tequila, however. Boo.
The booth fee is higher than many shows. At $800, I suspect that it covers not only the venue, but also the labor costs involved in mounting the show, as well as an extensive ad campaign. There are many volunteers, good security at the entrances, and security 24/7 during the event. I even saw a volunteer on the street directing artists to the well-hidden artist dinner venue at the Atrium. Well-done, volunteers! And the artists have their own air-conditioned trailer potties, near the convention center. Bonus! And the free t-shirt was also a nice extra.
Patron traffic is very high, but the percentage of buyers on the low end was much lower than I expected. I made one really good sale, which helped to cover my expenses for the weekend, but overall, I was expecting better sales based on the reputation and the high booth fee. I did not sell a ton of bin prints, like I expected. Many of the artists near me did well, however, including two painters and a sculptor with larger work. Of course my work is less focussed on tropical themes, and here that does make a huge difference.
Reserved parking for artists at the expo center lot as well as at Lot 67, next to Pan American Drive. At $30 a space, this is a bargain. Thank you Coconut Grove, for providing affordable parking for trucks, trailers and vans. There seemed to be enough spots for everyone's trailer and van, too.
All in all, a great experience. The show was above my expectations for the artist treatment, weather and logistics. Sales were just average for me, but many of the folks around me went home very happy. The painter next to me made a great sale after closing on Monday night, and our friends up the road also had a good show. Others did not fare so well. I heard the usual rumors of zero sales, slow sales, no sales. I know I was expecting more sales than I had.
One artist did bail on Monday afternoon -- packed up, dollied out around 2:30. The show sent a golf cart down to block his vacant spot, as patrons were walking through the booth behind to get to the other side. (I think there's a chicken joke in there somewhere). Don't think he'll get invited back again.
Coconut Grove is a difficult area to navigate, and the police, security detail and show organizers did a fantastic job of getting everyone in and out of the show. The quality of the art is very, very good. The show is well-run, well-organized and deserving of its reputation. We made some new friends and connected with old friends. I'd be happy to do the show again. Four stars.
Just wanted to say I had a very interesting experience in Scottsdale, AZ just a week ago. As I am about to set this up, I want to quick mention that this post is geared for those who sell both at art fairs as well as art galleries - say in the same time too. But this may be entertaining to all those who don't fit into that category... Now onto the set up...
It was my first time in AZ, mind you, with my husband. I went because I wanted to experience the Grand Canyon, see Scottsdale (my mom's favorite place to visit), spend time with an old high school friend, check out the AZ Ren-fest (I have friends who work there and have a podcast hobby where I go to ren-faires and report on the experience I have there for other Rennies), and of course see what the art is like in and around Phoenix. Mind you I am an East Coast gal from Baltimore. I must reiterate - it is a pleasure trip, not having a show to do and kick back a few days while I was in the area. An actual vacation which also happened to be affordable as I stayed with friends (my friend from high school and his wife) who insisted on driving us everywhere (God bless old friends!!!).
One of the many memorable places I got to visit while in AZ was Old towne Scottsdale. Now I missed the Art in the Park Festival (not sure if that is what it was called), but City Fest. was going to happen the next day - if that means anything to anyone. I have to say I felt like a fish out of water - granted most of the people there were 25+ my age. I walked around some streets of Old Town with a real hunger to check out the galleries (the food was great too). I wanted to know what was being displayed. Was it all Southwest themed with Native American work or broader, tapping into some unique modern/contemporary art forms? The first gallery I entered was where I got my shock. The gallery owner was a major A__hole. The gallery, nice with plenty of Native American pottery and paintings. However, I was followed the whole time by the gallery owner who BOASTED how he was the owner of the gallery for 25 years and NEVER forgets a face as he runs it by himself and never has taken a day off. My friend from high school, who happens to be wheel chair bound - since childhood - in a motorized scooter, did not have a problem maneuvering around the busy displayed gallery, but the gallery owner was quite the vulture talking to us the whole time, trying to get my friend to use a different exit and tried to move things around him (like paintings that were on the ground leaning up against a display) when it wasn't necessary. I didn't know if I should stay in the gallery to piss the guy off or get out of there as quick as possible as I couldn't take the mightier than thou attitude. My friend shrugs it off as - "that's gallery people for you", I said I have never been in a gallery where it is their point to watch every customer like a hawk, making them think they will damage property at every turn and not for any good reasons such as being anxious to help you at a moments notice with questions. Where was the customer service there? And for those who have never been this this huge gallery area, there must be 50 galleries - at least - vying for customers. A lot of heavy competition in a not-so-bustling economy. Which makes me think long and hard, why be a jerk and make customers feel like strangers and extremely uncomfortable? I was glad first impressions didn't ruin the whole gallery walk as another one two doors down happened to be spacious and well organized specializing in Native American work. The breath of fresh air is that this gallery owner was eager to please having public handicap accessible restrooms, friendly in that the owner mentioned a piece or two but backed off AND had a guest artist that day in the gallery demonstrating! Night and day difference! Others offered refreshments like lemon water, friendly chit chat, and pieces of history about the area or the gallery OR the artists.
First question.... As artists, when entering a gallery just to look or purchase something, have you had similar weird vibes and said something? I was tempted being an artist, but really felt it wasn't my place as some I just don't think you can get through to them.
Second question... For those who sell both at art fairs and galleries - If you happen to do an art fair in or near the same town as a gallery that houses your work, do you make it a point to visit that gallery (as a secret shopper or not) and even promote it when at the show? Or not?
Third and final question... Also for those who sell both at art fairs and galleries. Do you have struggles with gallery owners with their "attitude" in how they do business say over the phone coming across as nice and peachy, yet in person or with customers they are quite different? When it comes to pricing your work do you have issues with gallery owners especially if you are selling at an art fair in town?
Sorry for all the questions, but I haven't really seen this discussed much on here - granted it is artfairinsiders.com . - Michelle, www.bythebaybotanicals.com
Note to self: The desert can get cold. I don’t mean the kind of cold where you can bundle up and do fun aerobic activity in, like ice skate or have a snowball fight. No, it’s a bone chilling cold that comes from sitting still for hours at a time in front of the easel in a tent that likes pretending it’s a refrigerator. I was not prepared for this. I brought one heavy wool sweater and I’m sick of it. Paint takes on a tar-like consistency that mangles good sable brushes. Paintings that I expected to set up overnight are still wet and sticky, so I now have six paintings going. All wet. That’s not a bad thing, but it makes maneuvering around my abbreviated studio area a dicey proposition, especially since I’m forced to also wear my nice coyote vest over said heavy wool sweater while painting, as it’s the warmest thing I brought. Factor in a pair of heavy sheepskin gloves, and you’ve got a rhinoceros trying to needlepoint.
I’ve been sitting here with a hodgepodge of half blocked in pieces, wallowing in the self-imposed peer pressure brought on by being surrounded by productive artists, and feeling the labor pains of a new style that wants a midwife. I know we all struggle with our art, we all talk every day here under the big top. It’s gratifying, in a small, small way, to know that others are struggling too, and I don’t mean that to say misery loves company. But, being human, we have all absolutely convinced ourselves that no one is struggling quite as much as we are. Everyone else here looks to me as if they are moving swimmingly and effortlessly along, blissfully turning out canvases like biscuits from a well-greased tray. No one could possibly be feeling the angst that I am, the utter self-deprecation that cloaks itself in thoughts like, What was I thinking coming here? Or, even better, in the voice of a certain influential family member, You’ll be selling portraits in Grand Central Station for a nickel...there’s a million artists better than you! It becomes a bedlam that calls for large doses of Pink Floyd and vodka.
But, open book that I am, I have confided my existential crisis to a few kindly souls, and relieved to know this twisting agony is not unique nor my own personal neurotic albatross to bear. It comforts me and lets me continue in the face of struggle. It also make me think, why the hell hasn’t a European tour promoter come up with a new kind of tour to supplement the mainstream cultural tours of Florence, Rome, Paris? There’s Al Capone/Gangster Tours of Chicago, there ought to be a new Tours de France: Van Gogh in Arles: Assault of Gaugin and Institutionalized in San Remy. I’d be first in line. Just think, the unknown works of the Great Masters: the fits of pique and the holes punched in the wall, broken brushes and rent canvases, arrest records, psychologists’ notes (depending on the century and statute of limitations on patient-client privilege). I remember withering upon entering the Uffizi, the Galleria dell'Accademia, Museo dell'Opera del Duomo, and weeping over my own paintings later at night. Oh, what a relief it would have been to this young artist to know Caravaggio was a criminal- a felon! That Michelangelo’s father was disgusted with him for choosing art as a career and suffered from low self-esteem! (The Agony and the Ecstasy would have been helpful reading.)
The artistic struggle that exists within an often solitary work environment can break the budding artist unfamiliar and unprepared for this mine-ridden emotional psychological territory. From what I can recall from art school days, the most the topic was ever addressed was maybe a fleeting, “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” You might as well tell a teenaged girl that those five extra pounds make her look healthy and the glasses make her face unique. I propose new classes at the university level: how would a, say, Psychology of Creativity 101 go over? Or, The Blank Canvas: You DON’T Need a Straightjacket and Lithium! ? My guess is those classes would be standing room only and there’d be a hell of a lot more well adjusted artists pouring out of art schools telling arrogant gallery owners to stick their attitudes where the sun don't shine. Perhaps a cooking class: Ramen Noodles and The Food Pyramid? OK, maybe not. But if we had Psychology for Creative Productivity classes maybe we wouldn’t have to battle the myth of the starving tortured artist so much. Sure, there’s a bunch of books out there on the topic, self help books, but most of them are written by opportunists with a bent towards self-promotion and prey on us artists desperate for an answer.
Baloney.
No one can tell you the answer.
You just gotta go through it.
I’ve been here almost three weeks, at what some of us are affectionately calling the Fine Art Boot Camp Expo, and there’s no way out but through. That’s a thought that actually comforts me, much as the Serenity Prayer gives a recovering alcoholic the strength to go on. Then I can take a Xanax at 3 am and leaf through Georgia O’Keeffe’s abstracts until I finally pass out around 4 and Framer Dude awakens me at 8 with a chopsaw. Yeah, I’m painting everyday. I’m an artist! This is the life! Would someone just get me another sweater to wear?
OK, I’ve fallen behind a couple of days and peeps, I had a couple of hairy nights and Expo had the Gala last night, which I’ll write about in a separate post. Suffice it to say, I may not have been writing, but I’m collecting a ton of material...onto Charles, today’s Peep!
Charles came into the art world because of a terrible accident which nearly ended his life. Despite the fact that it ended a very successful career as a high-end carpenter, he says he would “relive the accident a thousand times” because it opened up a new life for him. One look at his work and you can understand why: these beautiful forms couldn’t come out of a two-by-four! Organic, flowing, full of movement, the wood comes alive, this in purple heartwood and maple:
I wish I could do the wood grain justice with my camera for this mahogany piece:
Although he has patiently explained to me the intricate process of transforming a 2-D drawing into a 3-D sculpture, I still can’t wrap my mind around it. It looks ingenious to my2-D artist eyes. This is a piece in the making:
Here's Charles with his sculptures to give you an idea of the size.
See more of Charles’ work at: envisionsbytaube.com
Post 1/28 29/11
I am pleased as punch to report that I made a rather large sale the other day; however, this is where experience separates itself from just plain old dumb luck. Realize now, that I still am a fairly relative newby with less than three years art show experience under my tent. So, when a wonderful patron asked me, “And how much is shipping to New Hampshire?” I played coy and said I’d have to check my book and get them a quote. Hell, I’ve shipped paintings to Germany! How difficult could it be to ship a piece to Keene, NH?
Well.
I checked my little book, and recited the quote for the USPS for a piece 36” X 24” and up to 25 lbs to NY for $85.00. Hey, how much more could a piece 52” X 24” be? A few bucks? Oh no no no no. At a certain dimension, the USPS turns its back on you. At a certain weight, UPS and FedEx just hand you Vaseline and tell you to bend over. There is a netherworld out there in shipping, where the actual size of a package is eclipsed by its estimated weight category. This is the best way I have to describe it, and it’s better this way, because my tequila report is interwoven with it. Apparently, according to one private shipping company (which may be the issue) dimensions and weight cease to matter and become a nebulous area where the length x width x girth is estimated to fall within an estimated weight range, and if your package doesn’t fall within these specifications, they hand you the extra large bottle of Vaseline. Uh huh.
“Three hundred thirty dollars. Plus one hundred twenty nine to build the crate.”
“Two hundred sixty five dollars, and that’s only a thousand dollars insurance.”
“Well, air will insure any amount, if you can prove its value, but ground will only insure up to a thousand.”
Hang on. I’m getting to the tequila report.
So, after a few hours of feeling like I bit off both ends of my burrito, so to speak, I began to ask other artists which shipper they use.
“Shipper?” many of them inquired with a politely raised eyebrow. “Why would I want to use one of those?”
For the first few days of the show, my booth was peppered with fliers from private shippers advertising “free packing”, “will pick up from show”, “insurance included”. I began to feel like a college student shopping for car insurance. I didn’t even know there was a difference between packing and crating.
“You make your own box.” Upon viewing my completely obtuse expression, my peeps began to explain.
“You go to Home Depot. You grab a refrigerator box. They’re always throwing them out, they’re free and they’re heavy duty. You cutta the box to size. Now, if you gotta canvas, you gotta getchaself summa masonite and putta thata on the face of it...you builda your owna box...”
Ok, so maybe I’m overdoing the Godfather bit, but it was about as big a mystery to me as say, oh, cannoli cream, cappozella, and Casa Nostra. So, taking me under their wings, these obliging artists initiated me into Packing Your Own Artwork 101. “Screw the shippers,” went the first commandment, “they overcharge.”
As Framer Dude is collaterally involved with this adventure, he was adamant that I buy a box from someone: “I am NOT dumpster diving for cardboard! We’ll go to the shippers and buy a box!”
So, we went to various packers.
“I can order that size for you, it’ll be here Wednesday.”
“A 65” x 30” x 6” is $70. Yeah, just the cardboard box, lady. We gotta pay to freight it here.”
“You need a crate for that size. Mine are $129.”
Uh huh. When a shipper charges more for a box than I paid for a painting to go to Gemany, I start to get the idea that maybe I’m being played and taken for the rube I am. I don’t like that feeling. I retreated into my wounded manic artist persona in the truck home, feeling about as stable as nitroglycerin. Seriously, one decent sale and I shoot myself in the foot and eat my profits with the shipping? There’s got to be a better way. Maybe I don’t have all the money in the world, but if I bought a painting for say, 2 grand and then was told I’d have to pay 500 in shipping, I’d balk on principle and rent my own damn uhaul and driver for less!
Framer Dude suddenly changed his tune when another boothbuddy pointed out all our frigging tools.
“Can he build a crate? I mean, it’s kinda like building a frame...I got a painting I have to ship next week, and I’d pay you to make it rather than one of these vulture shippers.”
MacGuyver Dude pipes up.
“I can build a crate.”
Today I saw the covert looks towards him with visual vocalizations of “Crates” along with fingers pointing. He may be leaving hot dog heaven soon.
So, having been deflowered by the packing and shipping companies, one of the veteran artists who has taken me under his wing, gently tugged at my sleeve at Happy Hour yesterday and offered me a consolation/congratulation: homemade tequila by a compadre of his from Mexico. A bit of law and trivia (are the two even mutually exclusive?): if you make your own tequila in Sonoran County, you are not allowed to call it ‘tequila’; this was called Baccanora, or something like that. I took French and Latin in high school, what was I thinking?
“You’ll get the hang of it,” he assured me as he expertly daubed finishing touches on a commissioned painting. What, the shipping? “...don’t take it like a shot, just sip it.” Oh. Oops.
Sippin’ tequila. This stuff had a smoky cactusy burn to it, complex and oaky and flowery, that would have made it a venal sin to mix it with anything. Well, after a water glass of this pure cactus heaven, I stumbled back to my RV, only to find Framer Dude and another peep engaging in another consciousness-altering substance.
Feeling suitably invincible now, I acquiesced to this peep’s generous offer as well. Which is why this blog post was not published last night, as originally intended. Beware of artists bearing gifts.
I first met Ernie (and his wife Cynthia, whom I wrote about yesterday) on the first day of setup, and was immediately in love with his hand crafted leather-and-embroidery furniture. That’s too simplistic. Let’s just say, I utterly regretted my Rooms to Go leather couch and loveseat purchase and am still trying to wrap my mind around a way to return them so I can have a set of Ernie’s craftsmanship.
The most amazingly butter soft leather, in grape purple. Totally cool, totally wow.
I never knew furniture could be so creative. This is the first piece that captured me:
and its detail, in copper and turquoise, and yes, real python:
Check out his other creations at nwnative.com, here's another and Ernie himself, who I have to give a shout out to for his advice to me on shipping!
I've decided that I'm going to post one artist a day while here at the Fine Art Expo here in Scottsdale. My photography is lousy, my writing is amateur, but I'd like to honor all my peeps who devote ten weeks of their lives to exhibit at this wonderful show, and have extended a helping hand to me with my endless questions. Today, for my first victim, I chose Cynthia Downs-Apodaca, who was the first artist I met here last Monday during setup. She is the first woman I have ever met who is more of a rock geek than I am, and once you see her jewelry, you can see why. What first caught my eye were the opals, since opals are my favorite gemstone and I can spot one at a hundred yards across an art show. The silver wire braiding that she does is so intricate, I don't think my photos can even come close to doing it justice:
She also has these fabulous pieces she calls Tidal Pools, and in this one, the bottom stone- an Australian boulder opal- actually has a teeny beach scene in it! Talk about the intricacy in nature!
I'm also impressed whenever I see a woman firing up an acetylene torch and power tools, as she was hard at work one evening, after the show had closed. Look for her wearable minerals at cynthiadowns.com.
Cynthia, sans goggles and mask:
I can truly say she rocks!
Lori, an oil painter like myself, lives here in the Phoenix area, and the first work of hers to catch my eye was one of Kaibab Path at the Grand Canyon, a dramatic scene of this winding path that descends to the floor of the canyon. This really captures the claustrophobia of a narrow mountain pass contrasted against the vertigo of a sheer canyon drop:
And because the glare was so bad, here's a detail:
I also really liked her handling of the architecture and the light shining through in this piece,
The first thought that struck my mind was that her scenes remind me of the Mediterranean, with her use of color and play of light; as it turns out, there is no need to go abroad to capture beautiful light: many of her scenes are of California and the Southwest, and her scenes are well known to locals. Her work feels warm and inviting, like a Southern California summer day.
See more of Lori’s work at www.lorimyers.com.
I’ve been told to adjust my expectations with this show. On any decent weekend show, you’ll get 50 to 80 thousand people walking through, walking their dogs and such; at this show, over ten weeks, you’ll get 80 thousand people walking through, but they are art buyers. So, the weekend seemed alarmingly sparse in comparison, but I’m assured that many of these people come back several times with their $12 seasonal pass, after they’ve measured their spaces. The crowd here comes to buy art, and quite a few of the artists are out of the gate strongly this year with a big sale in the first weekend, a change from last year. Many of these buyers have several homes, and they want their selections shipped to their other homes, so be prepared to deal with shipping. Home showings are also de rigueur, and those can turn into a terrific social event for the artist of honor. I can’t wait.
One goal I have set for myself here is to learn to paint faster. I am absolutely pea green with envy over the painters who can complete a large-scale painting in a week. And those painters out there who can do one, two paintings a night? Well, I just turn into the scene in the Exorcist, head-spinning, pea-soup spurting and all.
I realize I simply cannot afford to spend six months on a painting, no matter how tightly detailed I am. From observing some heavy hitters in the field (a big shout out to Kelby Love, who has generously given me painting tips and is as magnificent a wildlife painter as they come), it can be done without sacrificing detail and quality. So, I am taking advantage of the relative quiet and have churned out several full color sketches ready to go to a finish over the past few days. Today I worked productively on four different paintings, which I think is a record for me... my work is cut out for me.
Last night, we attended a private soiree given by a fine art photographer- Andy at Century Editions- for artists at the Expo. Andy, you know how to give a feast! If he can shoot as good as he cooks, he’s got my next works! How he got a hold of buffala mozzarella that good west of the Hudson is beyond me, but for a few drooling moments last night I was back home on Long Island...
I have been concerned about Framer Dude getting bored out here in the middle of nowhere and doing something really stupid, like buying a super-charged dirt bike and tear-assing across the desert and impaling himself on a cactus. But, he has once again utilized his many faceted skills and abilities and has become the stand-in grillmaster here at the Expo. The café king and queen here had to return home suddenly today for an emergency, and as Dude was being his usual yenta self, bored and helpful and inquisitive, he found himself the de facto short order cook with a recalcitrant gas grill and a stack of all-beef patties. Tonight, he’s counting his tips and checking out Kawasakis and Yamahas...I may still find myself picking cactus quills out of his butt in a month.
Marjorie and Billy, the thoughts and prayers of all artists here are with you, and no one beats your chili!
Here is my booth, lovingly set up by Framer Dude:
And many of us right before the bell rang at 10:00 on Thursday:
Post from January 10, 5 pm after switching driving...
Well, days and 875 miles into the road trip and Framer Dude and I haven’t killed each other yet, that’s a good sign. But we have 1,200 miles left, 800 miles of it just through Texas alone, so there’s a lot of tread left on these tires, so to speak.
I hate interstates. They take the fun out of a road trip, but for the sake of expediency, they’re a necessary evil. Coming home I will do secondary routes. There’s so much out here to see and I don’t want to become cynical, too “been there, done that”, too old in the mind. That’s one thing that is vastly different between my road trips in my teens and now, and I touched on that in my last post. I had Tom Petty’s Full Moon Fever album (HA!! I just showed my age!!) playing as I left Louisiana and blasted into Beaufort, TX. I reminisced that I had first bought the cassette tape for a road trip when I was 18 and taking a road trip on I 90 west with my college buddy Warren, when I was the only one in my dorm with a car (my great-aunt’s 71 Maverick, 3 on the tree, no heat, no ac, no power brakes or steering, and a gas gauge that worked intermittently). We would get a hair up our butt to just “go west” into cow country out of Albany, NY to see what there was to see. I still remember that sense of adventure, the excitement and we and maybe a few other clueless 18 year old piled into my car and headed west. No particular destination, just wanted to see what was around the next bend.
I miss that feeling. Sure, I’m excited as a little painter can be, going to the expo across the country, quitting a 40K steady job to do it, how much more ballsy can you be? But I want to be that adventurous kid again. I want to wonder what’s around the next bend, be wide eyed at the mystery and beauty of it all. I don’t want to be a staid middle ager reluctant to leave the security of my GPS and next clean pair of socks. Going on a road trip used to mean you definitely weren’t going out there to be sure there was a Walmart within 10 miles. I know my fellow RV’ers out there know what I mean, and most of us artists too, because that’s what we do- create from a place that inspires us, and try to pass that along.
But for the moment, time is of the essence, and here I am on on I 10 weaving my artmobile through Houston’s rush hour traffic. I am always a little awed by the sweeping concrete overpasses that crisscross each other around cities, I suppose in the same way that Edward Hopper was when he painted his cityscapes. There is a kind of industrial beauty that Art Deco was fascinated with. I may try my hand at painting one of them if I ever get bored of rocks. I guess if you think about it, the overpasses are a kind of rock...maybe.
...that this is where you are supposed to be? For the past couple of years, I've toyed with the idea of attending a workshop for a week, and hopefully be able to choose someone who is a good teacher and a good artist. Now, here, it appears my search has been fulfilled, because I am surrounded daily by hard at work artists. The energy here is amazing, intense and positive. Other artists echo my sentiment; they accomplish more work in the ten weeks here than the rest of the year. I've truly missed the old art school feeling I remember of pulling all nighters and the determination to create, create, create. I have even found the courage to plunge into a stylistic change which has been lurking in the back of my mind as I've found myself a bit bored with the photo-realism I'm known for. It seems as soon as Framer Dude and I crossed the AZ border, the name Georgia O'Keeffe rose, unbidden, into the forefront of my mind. Now, I have been somewhat familiar with her work most of my adult life. But when I did a Google search the other night on her images, her work resonated within me for the first time. Aha, I thought to myself, THIS is where abstraction meets realism ! I'm not going to say I understand abstract art or "get " it all the time; I'm not too proud to say that I still don't really get Pollock. But seeing Georgia's realistic intimate landscapes (as I have come to call mine) and her consequent progressions into abstractions of the same subject, I see what she's trying to say. It's a catharsis of sorts.
I have met artists here at the peaks of their careers, and they are generous in sharing their acquired knowledge and providing constructive critiques. Understand, I have worked in near solitude for the past 10 years, where productive interaction with fellow artists was brief, few and far between. I couldn't have chosen a better workshop, and paid less, since this is a ten week gig, plus there is the opportunity to make sales. I broke the ice today and sold 2 (small) pieces, with a strong bite from her friend on a much larger piece. Here, the artists have a silly little dance that they all do to celebrate each other's sales (after the celebrant patron has left the vicinity, of course.). I will be inducted tomorrow morning.
Did I mention our Happy Hour? Every day, at 5, a metal artist sounds his gong, and many of us who have been hard at work all day rush to gather at one artist's booth, who takes his role as master artist seriously and master of happy hour very graciously. Framer Dude is in awe of him. He is the consummate successful professional artist who is able to enjoy life to the fullest and is utterly gracious. As Dude stated last night, "He cranks out a %$#^&!@ painting a week, gets paid $%^@& good $$$, and %$#&! parties at night! Why can't you be him?" Or something like that, I didn't hear the rest of it, I pushed him off the log into the fire. (Dude was between his fourth and fifth Jack so he didn't feel the third degree burns til this morning) Anyway...patrons sometimes mingle with the artists during this very informal setting, and they get a kick out of hanging with us. I have met some terrific artists who are terrific people also, and for a relative newbie like me, it's a brilliant view of what one can accomplish in the short-term, as well as long-term for life goals.
Anyhow, I just know that this is where I am supposed to be right now, and quitting my 40K a year job in FL was just a part of it. All my pics are on the Mac right now, so I'll share them later.
You know those ugly defects on tree trunks that cause homeowners to rush to their nearest arborist and remove the offending specimen? They’re called burls, and Dave turns them into amazing artwork. It’s a laborious, time consuming process, though much of it is hands-off seasoning and drying time, but the end result, well, see for yourself:
His goal is to create a work that looks ancient, but well preserved, like it has been dug up out of an archaeological find. Many of the final pieces look like they contain a bone inset, but it is all wood, just finished differently. As someone who appreciates details within nature, his work really captured me, and I am awed by the amount of time it takes to go from log to wall! This pic gives you an idea of the work involved:
Check out his other burl work at barkbywoodsgallery.com.
Well, I traveled long and hard this year and I think I will be staying closer to home with all the traveling expenses and all.....to make a long story short, I added the expenses and what I netted.....That was alot of traveling and work to only make a few hundred dollars a show! So I decided to stay closer to home and try the smaller shows in my area plus it was taking a toll on my health. I'm getting very creative on where and how I'm displaying my work and extending my subject manner to things I haven't painted in years. It seems to be working or the economy is starting to pick up...slowly but surely.
I ask you fellow artists, what have you been doing to keep on going?
I have traveled before. Honestly. Cross country on Amtrak, back east in a little purple rental car, on a moped in Italy and Switzerland, through Canada. I've even held two driver's licenses from different states at one time. At times, I changed addresses more often than I changed the oil in my cars.
But this upcoming trip across the Southwest is making me pant like a neurotic lapdog. Somehow, stuffing a backpack and hopping on bus and waking up not quite sure what city or time zone I was in was child's play compared to this (and perhaps it really was, at 18)
....shoes....
I've got the art supplies nailed down. I have my masonite, birch panel, 5 jumbo tubes of raw umber, 5 brand spanking new sable brushes. All the paintings are tucked cozily into their moving blankets and snugly secured on their foam padding.
...shoes...
Framer Dude Husband has got all his woodworking schtuff snugged away in every possible crevice in the camper. Saws, routers, sanders, workbenches, compressors.. I will have to check the oven before I turn it on to make sure I don't inadvertantly detonate all his stains.
...shoes...
I've got the new tech purring under my control-the Droid 2, the Vortex, the PDA.net, Hulu, all CD's on my Ipod. I've got the route programmed, complete with rest stops, Walmarts, and Cracker Barrels along I-10, into 3 different GPS systems. Got post offices who will accept general delivery in Scottsdale. I will easily pare down my kitchen. I will miss it, for sure, but I could eat chargrilled hamburgers everyday under a starry sky. Like Jimmy Buffett.
However, unlike the Margarita Master, I am returning like a dog to rotten bone to the obsession over what shoes are gonna make the cut for this trip. I open that damn closet and see them all there, mocking me in my paralysis of indecision. They shouldn't even be on the periphery of my consciousness. For chrissakes, I lived a month in flipflops! In Albany! In December! I'm not a clothes chick either; on the days I actually decide to get out of my flannel pants, my good ole Levis are my go-tos.
...shoes...
I think the curse is in the more we can take, the more we get, the more it creates chaos in the mind. Life was simple in the good ole college days, when we were lucky if we remembered to take any money on a road trip and hoped there was enough loose change in the cracks of the seats to buy 2 bucks worth of gas on the Thruway down to the city. Cell phones? Ha! GPS? Triple A road maps!
It's great to be connected, it makes our lives a helluva lot easier, but I am proud of the fact that I developed and possess an internal GPS from those days that could outnavigate Tomtom's "Samantha" blind drunk in a snowstorm. Not that I've ever had to do that or anything.
Not too much about art tonight, but food for thought as many of us seasoned travelers are planning our routes to different regions of this great country for the seasonal migrations: I'm nostalgic for the days when a road trip was an adventure tinged with danger. I truly believe I am of the last generation that went on roadtrips, without having the benefit of Google Earth to show us exactly what was around the next dark bend on a spooky back road in Georgia, or how to get back. Maybe the shoes are a sign that I need to lose some of those safety nets and just go barefoot once more as I diesel up the truck on Monday and shut stupid Samantha off. I should be able to get out of Florida without someone telling me to turn left in 2.4 miles! All I have to do is go west, right? ROADTRIP!!!!
