Good thoughts on this conundrum. I was in a prominent Santa Fe gallery in the 2000s, and I was fired in the aftermath of the 2008 crash. Perhaps galleries are again tightening their rosters as the market becomes more uncertain.
While I was with that gallery, they had me raise my prices substantially and do costly framing (even on stretched canvases which I didn't think needed it). After I was fired, my prices were too high for other markets. We are told to never lower our prices because collectors will be upset. It took me years to gradually lower my prices.
Another aspect of all this is the pressure to produce, leading artists to sell work that is slapdash or too-quickly-released before the artist can hone the work to a higher level. This happened to me and the quality of my work decreased.
Currently I have minimal involvement with just one gallery, and I'm enjoying the freedom to explore. Yet, how do I get my work out into the world instead of accumulating in storage, only for my nephew to deal with when I pass? (If I don't get the work out there, why should I expect him to do so after I'm gone?) Also, the IRS wants to see a profit motive if an artist wants their endeavor to be considered a business, not a hobby.
Thanks for your thoughts Jean. Yes, these are all the tough questions. But I think the underlying question, which I maybe ask, however obliquely, in the piece is why have we allowed ourselves to be persuaded that this is the only way to do it? There have always been art dealers, and artists have always craved attention and praise (and a living) from the individuals and institutions who were in a position to create an imprimatur of value with their patronage. There are other gatekeepers and powers as well, to whom we learn to salaam for this stuff. I only speak here about the Faustian bargains of the commercial market, but there is another similar system for those who teach, who end up tailoring their efforts to a range of intellectual expectations and value systems that are imposed by the institution. I've written a lot over the years about how, in the twentieth century, a posture of daring Avant-Gardism became a parallel market strategy for those artists who made their carers in the Academic world. As old Bob Dylan said: "We all gotta serve somebody". My favorite work, and favorite artists all seem to have hit the sweet spot when they let all of that go and just got in there and made what they wanted to make. I've also always felt that some of the best examples of that brilliant late life work came at the end of long careers in which one kind of patron or another (The king, the church, the University, the Billionaire collectors – you name it) was being served. There is a tradition in the far east of spending a life doing one's duty to family and community, and then going off in older age to the mountains or the woods to work at the more transcendental work of the spirit. I kinda like that idea.
I like your response. You raise a good point about those in academia, and the norms that they end up complying with, even if it’s ironically,the avant- guard.
Chris, I really enjoyed reading this. Quick reaction (I promise I will read the piece again, but if I don't spit this out now, I may never!): Where do folks like me (the “typical gallery patron”) fit into this narrative of artists and gallery owners - you know, the casual fan, somebody who may not know the difference between the ordinary and extraordinary, but who enjoys pictures hanging in their apartment? Do painters paint just for skilled, sophisticated viewers? only for each other?
Is it possible to enjoy watching a baseball game if you’ve never played centerfield?
Very good question!!! Art is like good coffee. We all like a cup of Dunkin from time to time, but we can also start to discover different, and frankly better, beans and brews up and down the street, or maybe twenty minutes away. Who tells us which brews are better – or even suggests to us that we might look for better ones? We teach ourselves if we are curious. The palette learns to discern. And then every now and then we meet a Pete Devine, who gently persuades us to look a little further, to push the envelope, to let that sweet cappucino go for a subtler and spikier cortado. But really, at the end of the day, we teach ourselves what is good. It all starts with curiosity.
My eyeballs can’t wait. Go wild.
Good thoughts on this conundrum. I was in a prominent Santa Fe gallery in the 2000s, and I was fired in the aftermath of the 2008 crash. Perhaps galleries are again tightening their rosters as the market becomes more uncertain.
While I was with that gallery, they had me raise my prices substantially and do costly framing (even on stretched canvases which I didn't think needed it). After I was fired, my prices were too high for other markets. We are told to never lower our prices because collectors will be upset. It took me years to gradually lower my prices.
Another aspect of all this is the pressure to produce, leading artists to sell work that is slapdash or too-quickly-released before the artist can hone the work to a higher level. This happened to me and the quality of my work decreased.
Currently I have minimal involvement with just one gallery, and I'm enjoying the freedom to explore. Yet, how do I get my work out into the world instead of accumulating in storage, only for my nephew to deal with when I pass? (If I don't get the work out there, why should I expect him to do so after I'm gone?) Also, the IRS wants to see a profit motive if an artist wants their endeavor to be considered a business, not a hobby.
Thanks for your thoughts Jean. Yes, these are all the tough questions. But I think the underlying question, which I maybe ask, however obliquely, in the piece is why have we allowed ourselves to be persuaded that this is the only way to do it? There have always been art dealers, and artists have always craved attention and praise (and a living) from the individuals and institutions who were in a position to create an imprimatur of value with their patronage. There are other gatekeepers and powers as well, to whom we learn to salaam for this stuff. I only speak here about the Faustian bargains of the commercial market, but there is another similar system for those who teach, who end up tailoring their efforts to a range of intellectual expectations and value systems that are imposed by the institution. I've written a lot over the years about how, in the twentieth century, a posture of daring Avant-Gardism became a parallel market strategy for those artists who made their carers in the Academic world. As old Bob Dylan said: "We all gotta serve somebody". My favorite work, and favorite artists all seem to have hit the sweet spot when they let all of that go and just got in there and made what they wanted to make. I've also always felt that some of the best examples of that brilliant late life work came at the end of long careers in which one kind of patron or another (The king, the church, the University, the Billionaire collectors – you name it) was being served. There is a tradition in the far east of spending a life doing one's duty to family and community, and then going off in older age to the mountains or the woods to work at the more transcendental work of the spirit. I kinda like that idea.
I like your response. You raise a good point about those in academia, and the norms that they end up complying with, even if it’s ironically,the avant- guard.
Not a bad way to spend a life. I remember Merkin. He was one of my mother’s teachers.
Brilliant!
Chris, I really enjoyed reading this. Quick reaction (I promise I will read the piece again, but if I don't spit this out now, I may never!): Where do folks like me (the “typical gallery patron”) fit into this narrative of artists and gallery owners - you know, the casual fan, somebody who may not know the difference between the ordinary and extraordinary, but who enjoys pictures hanging in their apartment? Do painters paint just for skilled, sophisticated viewers? only for each other?
Is it possible to enjoy watching a baseball game if you’ve never played centerfield?
Very good question!!! Art is like good coffee. We all like a cup of Dunkin from time to time, but we can also start to discover different, and frankly better, beans and brews up and down the street, or maybe twenty minutes away. Who tells us which brews are better – or even suggests to us that we might look for better ones? We teach ourselves if we are curious. The palette learns to discern. And then every now and then we meet a Pete Devine, who gently persuades us to look a little further, to push the envelope, to let that sweet cappucino go for a subtler and spikier cortado. But really, at the end of the day, we teach ourselves what is good. It all starts with curiosity.