A new gallery

One of the things on my to-do list this year was to make some more contacts with galleries.  Actually it has been on my to-do list for a very long time, but folks who know me well know that I can move glacially slow sometimes.  This is especially true of things that I worry may not be pleasant.  And the whole prospect of sending in a portfolio to a gallery seemed pretty high on the unpleasant list.

One of the realities of being an artist is you are always applying for a job so to speak.  Occasionally at a show I'll hear someone saying to their friend, "oh, you should do this next year!"  Like all we have to do is roll in to the festival, pop up a tent and *poof* you're in business.  But the truth is there is an application process to all the outdoor shows I do.  The artists apply through different online systems, sending in a short artist statement, and usually 4 images of your work, and one of your display.  And of course your non-refundable jury fee of anywhere between $25-$90.  The work is juried in categories, with usually jewelry, and mixed media work (that would be my category) getting the lion's share of applications.  The jurying is done by a blind jury, meaning the folks doing the decision making don't know the names of those applying.

A show with a good reputation will get somewhere in the neighbourhood of 1000-1500 applications for a show with 250 available spots.  A few have much higher odds, with as many as 2400 applications.  And notification of acceptance, or rejection, is always in the form a a quick email, usually read with one eye open to minimise the impact.  While rejection letters are usually met with a sigh and a grumble, acceptance letters are like crack for artists.  The kind of crack that keeps you applying next year.  Those happy endorphins just start buzzing as you think about how only 1 in 10 artists got in the show, how you had to score higher than the 1000 or so artists who didn't make it, and all that ego building nonsense that the brain can't help playing with.  But truth is much of the jury process comes down to the simple things, like personal taste, how many oily landscapes the jury has already seen this morning, whether the lighting in your photographs is a little weak.

But all this usually happens in a city far far away, by folks you don't know.  The artists never get direct feedback for the money they spend on jury fees, and frankly I'm good with that.  The application process and the one eyed email opening has become part of the rhythm of my life.  I am used to it.  But applying to a gallery?  That seemed like a totally different animal.

Galleries usually have a much more stand-offish way of dealing with interested artists.  If you look at some good gallery websites and find the submissions link.  (That is no Freudian slip, the artist is submissive here)  Often you'll find what they expect from an artist, number of images and the like and how they want it delivered, mail, email...whatever.  Then they say something warm and fuzzy like how they don't have time to reply to all submissions, if we are interested, you'll hear from us, if not, you won't.  Don't call.  I guess the rosy part is you don't have to pay an application fee this time to be ignored.

And I am sure this all comes for good reason, I expect galleries get pecked to death by folks who think they can paint.  I actually witnessed an artist meltdown as he was turned down by a gallery owner when he walked in with ordinary paintings tucked under both arms.  So I do understand the need for distance.

So this all takes me back to the idea of applying to a gallery.  I found one I really liked.  I thought about applying for a year or two, I went in a few times without saying anything.  Then one day I actually opened my mouth, introduced myself and got a card.  And still I fiddled.

The push came from an unlikely source, Scott and I were invited to stay at a friend's house on the way back from a show.  And an artist who has been included in galleries and exhibitions in New York and Washington among other places was there also.  I was tired, we had a few drinks, we were unloading about the show, and art in general.  And I was explaining about what a big assed chicken I was about applying to a big "white wall" gallery.  How the rejection would sting a little more if I was standing there all alone rather than in a group of a thousand.  The next morning as we were leaving he asked to see my work, as I had been talking about it the night before, and he really didn't know me from Adam's house cat.  So Scott and I pull one big piece out of the van, rest it on the dirty sidewalk on the side of the road and let the cover it is wrapped in slip to the ground. 

He got this look on his face like he was surprised that I had sense enough to form words or dress myself and said, "You don't think you could walk into any gallery in this country and get in with this work?"

So I applied to Pryor Fine Art, in Atlanta.  And if you go to the Artists link, you'll see my name, second from the top.

Ok, enough celebrating...back to the studio!

Just Blabbing

The flecks of red breaking up the sea of green trees surrounding the studio suggests a change of seasons. And the fiddling, procrastinating, pacing, and wandering inside the studio suggests changes as well.


Quick changes are difficult for me as an artist. Once I get into the groove of process, knowing what colors work well together, and I have a stack of ideas to work with, things move along smoothly. Occasionally someone tries to reel me in, asking me to paint a still life, or a landscape, "like you do so well." Then I hear the grinding of gears. I have a couple of these commissions staring at me right now. But they just seem so far off the path of me moving forward that I can't quite bring myself to do them. I feel awkward, like I have to learn "how to" all over again.


Other times, like now, it is me trying to push my work in a new direction. So here I am. wandering off the beaten path. I feel like I need a carrot and a stick just to keep moving. And to make things a little more complicated I have two different bodies of work I am trying to cough up.


One is reasonably simple, Scott and I want to share a new blog much like his cupcake blog that was so successful last year. We will be posting a new sweet painting each day, and the theme will be "Just Desserts." I have a handful of these little babies done, and they are coming along nicely. Although very slowly, I think I've spent enough time on one tiny painting of cookies that I may make minimum wage on it by the time all is said and done.


But the other work is about to drive me around the bend. There will be dresses, there will be multiple canvases, my pallet will change, I will use more lino block prints and less photos. I have built a model, I have sketched out the layout, I have ordered the canvases. Ready, set, go!


Instead I sit staring at the pile of canvases, carve a possible linoleum block, fiddle on Facebook. I know what the answer is. Just do it. (Thanks Nike.) Just walk in the door and get to work. And I will I suppose. Once I get over whatever this is. Until then I guess I will fiddle, and poke at ideas, and quietly bitch at myself for watching the sun go down again with very little new work to show. Perhaps the biggest babies are hardest to birth. Maybe I'm just a big chicken. But I sure can understand why so many artists keep on doing the same thing for years. There is a lot of comfort there.


So now I'm going to post this, and walk back into the studio and try again.


Because we all know, if at first you don't succeed...

Paper dolls and the flip side

Here is the latest paper doll. I've taken this one one small tiny step further by choosing pink as the color of the embroidery thread rather than green. Pink and this green are a complimentary discord, a term color theory fans are probably familiar with. This is because red and green are complementary colors, as they sit opposite each other on the color wheel. But they also become a discord when the value of the colors, (meaning the lightness or darkness) are changed. Red, in it's pure form is a darker value than green in it's pure form, so when you lighten one, or in this case both, so that they are of similar value, or the red (pink) is even lighter than the green you get a discord.

I have always been color theory obsessed, it may even be a medical condition.

And, I have to announce, this is the first piece I have done as a "grown up" that has a touch of that dreaded craft supply...glitter! Cheap? Maybe. Tawdry? Possibly, but I must say I do like it in this case!

And I often have people browsing through these little pieces at a show, and they often can't really tell what they are. Is this paint? Do you use glue? Possibly just a general need for reading glasses, but I thought I'd show you the flip side. All the embroidery work is stitched through the paper, as are the beads and buttons. These little babies routinely take 3 hours or more to complete. Fortunately though not all this needs to be done in studio, I'll often stitch these while Scott is driving the van to a show, or in the hotel room, wherever that is, even at a show if the crowds are light.

That's it for now, have a great day!

Goody Two Shoes

Goody Two Shoes was finished just in time for the show at Boca Raton! The interesting thing about this piece is all the layers. The blocks in the background alternate, there are photos of vintage shoes cut in with opaque paint, then finished with a pattern in pencil. And the 2's are stenciled over photo transfers of pages from an etiquette book from the 1920's. The sailor dress sits on top, and "goody goody goody" is stitched through the top with bright green embroidery floss.

I am interested in looking at what the ideal of being "good" is all about, especially in the context of being a "good girl." How can you be good, without being so good as to be a goody two shoes? Who decides what the rules are? And how do we know when they change?

Goody Two Shoes is 30" square on canvas, and is sold.

Paper Dress Collage

If you've ever seen my work at a show, you are familiar with these little paper dresses. But this one is a little different. I begin by collaging bits of vintage dress patterns in the background, then paint the shape of the dress. But rather than use paint this time, I've collaged a little piece of marbled paper. This is one of the last bits of paper I marbled myself at a workshop in Victoria many years ago, a tiny fraction of the u-haul truckload of "things" Scott and I drove across the country when I moved here...but clearly I digress. Once the collage elements are all glued down and have had a chance to dry, the dress shape is stitched. I punch the holes with an awl, and sew the dress by hand with embroidery floss. The little halo is a circle of white glass beads that are also stitched through the paper.

The backing paper I use for these is a soft rag or cotton printing paper from France, and they are all matted in an eight ply conservation quality matboard. Backed with acid free foam board, and shrink wrapped. The overall size is 9" square, with the art being about 5" square.

$145