It has been said that one should simply build it and they will come.
This, I am here to warn you, is not necessarily true.
This past weekend was the Art in the City art show at the West End Community Centre in Vancouver.
I hung my mixed-media pieces…
I placed my framed photographs carefully on the display table…
I fanned out my business cards…
and then sat there…
for far too many hours.
Over time my smile froze into place. It matched my numb fingers and frosty toes brought on from the chilly gym air. My niece, Carma Friesen, shared the space with me. Her large acrylic paintings commanded attention.
Together, we waited for the people to show.
They did not. Show, that is.
It might also be noted that even though the gym was cold, this did nothing to freshen its smell. It had that stale, yet piercingly pungent odour that can only develop after years of accumulated aromas from teenage boys wearing nasty shoes and slightly mildewed shorts.
Additionally, the Vancouver weather conspired against us. It was brilliantly sunny all weekend and every single Vancouverite was determined to make as much Vitamin D as possible. No one was silly enough to head to an indoor art show. Except, of course, us and a few devoted friends for whom I am forever grateful.
Although it was a total bust in many ways, there were some good takeaways. First lesson for me? I am quite positive that I never want to do another art show. At least not this particular one.
I’ve also learned that I’d rather create the pieces and have them hanging in a gallery somewhere while someone else sells them. I’m not sure how to realize that particular plan yet, but I’m working on it. And, in spite of the fact that it’s obvious that smaller things sell, like prints and cards and stuff like that, well, I’m not really sure I want to do that either.
I realized this weekend that I don’t want to make a business out of this. That’s not my goal. I just feel the need to fulfill the artistic contract which I believe is the hidden agreement that most artists participate within: that is, the need to put our work ‘out there’.
I feel this is true within all creative pursuits. An actor is only a crazy man if he talks alone on a stage. There is no theatre without an audience.
Writing also demands to be seen. It needs publication, and with it, readers.
Yes, we can play our instruments, paint our pictures, write our books or dance in isolation, but putting it out into the world is the final and, I think, necessary step to fulfilling this covenant.
This, of course, works much better if people actually show up.
So, there’s that.
Meanwhile. I’ll keep building it and one of these days…well, who knows?
Sorry I couldn’t make it — your work looks amazing!
I completely understand the frustration of waiting for the crowds … been there, done that, and learned it was far more rewarding to have someone else do the selling. As a member of the Potters Guild of BC I gave up 40% to the gallery and they displayed it, sold it and wrapped it. Galleries take 50% and there’s usually a jury to get in, but worth it.
I remember signing up for a double booth with Bill Adams, a water colour / oil painter, at the World’s Curling Championships held in BC Place. It was an all-day, two-week event and people only came by before and after games. Luckily, Bill brought his wife, who was happy to knit or do crafts while minding our table. Meanwhile, Bill and I had free ring side seats for the curling. Ever since, I’ve been a big curling fan. We both sold a few things but what I remember most is exchanging my pots for his paintings, which now sell for $2-$3000 each.
What a fabulous story Martha! You found the love of a new sport, hung out with someone who sounds pretty cool and you obviously have good taste in paintings (and I’d say he obviously had good taste in pottery:)
It’s clear to me now that we were at the totally wrong venue, but I’ve long ago decided that absolutely everything in life is material. And, in the end, it made a decent-enough story and I learned something and got some nice feedback.
And now I just received the added bonus of your story. It’s all linked and gets better by the minute. Thanks again for sharing your experience.
Grace Coddington (Creative Director at American Vogue) in the documentary The September Issue said something along the lines that for an artist’s work to be valid it had to have a place in which it could be put. I’m paraphrasing that badly. But it’s true. Emily Dickinson would not be the acclaimed artist she is today if her sister had thrown out or burned the papers found at her death. (A good Mennonite likely would have! “What are we going to do with all these?” But I digress.)
But you did put it out there. That no one came is not your fault. Next time they might. Or in a different time and place the convergence might happen. The Chinese proverb says,”Plant a green tree in your heart and perhaps a singing bird will come.” Perhaps. No guarantees.
Even in photographs that don’t show them at their best, your paintings are evocative and moving. Thank you for sharing them here.
Dear Lynda. Thank you. I like your take on the possibility of convergence. I think it’s true. All we can do is our best and to keep showing up.
I love that Chinese proverb! I’ve been casting about for a simple quote to repeat to myself. I wanted something that would be a go-to ‘prayer’. What better thought to wake with each morning than to imagine planting a green tree in my heart in hopes of a singing bird. That’s so beautiful. I am writing it in my journal right now. It shall be memorized.
Blessings…