If I said I'd give you thirty seconds to come up with some thing new in Art or Music could you do it. How new would it be? Suppose we start with art.
Would you use a canvas? It's been done. Would you use paint? It's been done as well. Would you assemble a number of incongruous objects that have purpose by themselves but do not necessarily have any inherent relationship other than the one created by you bringing them together as art? It's been done. I'll go no further,
I believe I've made my point. The very words "It's been done" are the cry of the artist and the curator in tandem.
When an artist puts together a presentation and takes her slides and an information packet down to a dozen art galleries in her city, she is greeted with anything from:
"Well, this is certainly promising, you really must stay with your art. Clearly you have an eye for color and a feel for drama, but the truth is I have no use for it. I just did a show of a half a dozen artists using techniques very much like yours."
To: "Don't wast my time with your mixtures and experiments. Do you read? Have you studied art at all? These are so derivative you could be sued. Go, give up art you have nothing to offer. Go back to college and get a business degree and you can use your ideas to do presentations in the board room.
One gallery owner was more pleasant to deal with, was more polite. The other was curt and even rude. In both cases she wound up standing on the sidewalk with a portfolio and a CD with thirty photos of her art. The standard procedure from that position is to head to a nearby Starbucks and drown your
sorrows in a latte.
So what is she to do?
I suppose she could walk into the gallery next week and throw a glass of water in the face of the owner.
"There! How do you feel?"
Standing up abruptly and pulling his handkerchief from his pocket he snaps at her.
"Better question is how are you going to pay for the dry cleaning bill on this
camel hair jacket AFTER you get out of jail?" This, as he reaches for the phone to dial up the police.
"I wanted you to be the first to see my new art. What do you think?"
Eying her closely and with disdain he lofts the cradle of the phone at half mast.
"You threw a glass of water in my face, it's hardly art."
"Oh it's art all right. Do you read? Have you studied art at all? I suppose
you are familiar with Professor Miles Grey of the Art Institute?"
"Of course I'm familiar with him, he shows here twice a year."
"Well for two years now I've been studying under the Professor and if he
has taught me anything it is that art is art and for the most part it is, much like
beauty, in the eye of the beholder, and what sets it apart, that is the art that sells, art that catches the
attention of the galleries and the buying public and the well heeled patrons of the
arts everywhere is impact! Art must assault you, make you feel! Art must
move you and bring out emotions you were not feeling before you were in it's
presence!"
"Yes art is all those things of course. A glass of water in the face is
nothing like it." He begins dialing.
"Oh, on the contrary, it is everything like it. First there was Impact! You were assaulted, it made you feel! You felt cold and wet all at the same time. It moved
you, you got right up out of your chair didn't you? Finally it brought out emotions you were not feeling before you were in it's presence."
He miss dials twice and hangs the phone up.
"You listen to me you misguided trouble maker, I'm still calling the police when I get my bearings but I want to tell you something. Your "prank" may have
all of the earmarks of art, which in and of itself means we need a better definition of art. But surely you do not expect to sell people a glass of water in the face! They can get a glass of water in the face at home. Why would they pay to have YOU do it?"
The young woman picks up the empty glass.
"That's easy. Because it's me."
"Because it's YOU? People will come to an art gallery and pay you money
to throw a glass of water in their face? How much are you going to charge?"
"A hundred dollars."
He's thrown by her response.
"You've actually given this some thought haven't you. You've no doubt been
daydreaming about this and now you think you can just ....just DO IT?"
"Call the police. You said you were going to call the police go ahead. I've got
an idea. If you have me put in jail it will cause a stir, I'll get interviewed and when I get out I'll do a show at another gallery. They can use the fact that I threw a glass of water in your face as a draw. That will work for me. Then I'll introduce the idea that for a hundred dollars I'll throw a glass of water in someones face. We can document the event with a photograph which I'll autograph and frame for them."
"I'm not calling the police. I'll be no part of making your dream come true.
You are clearly psychotic or at the very least unstable."
"Yeah, kinda like an artist huh?" She picks up a crystal paperweight off of his desk. Call the police or I'll clout you with this paperweight. Do it now!"
He backs up slowly. It dawns on him that he has no power to retaliate. If he calls the police he simply sets her career in motion. If he doesn't call them, he runs the risk of being sent to the emergency room from the impact of the paperweight. His eyes widen, he speaks...
"I'll become your manager." Snapping his fingers he becomes inspired. "I'll put the show on right here. I'll take thirty percent off the top and we can have your press conference and opening night right here. I'll make the arrangements today. You can open in a week. What
do you say." He smiles slightly but doesn't put his hands down yet.
"No dice. You call the police, I go to jail and when I get out the highest bidder
gets to present my opening."
"That isn't fair. This all started here. Lets keep it here."
"Not a chance!" With that she throws the crystal, he ducks and it misses him by an inch .
"Look why don't you just leave. I'll drop the charges and we'll pretend we never met, It occurs to me you're probably harder to deal with than I'm used to."
"OK, I'll go. You just lost out on a chance to make your gallery famous, you coulda been somebody, you coulda been a contender! " She laughs at the tired ironic overly used joke. "Oh and before I forget, you owe me a hundred bucks."
His eyes nearly pop. He straightens up.
"A hundred dollars!" His voice is clear and low but stressed.
"Yes a hundred dollars. I threw a glass of water in your face. The going rate for that is a hundred dollars." Her face is blank and slightly serene.
He looks at the phone. She perks up. "Hey if your thinking of calling the police
again please do. I could use the jump start for my career."
With exaggerated movements and with no words, he opens his wallet and counts out five twenty dollar bills. She accepts the bills and walks toward the door, then
turns to speak. Before she can say anything he raises both hands and shakes his head slowly, the international symbol for "I've had enough, please just go."
She goes.
Out side she makes for the nearest Starbucks and orders a latte with an extra shot of espresso. At the table she opens her daily planner and looks for the address of the next gallery.
Roger Wild May 13Th 2007 3:01 a.m. CST
This blog is dedicated to Artists, Musicians and anyone plying their trade in a
growing market, swollen with copycat rehash as well as the truly innovative.
As an artist, I feel your frustration. As a writer I salute you and your perseverance. Take a moment and give yourself a well deserved break, here...
let me get you a glass of water.
