Marketing Mondays: "What Do You Do?"

The "Elevator Pitch"

The short verbal statement about yourself and your work is a useful little tool. Often referred to as "The Elevator Pitch"--so called because you deliver it in the time it takes to travel a few floors--it allows you to provide a brief but informative description or to respond succinctly to that ubiquitous question, "What do you do?"

Go ahead, ask me. I can tell you in two floors:    I'm a painter. Geometric abstraction is a good umbrella term to describe what I do. My particular version is succulent color married to the austerity of the grid. I call it lush minimalism.

OK, your turn. Pitch me: What do you do?


Getting Ready for Atlanta

You're probably wondering why my postings have been sparse lately. It's because I'm getting ready for a solo at the Marcia Wood Gallery in Atlanta, Diamond Life, opening April 16. It's my fourth solo with the gallery (and my 26th career solo). 

Ever since I made that diamond-shaped print in June, I've been thinking about the way the diamond asserts itself in space, and the way it holds my color fields within it. I've also been thinking about rhomboids within the square field.  There's a lot of push and pull, point and counterpoint--and, ultimately, equipoise.  Here's a peek at what I've been working on.

Detail of Rummu, 2011, encaustic on panel, 34x34 inches, above, with a full view of the work below


Marketing Mondays: A Portfolio of Representation

Like a good investor, a working

artist would be wise to have a

diversified portfolio. I'm

talking galleries, not stocks

but the thinking is the same. 

One gallery might sell your work well but not do much in the way of advertising. Another may make only modest sales for you but have a great presence in the art community, which gives you visibility among your peers and other art professionals. Another may be well connected to curators and critics so that your work is included in museum shows and reviewed. Another may advertise regularly or include your work in international art fairs so that their presence, and yours, goes beyond the city where they are located. Yet another may feature your work on their website or blog, or in regular newsletters.

The Uber Gallery
Represented by or in a good working relationship with several galleries in different cities around the country, you thus have a kind of uber gallery, one that does everything that the average gallery couldn’t possibly do: sell your work; place it in good institutional, corporate and private collections; promote it via ads and a great website; take your work to the art fairs; be sufficiently connected to get you museum shows and reviews; and pay you on time. If you’re prolific, you could have one or two solos a year as well as inclusion in a number of groups shows. Given the diversity of your portfolio, sales could generate enough income to support you.

Talking recently with a friend who was upset at what her gallery wasn’t doing for her, it became clear in conversation that developing a relationship with a second gallery would remove some of the stress she was feeling. Involvement with a second (or third) dealer reminds the first to not take you for granted. It reinforces the idea that you are an artist worth cultivating and promoting.

The portfolio approach takes some pressure off the dealer, too. “If I’m the only gallery representing an artist, I feel a huge responsibility," says a dealer I know. "Especially these days, if sales are slow, I know my artists are going to have trouble paying bills, so I like it when they are represented elsewhere.”  And dealers, after all, have a portfolio of artists; it's called a roster, or in old-fashioned barnyard terms, a stable.

Given that the economy affects different parts of the country differently, a well-planned portfolio may mean sales in one gallery even if another is not doing so well for you. Your sales may well be what helps keep a gallery going and/or good reviews of your shows may create the attention that brings in valued collectors. On the flip side, another gallery may not be doing so well for you, but the sales of other artists keep the gallery afloat assuring you of a continued presence on the roster.
A Portfolio of Responsibility
With each gallery you have to honor commitments: offer new work on a regular basis, meet deadlines for exhibitions and art fairs, keep your resume and supporting materials up to date, provide good images, and if possible, show up at the openings of other gallery artists. When you work with several galleries, it’s not unusual to field a couple or three requests a week. One might want to see images of everything you have available in red, for instance, while another needs an updated resume this minute, while still another might like to make a studio visit with a client, which will have you scrambling to straighten up. It's business; roll with it.

You will also deal with a portfolio of personalities. One unfailingly picks up the tab for dinner; the other nickels and dimes you, then offers a way-too-generous discount to collectors. For every dealer who is organized, there's another who leaves everything until the last minute, when the burden may fall on you. "Can you Fed Ex it overnight?" I've been asked at 5:00 p.m. Uh, but I asked you last week if you wanted it, when we could have shipped it third-day for two-thirds less, and I would have had the time to actually pack it. Only you can decide which personalities you can deal with. (Those last-minute overnight requests are on the gallery's Fed Ex account, by the way.)

The more galleries in your portfolio, the more administrative work you have to do, too: keep track of who has what work, how long it’s been at the particular gallery, when you’ve been paid. This is a good problem to have, but it means doing more desk work than you expect. So expand slowly and see what kind of pace you can handle.

If You’re Not Represented
I know, some of you are thinking, “What about if you don’t have even one gallery?”  You don’t have to have a gallery at this very moment. This is simply a businesslike way of thinking about your career. Indeed, the portfolio doesn’t happen overnight but develops over the long haul. And the galleries in your developing portfolio don't have to include New York City; there are many cities, large and small, where art gets shown and sold. (Indeed suburban venues, especially in wealthy towns, could provide enough in sales to support not only your studio practice but provide a living income. And I notice that galleries even in small towns find their way to the art fairs.) 

Many posts in this series talk about ways to secure gallery representation, or at least to get on a gallery's radar: Six Degrees of Representation, How Did You Find a Gallery? How Dealers Are Considering Artists Now, Part One and Part Two and others. Even if it's not commercial, you may have more of a portfolio than you realize: art associations or academic galleries where you have a continuing presence; artist groups to which you belong—especially the ones that seek out exhibition venues and mount exhibitions; non-profits that have shown your work; flat files.

Over to you: How are you diversifying?

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Red with a Black and White Chaser

Barnett Newman, Vir Heroicus Sublimis, 1950-51, oil on canvas
Detail below

In this post we go back to MoMA for another look at the Abstract Expressionist show. Never mind that most of the artists you see here--Newman, Reinhardt, Rothko-- are chromatic abstractionists, it's the generation of art and artists the exhibition embraces. As I mentioned in a previous post about the exhibition, Abstract Expressionist New York is up through April 25. The work is all from the museum's holdings, so if you miss the show, you will see the work--just not all at once.  In a video on the MoMa website, curator Ann Temkin talks about the artists and their art:  

"What did they have in common? Not very much.  What did they share? An ultimately profound and urgent expression of self. Their art was their transformation . . . of the society in which they lived. . . . Today the contemporary art world is a huge industry. In the 1940s it couldn't have been more different. It was a tiny band of people interested in contemporary art."

Detail of the second-in-from-the-right "zip" in Newman's Vir Heroicus Sublimis
(I think this work is sublime, probably the most powerful painting in a show of powerful  paintings in a museum of powerful paintings. But the title--Man, Heroic and Sublime--seems to sum up the attitude of that generaton of male painters, no?)

Barnett Newman, Onement III, 1949, oil on canvas
Detail below

Ad Reinhardt, Abstract Painting, Red and Abstract Painting (Blue), both 1952, oil on canvas
Before the black paintings there was . . . color

Detail of the red painting below
(photographed just below and just to the right of center)

Foreground, Hans Hoffman; in distance, Philip Guston

A roomful of Rothkos

And the black and white chasers:
Louise Nevelson, lithographs flanking the sculpture Ascending, 1951, painted wood

Closer view of Ascending, below

Alfred Leslie, The second Two-Panel Horizontal, 1958, oil on canvas
Detail below


Marketing Mondays: A Contract I Didn't Sign

This is not the dining room in which my work was placed. I have blurred the image of a perfectly good painting in a perfectly good dining room to illustrate the point of my story  (Image from the Internet)

Today's post follows last week's MM on the topic of contracts. This one's personal, pointing up the importance of not signing a contract unless and until we are comfortable with what we are signing. It also  reminds us that not every bit of visibility for us is necessarily helpful. I hope you'll share your similar stories here, along with any advice you have to offer about your situation. Here's my story:

A few months ago I got an e-request from a producer’s assistant to have my work included in a TV program about home design. “Your work is integral to the dining room, where it is placed, and we’d like your permission to shoot it,” said the production manager.

“Lovely. Send me a contract,” I replied.

Here’s what the contract required me to agree to: “To use and authorize others to use, including by assignment of this agreement, the Property as so incorporated in the Production in the distribution, sale, licensing, marketing, advertising, promotion, publication, exhibition and other exploitation of the Production and other film or video productions in all markets and media (whether now known or hereafter developed), throughout the universe, in perpetuity.”

In other words, they wanted free rein to use the image of my work as they wished. And what they were willing to offer me? Nothing. Nada. Bupkus. No payment, not even credit as the artist.  I don’t have to get paid—the feature was on someone's interior design work, with my painting part of the environment she'd created—but I do have to be credited. “It’s not our policy,” said the production manager. Well, it’s not my policy to sign away rights ‘throughout the universe, in perpetuity.’

I asked the production manager: “What exactly does that mean, “throughout the universe in perpetuity.” She emailed back: “It means forever.” I laughed out loud, reminded of the time I asked a waitress, “What’s the soup du jour?” and she came back with, “It’s the soup of the day.”

Pressing her, I found out it means the production company would have the right to show the program and repeat it at will; put the content into a new form—a compilation, for instance; or into an as-yet untried medium, such as a holographic broadcast; and, apparently, to broadcast the program to Neptune in an endless loop of home decorating tips.

“I want credit as the artist,” I said.

“It’s not in the contract. But your work is essential to the shoot, so we’d love you to sign the contract.”

“If it’s essential, I want credit.”

Back and forth, the bottom line being that if they don’t get my permission, they will shoot the room and blur the image of my work. “So blur it,” I replied. “But it’s essential to the show,” said the production assistant. You can see where this was going. I stopped responding.

Then came the call. “We’re going to include your name in the show credits.”

“Fine, send me a contract with that detail spelled out," I replied, adding, "and if you can do it for me, you can do it for other artists.”

The contract came. Here’s what they added, italics mine:  “In consideration of Licensor’s compliance with this agreement and subject to broadcaster approval, Licensor will receive credit in the end credits of the episode(s) in which Producer uses the Property in the form of  “title of work” [I would supply the specific information] dining room painting by Joanne Mattera”, the size and placement of such credit to be at Producer's sole discretion.

Give me a break. I’m no lawyer but even I can see the hole big enough to drive a truck through. They offer me a contract that credits me and my work, but they also give the broadcaster the right to rescind the agreement and the producer the right to put it in the teeniest point size possible in, say, black type on a black ground. This is what you call chutzpah, faccia tosta, balls, no shame. Under duress you offer credit but it comes with more strings than a puppet. No thanks.

So if you’re watching a home decorating channel and you see a big blur of red on the wall in a feature about a recedorated dining room, that blur would be my painting. Assuming the decorator signed the same kind of contract that was offered to me, that blur may well be broadcast throughout the universe in perpetuity. 

This would be just a funny/annoying story if it were not for the fact that it’s the way that artists often get treated—i.e. We love your work. Let us use it/have it/show it and we’ll give you nothing in return and make you sign a contract you can't back out of.

My advice: 
. Don't sign any contract until you understand what you're signing. Where will your work be shown? What's the context in which it will be shown or used? How will it be insured? What's the benefit to you? 
. If you don't understand the language, consult an attorney. Start with Volunteer Lawyers for the Arts, but even if you are asked to pay a fee, know that this kind of consultation is a deductible business expense
. This is a different situation from mine, but some galleries do nothing but rentals, whether for corporate clients or for the film industry, while other dealers have found it to be a useful side business. No gallery should rent or loan your work without your contractual approval. Ask: Who's responsible for damage or loss? What's the rental period? What's the rental fee? If you agree, the gallery should take care of shipping, and both you and the gallery share in the fee.
. In a situation like mine, even if  a fee is offered, are you being asked to give away too much for what's offered? One-time rights allow you to retain control of your work or your image, whereas "throughout the universe in perpetuity" is just prepostrously (and uncontrollably) broad

Who’s got stories or cautionary tales about a request that didn't offer much?
. . . . . .

More on getting your work out into the world
Check out Joy Garnett's report on Making a Living as an Artist (With or Without a Dealer), posted on the College Art Association's conference blog.
. Part 1 here
Best quote of the post comes from Bill Carroll, artist, former gallery director, current arts administrator:
"You are ALWAYS responsible for your own career. A smaller gallery especially cannot be working on your career all the time. Most of the people I know who make a living off their work have several galleries — you need to look for galleries in other cities outside New York City."
.  Part 2 here
Best quote of the post comes from Sharon Butler: "You need to get the gallery to notice you, not by sending them your work, but by creating a SCENE. By making your voice heard. Any effort you put into building the community will be rewarded. So: rather than trying to bust into someone else’s scene, make your own."

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It's Coming

For all you snow-weary denizens of winter, this tulip field in Holland is a reminder that the Vernal Equinox, March 20--and Spring!--will be here soon


Rated Ex: Ab Ex in New York

.Lee Krasner, Gaea, 1966, oil on canvas, at MoMA
Detail below

Focusing on Miami for a month in December meant that much of what I saw in New York during that time remains in my digital files. For instance, I twice visited Abstract Expressionist New York at MoMA (up through April 25) and slipped into a beautiful Lee Krasner show at Robert Miller at the very beginning and very end of its run. I'd like to write more about what I saw, but now I'm getting ready for a solo in April in Atlanta. So except for Marketing Mondays, it's going to be more show than tell for the next couple of months.  Here's a little taste of what I saw, with details:

Lee Krasner, Another Storm, 1963, oil on canvas; at the Robert Miller Gallery
Detail below

Philip Guston, Painting, 1954, oil on canvas, at MoMA
Detail below

Joan Mitchell, Ladybug, 1957, oil on canvas, at MoMA
Detail below

Jackson Pollock, One: Number 31, 1950, 1950, oil and enamel on canvas
Detail below


Marketing Mondays: The Gallery Contract

“I’m wondering if you have ever written a post about gallery contracts?”
This was one of many—and I mean many—questions from MM readers asking about this topic. Until now I have not written a post about contracts. They’re complicated and I’m not a lawyer. But I do have some gallery contracts, so I’ll write from my experience. I hope you’ll all respond with yours.

Your options in agreeing to a deal: the handshake*, above, and the signed contract

Whose Contract is It?
A contract is typically written to protect the writer of the contract. So if a gallery presents you with the contract, you should know that the document is first and foremost designed to protect the gallery. That doesn’t mean the gallery is out to get you, only that its primary concern is to protect itself. 

Kinds of Contracts
In my experience, there are two kinds of contracts:
. A boilerplate contract lays out out the relationship between the dealer and the artist with regard to the terms of representation. This is the standard contract the gallery generates and uses for each of its artists. Nothing in the wording makes it specific to the individual artist. Some galleries have two such contracts: one for their represented artists, the other for artists who are showing one time in a particular show.  The one-time contracts are usually no more than a consignment. 

Do you have to agree to everything in a standard contract? In my experience, no. There are certain items I don’t agree to—for example, exclusive national representation, or the gallery’s stipulation that it retain work for more than six months. (If work is selling, or if there has been serious expressed interest, sure, hold onto some work. But don’t tie up my inventory for two years if it’s going to end up in the black hole at the back of your storage closet.)

. A contract specific to you and your needs is preferable, but not always available. I’ve found that discussing a gallery's standard contract with the dealer, and crossing out and initialing certain items we’ve discussed, is a reasonable way for the contract to meet my needs without drawing up a new contract and/or consulting with my attorney at $200 an hour (a good benchmark for a professional service fee, by the way). If you feel you must generate a contract and you don't wish to engage the services of an attorney, check out one of these useful books:
Business and Legal forms for Fine Artists, Tad Crawford, Allworth Press
The Artist-Gallery Partnership: A Practical Guide to Consigning Art, Tad Crawford and Susan Melton, Allworth Press
The Artist’s Guide, Jackie Battenfield, DaCapo Press; especially Chapter Eight: “How to Read and Work with the Fine Print: Contracts, Legal Issues, and the Art of Negotiation”

Features from Standard Contracts
I have contracts with some galleries and not with others. The ones I have signed are not onerous. They spell out a few basic terms:
. Artist is the owner of the work until a sale is made; gallery is working on behalf of the artist
. Artist retains ownership of the copyright to the work--and thus the right to reproduce the image at will--unless that right is specifically ceded to the owner of the work. (I would not give that right away, though I might licence the use of an image for a limited edition of prints. For this you might wish to consult with an attorney, or at least discuss the terms with your dealer, who may have experience in the matter.)
. Percentage of commission on sales is usually 50/50 (non profits may take less; beware the gallery that expects more than 50%)
. The  geographic region within which the gallery requests exclusive right to represent the artist should be defined. It's typically limited to a city or a region. Your primary gallery--the biggest gallery to represent you, or the one in the biggest city, or perhaps just the one with the biggest demands--may expect a percentage of sales. If that's the case, there should be percentage limits (10 percent) and time limits. Edward Winkleman's How to Start and Run a Commercial Gallery (Allworth Press) should be on your bookshelf for the light it sheds on the dealer's side of things
. Insurance the gallery is providing should be defined. Ask: How I would be reimbursed if work is stolen or damaged?
. The terms by which the work is delivered and retrieved spell out who's responsible for getting the work to and from the gallery. Usually the artist delivers to the gallery, and the gallery delivers to the client or back to the artist
. When I get paid. This is a biggie. First the work has to sell. That could be right away or a year or more from the time you deliver the work.  After the sale:
. . . . The dealer has to get paid, the payment has to clear, the dealer writes a check and you receive it. In the best of times, this process takes about a month.
. . .   Things get complicated when there are multiple layers at each stop. For instance: when a consultant makes the purchase for her client. She needs to get paid from the collector or corporation for whom she is working, and then writes a check to the gallery, who then writes a check to you. Galleries typically have a designated time in the month to pay bills—like we do—so if a check comes in late, payment may not occur until the next cycle.  
. . . . Add bookkeepers to the mix—and in a consultant-generated sale, there may be a corporation’s business office, a consultant’s bookkeeper and even a gallery’s bookkeeper, some of whom may be part-time or freelance financial people who work on specific days each month—and you can see how the payment process can be attenuated to cartoonish length. Except that there’s nothing funny about the wait for money you need to pay your bills.  

With Some Galleries I Have Only a Consignment Contract
I’ve worked with some of my dealers for over a decade. It doesn’t seem necessary to have terms spelled out, as we have done business together for a long time and we communicate regularly. I trust them. They let me know when there are sales and they pay me in a timely manner. They know I’m not going to show in another gallery in their area (exceptions are discussed, like inclusion in a group show) and I know they’re going to do their best to represent me. This is the classic “gentlemen’s agreement,” which now includes women.  

What I do have with every gallery, however, is a consignment sheet listing the work that is held by the gallery. If they don’t provide it to me, I provide it to them. Two signed copies, one for each of us.  Every year, usually at the beginning of the year, I provide an annual inventory to acknowledge what they have. (Yes, I’m a Type A personality.) It has happened that a sale was made and not recorded, or recorded but not paid. During the recent down economy some dealers cut back on administrative help, and sometimes things fall through the cracks. I can recall two instances in which my inventory differed by the gallery’s by one painting; and in both instances, the gallery found it had made a sale but neglected to pay me. A check was issued and sent immediately. Another instance: a gallery believed it had returned a work to me but my inventory indicated otherwise. I trusted the dealer to either find the work or reimburse me for it. Shortly after our discussion I got a call: “You were right. I did have it. The box had slipped behind another.” Bottom line: the consignment contract allowed me to know a work was missing, and the dealer to know that it had not been sold.

Some Questions You Had:
. “When you are grateful to participate in a show does it seem pushy to send a contract?” 
Gratefulness goes both ways. A dealer should feel privileged to have you show in their gallery, too. Request or generate at least a consignment sheet.

. “What is the standard amount of discount the gallery can give?” 
There is no standard anything in the art world. Discuss these terms up front with the dealer.  Ten percent seems to be the "courtesy" extended to clients (so build it into your retail price). Twenty percent is extended for big-ticket sales or multiple sales. Collectors may ask for more than that, but a dealer who is working ardently on your behalf will stop there.

. “Does the discount have to come out of the artist’s share?”
If you are asking: does the discount come only out of the artist’s share, that’s not fair or right. If you are asking, does the discount also have to come out of the artist’s share, that’s fairly common. There is no standard. Some dealers assume the entire discount in their share of the sale. Others split the discount up to 10 percent and then assume the rest out of their own share of the sale; others up to 20 percent. But it should never come only out of the artist's share.

. Is it plausible to eliminate a clause requiring the artist to pay return shipping if the work has been sold and is being sent to a client? The gallery offers “free shipping” as a form of discount, but it’s expecting me to pay the shipping. 
Now that is one cheap-ass gallery!  Do they offer your cleaning services to the client? Do they have you serve wine at your own opening? Ugh.  While there are many variations on the theme, usually you deliver your work to the gallery on your dime and the dealer returns it to you on theirs. If/when they sell the work, they are responsible for the getting it to the client, not you. (One of the universe's little jokes on artists: The more successful you are, the less you have to pay for anything.)

. When I joined my gallery (no actual contract signed, just consignment forms), they told me I could participate in group shows within our city, just no solo shows.  I have been asked to be in a four-person show at another gallery. My gallery said it would require a 35% commission, which leaves 15% for the gallery putting on the show.  I can understand my gallery would want a percentage, but isn’t 35 percent high?
High? It's stratospheric! Ten percent for the representing gallery is reasonable. After all, your raised profile within the city is good for your gallery, too. Be sure to include a "Courtesy of . . ." credit. Refer to Winkleman's How to Start and Run A Commercial Gallery, specifically pages 39-40: "Sharing artists with other galleries."

. Is standard payment 30 days after close of show? 
In a perfect world, and assuming that work has sold during the show, perhaps. See my comments above, in When I Get Paid under Features from Basic Contracts.

. How would a gallery feel if an artist creates a contract, with payment schedule, marketing agreement, discount policy, shipping policy and future sales agreement.  Would galleries feel it is too pushy or would they see it as professional? 
How would you feel if the gallery told you what to paint, when to paint it, how to paint it and what to do with those brushes when you were finished? The artist/gallery relationship is a relationship—a relationship of equals who bring equal but different talents to the business of showing and selling art. Talk with a dealer to learn how she likes to do business. If she doesn’t generate a contract, create one reflecting the terms you have discussed. Dealers, would you weigh in here?

. What if a gallery refuses to give me a contract and refuses to sign the one I provide?
My first response is to ask why a business such as your gallery would want to engage in selling art without some kind of conract with its artists. At the very least a signed consignment form acknowledges what the gallery has of yours--whether for insurance purposes, for sales reference, or for inventory. Personally, I'd be wary of anyone who doesn't want to acknowledge the business arrangement I have with them. And if I had work with the gallery under those circumstances, I'd be sure to have screen grabs or printouts of the artist-inventory page on the gallery website. If there's no record of the artist's work anywhere, well, that just smells funny. I might discreetly talk to the gallery's other represented artists. But, frankly, I'd be more likely to get out. Artists and dealers, please weigh in.

. What do I do if a have a contract and the gallery is withholding payment?
You need legal help. A few suggestions:
. Read Chapter Eight of Jackie Battenfield's book, noted above
. Sometimes just reminding the dealer that you have a signed contract will get a check generated. Deadbeat dealers are sleazy but they're not stupid; they tend to take the path of least resistance. Speak up and ideally they'll pay up
. Contact Volunteer Lawyers for the Art in your area. You may get some free advice, but typically you'll end up with some names of art-and-artist-friendly attorneys who would represent you for a fee. Some VLA attorneys will charge you somewhat less than their normal going rate. Sometimes just having an attorney step in will get the wheels turning
. If you have a day job at a corporation, see what's in your benefits package; it's possible you have access to discounted legal fees
. Quietly share your experience with other artists. The art world whisperstream contains a good deal of cautionary information. It's not slander if you tell your truth.

I think that’s it. Remember, I’m not a lawyer; I’m just speaking from my own experience.

Over to you: Comments? Questions? Answers?

* The Great Handshake, 1992; relief-block print (two-color, dark over light w/rainbow inkings), 13-1/2 x 21-3/4 in. image, 17-1/2 x 23 in. paper . Signed in pencil, artist’s proof. Hand-printed by the artist on acid-free paper.  The Alcorn Studio & Gallery

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One From the Hearth

Cold on the outside, warm on the inside: Looking into Kenise Barnes Fine Art

The premise of Baby, It's Cold Outsideup through February 25 at Kenise Barnes Fine Art in Larchmont, New York, is simple: to provide an intense feeling of warmth when you come in from the cold. This winter couldn't have been more obliging. Kenise Barnes gathered the work of six artists, each of whom has paintings in hues of red, orange and yellow, to create something of a visual hearth. I'm included in the show, so this is not a review but a walk-around-the-gallery report.  As you may have noticed from the Sideshow walkabout last week, I'm making use of a new picture format that allows me to post vertical images extra large.

Looking through the from window, you can see work my me, Chris Gallagher and Margaret Lanzetta. You know how I like to tour an exhibition with you, so let's begin

We're looking through the front window at four of my recent Silk Road  paintings, each encaustic on panel, 12x12 inches

Walking in through the front door now, you have a better view of work by Gallagher and Lanzetta

Closeups are below

Chris Gallagher, Tondo 6-10, oil on canvas, 36 inches in diameter

Two by Margaret Lanzetta: Last Two Million, oil and enamel on canvas, and Across the Black Water, oil and enamel on panel

Closer view of Across the Black Water below

Moving clockwise around the gallery we come to Sally Egbert's Perfumes, oil and mixed-media collage on canvas on the back wall. I love that hot spot right in the middle

Better view of Perfumes, below

Two vignettes by Cecile Chong and a vigorous abstraction by Yolanda Sanchez, both artists shown in closer view below

Above: Cecile Chong, Deer Friend, encaustic and mixed media on wood panel

Below: Yolanda Sanchez, Messenger, a hothouse palette in oil on canvas

Continuing down the wall, Sanchez and I hang side by side. That's my Ciel Rouge, encaustic on panel, which brings us back to where we started--but on the inside looking out
Is it warm in here or is it me?