Marketing Mondays: Are There Too Many Artists?

.

On last week's post about the M.F.A. , a commenter asked this question: Are there too many artists?

My kneejerk response: It's not that there are too many artists, but that there are not enough galleries.

Image from Ionarts taken by Mark, at Metro Pictures during Postcards From the Edge

True, the art schools are cranking out artists with B.F.A. degrees. And when those B.F.A.ers can't find galleries or reasonable employment, many go back to school for an M.F.A. Then not only do we have unrepresented artists, we have overqualified unemployment.

But looking more deeply, I think it's valid to assume that not every person who goes to art school will become an artist. Many gallery owners and directors have studied art. The same is true for critics and arts writers; curators (independent and regularly employed); as well as consultants and private dealers. Collectors, too. We operate along a continuum, from the folks who make the art to those who show and sell it, to those to acquire it for their homes, businesses and museums. All of those eyes and brains have gotten an art education, even if they didn't end up as artists.

And not every artist will go after New York gallery representation, or big-city gallery representation, or commercial gallery representation, period. There are many artists who are happily showing in co-op venues or in non-profits or who, while unshown in New York, have solid regional careers. There are artists who run studio/galleries, tyically in summer-resort or winter-vacation areas. There are artists, often academically employed, whose careers revolve around solo (and catalogued) exhibitions in regional museums and academic galleries. Still others fold artmaking into a life lived fully and creatively away from the conventional venues and scenes.

While I think it's true there are more artists than will ever find the kind of representation they want, there are never too many artists. We're resiliant, inventive and entrepreneurial. If we can't find a place for ourselves, we invent one, carve one out, will one into existence. That's my take, anyway.

What about you? Do you think there are too many artists?
.

Marketing Mondays: The M.F.A.

We're entering graduation month, so it seems appropriate to ask: When did the M.F.A. become so important? And to whom, exactly, is it important?

Colloquially known as "More Fucking Artists," the Master of Fine Arts degree has become--depending on your point of view:
. essential for a career as an exhibiting artist
. a way to avoid the pressure of showing art in the real world
. an invaluable educational experience
. a colossal waste of money
. network central
. a clique with you on the outside
. the best thing you could do for your career
. a debt that virtually assures you'll never be able to buy a home

The days are gone—and they were few to begin with—when dealers would swoop into the M.F.A. studios of a big-city institution, select a student and then create a career for her, or more likely, him.

If you want to teach, yes, the M.F.A. is essential. But consider this: If every M.F.A. graduate expects to teach, there will need to be more and more students—an educational Ponzi pyramid. Think you're going to get a cushy job in a major city? Think again. Unless you have a great career already, your options will be limited to universities in Podunk, Wahoo, and Boondock Corners. OK, that's extreme, but don't plan on teaching in New York, OK? And once you get tenure in Podunk, you're cemented in there.

As for dealers, when I ask how important this terminal degree is when they're considering an artist, every one I have spoken to says, in almost these exact words: "It's about the work." Daniel, a Chelsea dealer, says unequivocally that it makes "no difference." Edward, also a Chelsea dealer, qualifies his "no difference" with the comment that, "It shows me an artist is serious about his/her career." In other words, an M.F.A. might enhance your chances if you have a chance to begin with. Might.

I want to hear from all you artists out there, but in this post I though I would talk to two painters who are also dealers. Both Miles Conrad and Kathleen O'Hara can address the topic in a way that few others can.

Miles Conrad, a partner in the Conrad Wilde Gallery in Tucson, has a newly minted M.F.A. from the San Francisco Art Institute. Here's what he has to say:
. "As an artist, it was a grueling and vulnerable experience that was absolutely necessary for me to undertake in order to move my work forward. I learned a lot about myself in the process and my work has evolved. "
. "As a gallery director/curator I am most impressed by strong, coherent work from any source. An M.F.A. is not part of our criteria when evaluating work, but we do consider those factors when making hard decisions and distinctions among equally strong candidates."

Kathleen O'Hara, a partner in the OHT Gallery in Boston, says, "The two years I spent in graduate school were a pivotal phase in my life."
. As an artist: "I think it varies from artist to artist, but for me the process of earning my M.F.A. confirmed my commitment to being a professional artist/curator. Having few expectations other than that I would be provided the opportunity to work in depth with good people, helped. Two years of working in a studio environment with fellow students and faculty artists seemed like a dream come true for me, since I had been out of school for a couple of years working 9-5 for a commercial printer."
. As a dealer: "As co-director at OHT, I agree that it's all about the work. But I also have to say that the overwhelming majority of our artists have an MFA or BFA degree...."

If you're in an M.F.A. program for the opportunity to grow as an artist in a supportive environment, you'd better make sure you pick a school that will support you. If the institution is all about new media and you're a painter, oops, bad choice. (This is the situation my friend J encountered, but she stuck it out because she needed that degree to keep her job.) If what you want is to eventually support yourself through the sale of your art or if you're a woman, better make sure you won't be dealing with old-school professors who believe that selling well means selling out, or that women don't "deserve" the same career as men. (Yes, they're still out there.) Ask around. Choose wisely.

In the interest of transparency, I have an M.A. in Visual Arts from Goddard College. I got it when the terminal degree was less important than it is now. It was a low-residency program, which allowed me to continue working to support myself. Perhaps for that reason, I have not found it nearly as helpful as my own hard work. It's important to note that I'm not interested in academia as a career (though I love the professional development course I teach—one, I might add, that has nothing to do with a degree and everything to do with actual experience).

So what about you: Do you have an M.F.A? Was it worth the time and expense? Has it helped you? If you don't have one, do you feel held back by the lack of the degree? If you're a dealer or curator, does an advanced degree make a difference to you when you're considering an artist or is it "all about the work?"

Image taken from the Internet: Arm and Leg charm by Amanda Jo
.

Marketing Mondays: How is Your Pie Sliced?

.
I purchased a specially vented air conditioner for my studio last year from Grainger, the machine and equipment company. I’m now on their mailing list. The way they address the envelope makes me laugh every time I get one: “Joanne Mattera, Facility Maintenance Manager.”

Yes, that’s me. Joanne the Janitor. I’m also the CEO, the head of PR, the administrative assistant, the secretary, the director of the accounting department, and the entire staff of both the mail room and the packing and shipping department. It's quite a pie; I might as well be a baker, too.

I’m telling you this for a reason.

Last Monday I was the visiting artist at Marywood University in Scranton, Pa. I was invited by the painter Steven Alexander, a professor in the art department. My slide talk—to undergraduates, MFA candidates,
.
The pie chart: Guess how much of my time
is actually spent painting
.
and faculty—was a career overview intertwined with practical career advice for the students. Steven had introduced me as a working studio artist, and during the presentation, as I showed my work and discussed career issues, I talked about my transition from 9-to-5 employment (when artmaking was squeezed into evenings, weekends, vacations and "sick days") to full-time studio artist. .
.
This audience was with me, so I went on for a whole hour. When the lights went up, the questions came out. Great questions, too: specifics about finding a gallery, understanding the gallery hierarchy, pricing work, studio issues, and balancing the art practice with income-producing jobs.
.
Toward the end of the Q&A period, a professor sitting at the back asked: "What percentage of your day now is actual painting time, as opposed to when you were working a full-time job?"
.
Here’s the shocking answer: About the same. I’d guess about 30 percent, or the amount depicted by the three saturated wedges of red, aqua and olive in the pie chart above.
.
The rest of it is taken up with all the non-painting tasks required to get the work out into the world and to keep track of it once it's out there. Of course the math doesn’t usually work out so neatly. When I’m preparing for a show, I might spend almost 100 percent of my work time in the studio for weeks or months, and when the show is delivered, 100 percent of the following weeks crashing, then cleaning up and catching up. But that professor’s question is a sobering reminder that in the phrase “working studio artist,” working is the operative word. When I left nine-to-five, I traded 80 hours a week (40 with with steady income, health insurance and vacation time) for 80 hours with an unpredictable income and no bennies.
.
I wouldn’t want to go back to the way it used to be. I've been a painter for long enough now that when I go into the studio to paint, I paint. (That 30 percent goes deep. ) And all the non-painting work is in service to my career, not an employer's business. Having a fully immersed art life means that, in addition to the administrative work and facility maintenance managing, I'm also making studio visits and seeing art, writing and thinking about art. I actually like the way the pie is sliced. (Well, except for that dreaded desk work.)
.
Now let me take the role of the professor: What percentage of your time is spent actually making art? Or to recast in a more visual way: How is your pie sliced? And are you happy with the portions?
.

Marketing Mondays: Stayin’ Alive

.
With the “For Lease” and “For Rent” signs popping up in Chelsea and SoHo, the smug schadenfreuders are told-you-so-ing even as the ground gives way beneath their feet. Of galleries that have not closed, many are letting staff go—reportedly, even Pace and Gagosian. Red dots are everywhere less in evidence.

But the will to survive is strong. Whether the soundtrack is the BeeGees—oh, oh, oh, oh, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive—or Gloria Gaynor’s evergreen anthem to perseverance (or Celia’s Cruz’s inspired version in Spanish), we are all, as Celia sings, sopraviviendo. Surviving. Or trying to.

Galleries
At least Five galleries in New York have come up with novel ideas to keep going strong:
.
. Winkleman and Schroeder Romero, those side-by-side dynamos over by the Hudson on 27th Street, have come up with Compound Editions, a project that offers limited-edition prints, sculptures or cards at acquisition-friendly prices (so far, in the 100-$150 range). The series are selling out, such as All Your Eggs, by Andy Yoder, shown left, an edition of 100. (Disclaimer: I bought one.)
.
.
. Invisible Exports, down on Orchard Street, offers its Artist of the Month Club; pay $2400 for a year's subscription and you'll get a limited-edition print from a curator-selected artist each month. The collectors will know who the curators are but not the work they will select, says Benjamin Tischer, a director of the gallery. The website describes the process as introducing "Duchampian chance into the act of collecting."

.
. In Williamsburg, Jack the Pelican Presents has installed Old School, a salon-style show of work by gallery artists and others. The paintings, works on papers and sculptures--all small--are priced to sell. Everything is under $2000, and many works are in the modest three figures. Cash and carry is the operative mode, with new work installed as sales are made. The gallery features work primarily of emerging artists, and in this economic climate it's a chance for the work to be seen as well as sold. The show runs through April 26.
.
. Metaphor Contemporary, the gallery run by painters Rene Lynch and Julian Jackson, also in Brooklyn, has invited artists to donate a piece that will be part of a group exhibition and silent auction at the gallery in May (and an auction component that will take place on line). The show is titled Stayin' Alive. They've given artists the option of receiving the usual percentage of the sale, or something less, which would put more money into gallery programs. It's unusual, but artists who have shown there--I'm one of them-- are pitching in. (And thanks to the gallery for the title to this post; I unconsciously plagiarized it from them. ).
.
Artists
Artists have their own ways of keepin' on keepin' on. Some are holed up in the studio painting more than ever. Some are focusing more on works on paper than on painting, or small paintings rather than large. Some are participating in group shows rather than committing to solos, or taking the opportunity to show at venues they might not have considered before: open studios, art centers, private dealers, even some non-profit venues where everyone kicks in a couple hundred to cover expenses (but not vanity galleries).
.
I haven’t painted for a couple of months. Instead, I’m working with my network of galleries to place work that has already been made. For some time I’ve been trying to get off the treadmill of “What do you have that’s new?”—as if work from two years ago isn't as good or important as the new piece whose paint is not yet dry—and this downturn has given me that opportunity. I’m pleased with the sales, and I think my collectors are pleased with the work they've acquired. I’m also catching up on a ton of administrative work (and, if you haven’t noticed, blogging a little more than usual). I’m seeing more art, making more studio visits. When I get back in the studio—which will be soon, soon—I’ll do so with energy, enthusiasm and optimism.
.
So here’s what I want to know from you, artists, gallerists and others: What are you doing to stay alive?
.

Marketing Mondays: Promotion

Boston sculptor Donna Dodson asked the question that prompted this week’s topic:

“I was wondering about self-promotion versus promotion through a gallery. Do these work together or do they conflict? What are the boundaries?”
.

As a self-promoter with a wonderful network of galleries supporting me, I can answer this one with confidence. The short answer: Self promotion and gallery promotion go together, hand in glove.

A slightly longer answer: Communication between you and your gallery will tailor the fit. A smart dealer understands that the efforts you take on your own behalf will ultimately benefit the gallery too.

Here’s Valerie McKenzie of McKenzie Fine Art in Chelsea: "It's always enormously helpful when artists participate in the promotion of their work, and by extension, promotion of the gallery. So it's important for artists to maintain as broad and meaningful a professional and social network as possible."

Do you have a website or a blog?
Then you’re self promoting. If you are represented, provide a link to the gallery. If you should be contacted by someone who has found your website and likes the work, direct them to the gallery.

It would be a mistake to think, “This collector found me through my website so I’m going to make the sale myself.” If you’re represented, work with your dealer. If you work with several galleries, direct a potential client to a) the dealer closest to them, or b) if they have seen a specific piece they really love, to the dealer who has that work.

Once you direct the collector to the gallery, it is the dealer who will complete the sale, collect the sales tax, deliver the work. It may well be that as a result of this kind of attention, you’ll get the solo you’ve been wanting, or the ad to go with the solo, or a catalog raisonne of the show. Success breeds success. On the other hand, if you find that your website is consistently directing more sales to the gallery than the gallery is generating on its own—and you’re getting no perks, such as a nic(er) ad or a catalog—it may be time to renegotiate the relationship. Perhaps you can suggest that the gallery take a smaller commission on those sales. Or maybe you'll realize it’s time for a different gallery. (Another topic for down the road.)

Are You Showing in an Open Studio?
If you’re gallery represented, you really don’t need to go the Open Studio route anymore, but if it’s one of those yearly events that your studio building or artists’ community participates in, go ahead. Cross promote with the gallery, working out ahead of time how you will deal with a sale. It might be as simple as calling the gallery to have them complete the sale over the phone--they take credit cards; you probably don't--or you having the collector make out a check to the gallery. Let the gallery deal with the business issues and the sales tax. The gallery will also maintain the relationship with the new collector in ways it’s set up to do: previews, special events, regular newsletters and such. And the signal to the new collector is, ‘If you want more work from this artist, come see it (and buy it) at the gallery.”

Having a Gallery Exhibition? Coordinate Your Efforts
Why duplicate when you can coordinate? If your gallery has exhibition PR taken care of, maybe you send a short handwritten note to a few critics or curators, inviting them to come to the show. Announce the show on your website or blog, again providing links to the gallery. Or maybe you promote yourself in an area outside the conventional parameters of gallery PR: your local paper, if it’s not in the same city as the gallery; a national publication whose demographic is specific to your identity or interests; even to your personal groups that might not go to a gallery if not for the fact that you re showing in it. "Tap into your network," says McKenzie.

Are You in An Exhibition Outside of the Gallery?
If you’re actively working on your career, it would be unusual if you didn’t show outside your gallery once in a while. It could be a solo or group effort, an invitational exhibition or independent curatorial effort, in an academic gallery, a non-profit, a co-op, or a regional museum. Depending on the circumstances, it might even be in another local/regional commercial gallery. Make sure your primary gallery (or the one that has facilitated the delivery of the work, or the one closest to the venue) is identified as representing you. For instance, I’m in a group show right now in a museum on Cape Cod. I have made sure that the work is identified as Courtesy of my gallery in Boston.
.
You should know under what circumstances and for how much your primary gallery will share in the exhibiting gallery's sales commission if work is sold. A contract will spell this out. Since most of us don't work with documents beyond a consignment list, or a contract for a specific show, it's essential that you have a conversation with your dealer. (My feeling is that if you secure the show and the dealer will get a commission from the sale, that dealer should cover the cost of shipping the work if the second venue doesn't. I have also found that in galleries outside of New York it's unusual for the dealer to expect a commission on a show you secure on your own.)

Take Initiative
A few years ago I had a modest retrospective of 10 years' of encaustic painting at an academic gallery. It was the kind of show that my dealers were unlikely to put on, since much of the work had to be borrowed back from collectors, but all of them were excited for me. That being the case, I worked with the director of the academic venue to create a catalog of the show—and I asked each of my dealers to pre-purchase 100 copies of the catalog at cost. I got a great catalog for my time and effort, and they got many copies of a catalog at cost, which they were free to either sell or give away to collectors. Everyone was happy.

Or maybe you’d like a bifold or trifold card when all the gallery is prepared to pay for is a postcard. It happens. Most galleries don’t have your personal self promotion built into their budgets. Maybe you design it. Or split the cost above a certain amount, or you pay for the essay if they pay for the catalog. Or maybe all your self promotion has brought your career to the point that they take on the cost of the catalog themselves. There’s no hard-and-fast rule here, so a request, a discussion, some give and take, may result in some or most or all of what you ask for.

If you’re in a group show at a venue outside your gallery, I think you are perfectly free to make up a postcard with your own work and name on the front, with back-matter info that says you are participating in a group show. If appropriate, include the name of the juror or the curator, and if it’s a small group, it would be a generous gesture to include the names of the other artists. Some galleries have a “Gallery News” section on their websites noting the activities and events in which their artists are participating. If not, they may be willing to keep a stack of cards at the gallery. Again, if you’ve indicated that your work is Courtesy of that particular gallery, it’s a nicely reciprocal promotional opportunity.

Apropos of promotional postcards, McKenzie suggests you distribute them judiciously: "I discourage the obnoxiousness of handing out your own announcement card at someone else's opening! "

Unsure of Your Parameters? Talk to Your Dealer
The artist/dealer relationship may have its roots in business, but as a relationship it is interpersonal. And in any interpersonal relationship, communication is essential. Bottom line: It’s a rare (and myopic) dealer who doesn’t welcome your own promotional efforts.

Artists, how have you handled this issue of promotion? And as always I’d love to hear from folks who have a different take on the topic—that’s you, dealers and curators. .

.

Marketing Mondays: Reciprocity

Click here for
Stephen Haller: Remembering Morandi

..
.

Recently for Marketing Mondays, I wrote about The Art Network. Reciprocity is the connective tissue of the art network, a give and take that cements friendships and solidifies working relationships. Many of the opportunities I’ve gotten over the course of my career have come because someone I know referred or recommended me. The other half of that equation is what I have done in return. Reciprocity. In the old days, the expression would have been “one hand washes the other.”

My friend Susan is a great example of how reciprocity works. A midcareer artist with a long resume, she understands how to network and she has the contacts to do it well. Because she’s secure in her career, she knows that sharing information or recommending someone will not diminish her achievements. On more than one occasion she has given my name and website to one of her dealers. I have done the same for her. Result: I’m with a gallery on her referral, and she on mine. We’ve each expanded our careers that much more by the simple act of mutual support.

It doesn’t always have to be quid pro quo. Eight years ago I wrote a book on encaustic painting, the first contemporary treatment of the topic. I showed the work of 50 artists. A number of them invited me to exhibit with them in subsequent shows. I loved that! And many of the artists who teach invited me to their institutions to speak. I’ve been a “visiting lecturer,” a “visiting artist,” a “distinguished visiting lecturer” (my favorite title), and an “artist in residence.” The jobs lasted from an afternoon to a week. As a working artist I really appreciated these opportunities when they came. (Image from metanexus.net)

.
Reciprocating at the Same Level
As I write “same level” I’m thinking of an off-the-wall exception: the man who traded a paper clip for a house. But typically reciprocity works best when the parties are at the same level of achievement—and have an equal degree of willingness to share—even if the quid is not the same as the quo, as I described in the previous paragraph. Here’s another example: I recommended my friend Jackie for a good exhibition in the Midwest; sometime thereafter she recommended me for a teaching gig in the Northeast. How cool is that?
.
If an emerging artist were to invite me to show at a tiny academic gallery in Podunk, I’d appreciate the gesture but have no reason to accept. But I'll bet an emerging artist in Podunk would jump at the chance. That’s one reason I always encourage emerging artists to establish their networks early on and to be generous with situations and opportunities. As they all grow in their careers, the reciprocal opportunities get better.

.
..
Teaching, Mentoring, Consulting

Sometimes you end up helping or referring someone who has not reached your level of achievement. Typically that happens when you teach, mentor or consult. That’s OK; it’s part of the job. Besides, the art world consists of down the road as well as here and now. Students may go on to all kinds of successes, like the one who became a dealer and invited her former teacher to be part of the gallery roster.
.

.
What If You’re Not in a Position to Reciprocate?
It happens. Life is not a giant tit for tat. But just because you don't reciprocate in kind doesn't mean you don't respond.
. Were you curated into a show? Acknowledge the curator in your promotional efforts. That promotion could be as valuable for the curator as for you. And by all means note the curator on your resume
. Did someone in your field write you a letter of recommendation or reference? Thank them, of course, and keep them in the loop, even if it’s to say, “Despite your generous words, I was not successful in getting the grant.” And if you do get the grant, let them know first. If it's a hefty chunk of change, treat them to lunch at a nice restaurant. (Lunch: when the same good food you get for dinner is half the price.)
. Did you get a great review? I’m not from the school of good-review-merits-a-small-painting (and neither are reputable journalists), but a thank you is never inappropriate. Down the road maybe you’ll find an opportunity to invite that critic to speak or do an end-of-semester crit, with honorarium—or recommend that critic to someone who’s in a position to do so. This is not only a good thank you, its good networking for the both of you
. A note about speaking invitations: Don't assume critics and curators (or even dealers) are rolling in dough. Most are freelance and/or poorly paid, so a visiting artist gig that pays a decent fee is a lovely reciprocal gesture
. Did a more career-advanced artist help you with a statement and resume? Thank her or him. But don’t then use your newly polished resume to pursue all the same galleries that the mentoring artist is in, the same teaching opportunities, or any other venue that that artist spent years cultivating
.
As the previous example suggests, it would be grossly unreciprocal to abuse a generosity. How far to go with what you’ve been given? To be honest, it's a gray area. Ambitious people do appreciate ambition in others. But if you feel uncomfortable telling a mentor or adviser what you are doing/have done, you’ve probably abused their generosity. And if you as an adviser feel have been taken advantage of, you probably have.
.
Reciprocity is a valuable career tool. In its ideal incarnation it's like the t'ai chi symbol at left, which unites the giver and the taker in reciprocity.
.
Just be wary of the pathologically ambitious; they’ll suck you dry and never offer a drop in return. You'll hear about them through the art network: "Oh, the one who sat next to me at lunch and asked too many questions," or "He came for a studio visit and now I'm seeing 'my' paintings in his show"--that kind of thing. Best to let them find their own way.
.
What are your comments and stories of reciprocity?

Update 4.8.09: A spirited discussion over at eageageag
.

Marketing Mondays: Careerism

.
"Devotion to a successful career, often at the expense of one's personal life or ethics." (Dictionary.com)

"The practice of advancing one's career at the expense of one's personal integrity." (Webster.com)
.
.
When I was in art school, "careerism" was a dirty word. It still is, although the definition and parameters of career ambition have changed.
.
Back in the 60s, 70s, and early 80s, the mere admission of wanting to have a career was careerism. God forbid you talked about prices, creating a network of gallery representation for yourself or, horrors, earning a living from what you do. If you were so fortunate to achieve this kind of success, you would have been branded a sellout--because if the public responded favorably to your work, it couldn't be any good, could it? That notion was fostered by the professors (who all had jobs, thank you very much) and foisted on the students, who eagerly used the careerism cudgel to bash any of their peers who dared to go after, or achieve, what they were all secretly hoping for.
.
Now, polished resumes, well-crafted exhibition proposals, business cards, a website, regular postcard mailings and even an e-newsletter are the welcome norm for professionals who want a piece of the pie. What used to be looked down on as "careerism" is now just ambition organized into a professional plan.
.
The two dictionary definitions, above, of "careerism" are interesting to me. Neither is warm and fuzzy, but while the first suggests obsessiveness with a bit of nasty thrown in, the second is seriously pathological. Frankly I don't think either describes most ambitious artists, who are hard working and, yes, devoted to the pursuit of having a career in what they were trained to do. Creating a successful career takes a tremendous amount of work, precisely because we often must create not only the art but the opportunities to get it out into the world.
.
Yet that c-word is often lurking.
.
So today's Marketing Mondays poses some questions to you:
.
. Is there a good reason artists shouldn't promote themselves or want critical and financial success for what we have been trained to do?
. Where does ambition end and careerism begin?
. Does age make a difference in the perception of careerism? That is, are mid-career artists still clinging to outdated and negative notions about self promotion, ambition and success? And, if so, is that outmoded thinking detrimental to their careers?
. Are there any young artists uninterested in creating a career for themselves?
. And finally, ethics: If you're driven but ethical, it is still careerism?

This is an open forum.
.

Marketing Mondays: The Gallery Talk

.

Blogpix at Platform Project Space

Blogpix, The Show

Blogpix, The Panel

Armory: Show Me the Money

Armory Week: Salvage Operation

Armory Week: Glop Art

Armory Week: Sew Me the Money

.

. .

Image from tjnorris.net

Pam Farrell, artist and blogger, suggested today’s topic. “It's obvious that anything an artist puts out there can be used as a marketing tool, and in this case, it goes for the gallery as well. I know how to talk about my art, but how does that change when it’s an event?”

Great topic, Pam, and congratulations on your show at the Ruth Morpeth Gallery. (Pam's going to give a gallery talk on Saturday, March 28. Her blog has the details.)

An event creates a more formal context for your comments. Not to put undue pressure on you, but when it’s an event, when people are coming to hear you, you not only have to have something to say, you have to be able to say it well for 20-30 minutes.
.
An artist’s talk is a little bit of show business. Speak clearly. Make eye contact with individual members of the audience around and throughout the room. Share a story. Ask a rhetorical question. Invite an occasional call and response. After the main body of your talk, invite the audience to ask questions. An interested audience—and most people who make the effort to come are interested—could easily extend the event by another 20-30 minutes. Before you know it, an hour has gone by like that.
Credit: Lady Pink talk at the Brooklyn Museum exhibition, Graffiti, via post by Brooklyn Museum on flickr

Who’s Your Audience?
Is it primarily your collectors and friends of the gallery? Great! This audience is motivated to learn something about you and your work. It’s also true if the event is part of a lecture series, or if an artist’s talk is a regular feature. Talk about what motivates the work, how you work (technique), where you work (studio)—the big picture, so to speak—and then indicate specific works, pointing out some of the elements you’ve just mentioned, or tell a story (if it’s interesting) about how a particular painting/sculpture/print/whatever came to be. Just as the work on the postcard is usually the first one to sell in a show, the works you talk about may get that kind of collector attention as well.

Is it artists? They’ll want to know about the work, of course, but they’ll also very likely have technical questions for you. If you don’t wish to be bogged down by “What kind of ventilation do you use?” or “What’s your proportion of stand oil to turp?” feel free to say, "I’ll take a couple of technical questions, but since we’re surrounded by the work, that’s where I’d like to keep the focus today." Then draw their attention to a particular artwork. (You could also suggest that artists wishing to talk shop could meet at the gallery another time, or at your studio, specifically for that reason. This could develop into an important network and support group for you, and vice versa.)

Is it students?
This is not the case with Pam, who will be speaking to artists and collectors in a commercial gallery, but if you are showing/speaking in an academic setting, students will certainly be your primary audience. Here you'll talk about your work, but you should expect all kinds of nuts-and-bolts questions from the audience, from technical process to career advice. How else do students learn?
Credit: Ranjani Shettar talk via UMass Amherst website
.
.
It is primarily your non-artist friends and family? Then you’re going to get questions like “How long did it take?” and “But what does it mean?” You might want to skip the talk entirely and just chat over a glass of wine.

What If You’re Terrified of Speaking?
You’re not alone. And there’s no reason to put yourself through an agonizing experience. Consider these options:

. Organize a panel, especially if it’s a group show. Sharing the spotlight takes the pressure off. Get someone else to moderate

. If it’s a solo show, ask the dealer to “interview” you, a la The Actor’s Studio, or to have a “conversation” about your work. That’s good visibility for the dealer too

. Remember this: People who come to hear you speak are motivated by an interest in you and your work. You are the authority here. No one knows more about your work than you. Just open up and share what you do, why you do it and, if you wish, how you do it. Still nervous in front of your audience? Imagine them on the toilet; that's the great leveler

(The Blogpix panel, March 7, 2009, at Denise Bibro Fine Art. From left: me, Hrag Vartanian, Roberta Fallon, Libby Rosof, Bill Gusky and Brent Burket. Photo: Martin Bromirski) .

Prepare for the Talk
You’ll be a lot more at ease if you have prepared your thoughts, perhaps printed out some notes. (Actually index cards are better because they’re easier to hold, and they don’t rustle.) Often I’ve ended up not using the notes at all, because the fact of having prepared them was all I needed.)

Tips from TV School
Back when I had my day job in publishing, I was sent to a three-day course to prepare me for speaking on TV and to large groups. Here’s the gist:
. Stand up (or sit up) straight. Sounds elementary, but it makes a difference. When your spine is straight and your shoulders are back, your lungs can take in more air. That makes you more alert
. If you’re using a mic, adjust it before you begin so you don’t fumble. And, this sounds ridiculously elementary but it’s not, know how to speak into it. There’s a sweet spot where your normal speaking voice will be amplified without your having to strain. (And when you say, "Can you hear me?" you are making personal contact with the audience right from the gitgo.)
. Make eye contact. TV school says, “Four seconds per person.” You don’t have to count. Look at someone, say a sentence or two, and then look at someone else. It's not a tennis-match back and forth, but a front, back, here, there movement
. Watch the “Ums” and “you knows.” If you follow New York politics you’ll recall that, you know, Caroline Kennedy was, you know, recently, you know, undone in her bid for the, you know, open Senate seat in part by her, you know, speaking style. If it’s painful to, you know, listen to you, people will, you know, tune out. And um, if you need to say um between sentences, just take a breath instead
. The answer is in your brain, but rolling your eyes back to find it will not retrieve the information. That looking-up-to-heaven eye roll is endearing in little kids, but in adults, not so much
. Yes, you can use your hands. Some people like to keep them in their lap or on the table, and that’s fine. TV school tells you that “small gestures” are OK. I’m Italian, so “small gestures” is relative, but the point is, if your conversational style includes hand movements, keep them in. And this is me talking now, not TV school: If you are a sweeping-gesture kind of person, and it’s your artist's talk, for godsakes don’t try to sweep your gestures under the rug. Gesture away. (When you have your 15 minutes on 60 Minutes, follow TV school’s advice.)

Do not be intimidated by this list. In fact, just reading it is enough to make you think about unconscious gestures and perhaps to adjust them ever so. By the way, I have just saved you $2500.

Have the Talk Taped
You don’t have to put it on You Tube, but a good talk of you at a particular point in your career is a valuable document for your personal archives. The dealer may wish to use a snip for the gallery website, or to include a DVD of your talk to a client who couldn’t make the event. If you look at the tape and hate what you see, learn from it. In fact, if you haven’t spoken before, make that tape before you give your talk and learn from what you see.

One Last Requirement
Enjoy yourself! Enjoy the attention. You'll be back in the studio, alone, soon enough.
.

Marketing Mondays: How NOT to Approach a Gallery

.
Blogpix at Platform Project Space
Blogpix, The Show
Blogpix, The Panel
Armory: Show Me the Money
Armory Week: Salvage Operation .

With all the advice floating around about how to approach a gallery, let’s talk today about what not to do.
.
Sending an Email or Letter?
“I am not ‘To Whom to May Concern,’” says a Westchester dealer. “If you don’t know whom to address, you haven’t done your homework.”
.

Relatedly, that "Sir or Madam" salutation needs to be retired, too. There's nothing more off-putting than being addressed as "Dear Sir" if you're not a Sir and, frankly, the only "Madams" in business are not selling art.

.

Do you address the recipient by first name or title? I'm no social arbiter, but I think either would be fine. Mr. or Ms. is never inappropriate in the salutation, but I’m not offended when someone addresses me as Joanne, and I assume a dealer won’t be either, assuming the letter is respectful and to the point. Maybe it's a matter of age. When I was in my 20s, I used a courtesy title. Now I use the first name, even if I don’t know the person. (Any dealers what to weigh in on this?)

.
“Please look at these jpegs and get back to me,” wrote an artist in an e-mail to a dealer in a large city somewhere south of New York. If a dealer is interested s/he will get back to you. So give the gallery something useful: a phrase about your work and some indication of your familiarity with the gallery and its program and a link to your website.

Sending a Package?
First, make sure the gallery is looking at physical packages. Many don’t want to deal with the administrative responsibility and will tell you they prefer electronic submissions.

If physical packages are acceptable, keep yours short and to the point—and neat. A curator from an academic gallery north of New York City held up a tattered manila envelope. “This is what I received a package in,” she said scornfully. “I’m all for recycling, but sending a package in a used envelope tells me that I’m an artist’s second or third choice. And if the package in general is messy, it suggests that the artists may be similarly sloppy in his or her practice.”

So it’s like job hunting? Yes, says this curator: “It may seem petty, but appearance matters.”

Visiting the Gallery? Don’t Interrupt
I was chatting with a dealer in a small gallery outside of Manhattan. We were seated in the gallery proper. An artist came in with a portfolio, stood there waiting for a break in the conversation. When it didn’t come quickly enough for her, she said to the dealer, “Excuse me. I’m here to show you my work.”

“Did we have an appointment for today?” asked the dealer.
“No,” the artist replied. “But you said you’d be willing to look at my work.
“I am willing to look at your work, but you need to make an appointment.”
“But I’m here now.”
“But I’m busy,” he said
“You’re just talking,” she persisted, holding her ground.
“Yes I am,” said the dealer, digging in his heels.
It was awkward. Eventually the artist turned on her heel and left.

Back in the day artists did go around with portfolios in hand. No more. I wonder, though: Is there something about their large shape that serves as a kind of psychic "shield," emboldening us to interrupt and insist?

.
Don’t Be a Boor
A Boston dealer recounted this story to a group of students I brought to the gallery:

“An artist came in the other day with a portfolio and asked if she could show it to me. I was at the computer, obviously involved in something. I told her I was busy. She asked if I could just take ‘a quick look.’ I replied that I couldn’t just drop everything each time an artist came in, but that if she sent me material I would look at it during a time I set aside for just that job.

“‘But if you took a quick look, you could tell me whether or not the work was right for the gallery.’ she said. Now, a quick look is not going to do her work or anyone's work justice, which is why I set aside specific time to look at presentation material, but she was insistent. So I took a quick a look and told her it wasn’t right for the gallery. She left and I went back to what I had been doing.

"To tell you the truth, even if the work had been right for the gallery, there’s no way I would have wanted to work with such an obtuse personality. This is a business in which we work very closely with our artists. If we don’t think we can work well with an artist, there’s no point getting involved.”

Don’t Waste the Dealer’s Time
Olympia, who works in a gallery in Chelsea, left this story in the Comments section of a recent post (I’ve shortened it slightly):

“We had an artist come in to the gallery wanting to show us his portfolio. We asked him to please email his resume, statement and 6-10 images and said we’d get back to him. The artist kept pushing, saying ‘I want a show here next year.’

“We politely responded again that wed get back to him if his work is appropriate. He then asked us, ‘What is your gallery name?’ And he asked if our owner is a man or a woman [if he’d known the gallery name, he would have had his answer].

"We deal with this kind of thing on a VERY regular basis."

Pay attention to Body Language
One of the great things about the art fairs is that dealers are typically out from behind a desk, so conversation can take place more easily between artist and gallerist. But keep it short; they’re there to sell (and these days, the pressure is on for them to recoup at least their expenses).

At an art fair in New York a few years ago, a photographer stopped by a booth and proceeded to pull out a fairly large notebook of prints.

“So-and-so [whose work was on display] is a friend of mine. I wonder if he mentioned my work?” asked the photographer.
“No,” said the dealer, with her 'cordial' face on.
“Well, maybe I could show you my work?” she asked, thrusting the notebook at the dealer.
“This isn’t a good time for that,” said the dealer backing up slightly (her 'cordial' face now gone) .
“Well let me show you just this one,” said the photographer, pulling an image from the notebook.

The dealer backed up a bit. The photographer advanced and kept advancing. The dealer kept retreating until she hit the back wall of the small booth. The look on her face registered something just short of panic. I was there.

“Hey, it’s 2:30,” I said. “You have to call. . ." I made up a name.
The dealer grabbed her phone and went into the closet of the booth. The photographer left.
“You can come out now,” I whispered, a few seconds later.

She laughed, but in that moment I understood the reason for the often high desk that separates the dealer from the public in a gallery.

What's the Lesson Here?
Basic business sense coupled with elementary interpersonal communication skills may not get you into a gallery, but the lack of them will surely lock you out.
.
(Relatedly, see Ed Winkleman's recent post on "Booth Away" (scroll down a few posts to get to it.)
..

Marketing Mondays: The Art Network

.
You know the old saw, It’s not what you know, it’s who you know. The who you know part is certainly true for us. The art world is full of referrals.

“I’ve looked at hundreds, probably thousands of submissions from artists, and only one of my artists came from that pile,” says a dealer I know, waving her hand toward a box full of submissions. “Everyone else came either from referrals or as a result of my own research,” she says.

This social network map above shows the email flows among a large project team.

Other images below show various forms of networks; they're related, but not specifically, to artists' networking. I've used them for their visual appeal

Artists Share Information
As a represented artist, I often get asked by dealers or critics, “What have you seen out there?” Sometimes it’s just conversation on their part, but sometimes its informal research. I often suggest a particular show or website that a dealer might want to check out, and sometimes I'll e-mail a link to a critic friend. I’m not alone in this. It’s part of the dialog. And, of course, artists share information with one another. I’ve learned of exhibitions, grant opportunities and academic opportunities as a result of the artist network. Image from University of Chicago

Dealers Share Information
Dealers are networking, too. Indeed more than one “horse trade” has taken place in the downtime at a fair. Dealers see the work, conversation ensues, and before you know it, an artist from Gallery A is showing in Gallery B and vice versa.

One Bay Area artist got her current Boston dealer as a result of a conversation with a different dealer, who said, “I like this work, but it’s not right for my gallery. Why don’t you contact Gallery X down the street? In fact, I’ll call my friend at that gallery right now.” The dealer did, the artist made a visit on the spot, a painting was sent and then sold, and an artist/dealer relationship began. True story. (Informal conversation also lets dealers know who the difficult artists are, just as we know who the difficult dealers are.) Image from Blog.strands.com

.
Collectors and Critics Share Information
Add collectors to the mix. “More than once a collector has come into the gallery raving about a new artist whose work he bought at an Open Studio,” says a dealer I know. “I might be inclined to include that artist in a show or two. If a collector is going to keep acquiring work from that artist, it might as well be through me.”

And critics. Here's Boston critic Shawn Hill: "Get to know people. Go to galleries and shows. Go to openings. Network. I often see shows that I hear are good through word of mouth, or that trusted advisors recommend." Image from boxesandarrows.com

Our Electronic Network
I’ve had a website since 1998, and many good connections have come about at a result of my presence in cyberspace. I show with a small gallery in Northern New England that found me on the internet; I am part of Geoform.net, Julie Karabenick’s curatorial project for abstract geometric art, and recently I was contacted by an artist who curated a show of artists from the Geoform roster. I was contacted by a Midwest dealer for his inaugural show (he Googled “New York artists”); turns out I was the first person he found, and I referred him to several other artists who fit his exhibition parameters. It was a terrific show. Work was sold, a commission resulted for me, and our group of four, while not necessarily BFFs, remains collegial to this day. I tell you my stories not to brag but to illustrate. Anyone with an electronic connection has a story or two (and I’d love to hear them).

Blogs, with their instantaneous links, create electronic networks that unite us over vast distances and cultures. What a great way to see and be seen! (Relatedly, come to the Blogpix panel this Saturday, March 7, when blogosphere denizens will convene at the Platform Project Space in New York to meet and talk in real time; info on the sidebar, right.) Scale-free image of the Internet from lumeta.com

The more you network, the more you share information, the more your work and name get out there, the greater the likelihood that someone will refer you for something. And it works both ways. Call it art karma.

Atlanta Dealer Marcia Wood Sums Things Up

“I really am learning, after all these years, that the network is the key. (It’s as true for dealers as for artists.) . Share information with your artist friends. Develop relationships with people who are active, engaged, showing. Develop relationships with gallery people and curators and writers; all are part of the art world.

“Go to art fairs. Schmooze (discreetly in the case of a working dealer). Don’t be obnoxious; just be engaged, aware, and on the ball.

“Even if you aren’t showing in their galleries or being written about, the act of socializing and being in the loop is priceless. It keeps you tuned in and on the spot when opportunities develop.”

...

Marketing Mondays: "Why Haven't I Heard Back?"

.

You sent submission packages to a few dealers. It’s been months and you haven’t heard back. Or maybe it was an e-mail with a few j-pegs that got no response. You curse them. How busy can they be? It’s just one submission per dealer, after all.

I’m not a dealer, but I work with many, and I’ve been involved with enough artists’ projects to be able to tell you with some certainty why you haven't heard back:

. They haven’t gotten to it yet
. They considered it and decided against it, but they’ve been too busy to tell you
. You sent material in a format the gallery doesn't consider
. They’re still thinking about it

The package you invest with such hopes is in fact one of dozens, possibly hundreds, that a gallery receives each month. And as much as a gallery depends on the work of artists, those submissions are in fact unsolicited.
.

..
They haven’t gotten to it yet
Scenario 1: The curator of a small regional museum, addressing a group, was asked rather urgently by an artist, "Why don't we hear back from you?" The curator responded with genuine compassion. I’m paraphrasing her answer, but this is the gist: “I run a small, understaffed museum. There’s a box with about 200 manila envelopes that have been collecting for six months. Each one is a proposal or submission package. It breaks my heart that I haven’t gotten to them, but I haven’t had the time, and neither does my one assistant.”
. Her advice: “Come to the openings. Introduce yourself to me. Let me see you over the course of several events. Show me that you really are interested in my museum. Then if you tell me you’re sending a package, I’ll keep an eye out for it. It’s still unsolicited, but I’ll know who you are. When I do have a chance to open some packages, it will be of the artists who have made a point of making themselves known to me.” Fair enough.

.

.

They still haven't gotten to it

Scenario 2: Under the desk, in the backroom, somewhere in most galleries is a box full of packages that artists have sent. "I get to three of four, then I have to go back to more pressing activities--like installing a show or selling art," says one dealer. And what about the packages that aren't recent? "I'm embarrassed to yell you this," s/he admits, "but there are packages there, still unopened, from when I first opened the gallery." Let's see, that was back in, well let's just say it was back in the last millennium.
. How dealers are solving this problem: Clarifying their submission policy to encourage j-peg or URL submissions exclusively. It's an easy way for them to browse and a fast way to respond. But if your package at the bottom of the box, don't expect a response any time soon.
.

They saw it, considered it, decided against it, but they’ve been too busy to tell you
“If I responded to every solicitation, I’d need to hire a full-time staffer to do it. That’s a luxury I can’t afford,” says one dealer who asked that I not use her name. “But I’ll tell you one thing: If I see something and like it, I will get back to the artist—and the more I like it, the faster I’ll respond.”
. And you're expecting a crit? Let's let the dealer of a Westchester gallery take this one. Here's what the gallery's website says: "Due to the large number of submissions we receive, please understand that it is not possible for the gallery to critique work on an individual basis. "
.
.
You sent material in a format that the gallery does not consider (or no longer considers)
Dealers these days are very specific as to what they will and won’t look at. Visit a gallery’s website and click onto the category marked “Submissions” or “Contact” or “Information for Artists” and you’ll see just how varied their specifics are.
. If they say, We are not accepting submissions at this time: Don’t send presentation materials. "Put me on your postcard list. If I'm interested you'll hear from me," offers a dealer who asked not to be named
. If they say, We prefer a CD: Send a CD even if you would prefer to send materials in a different format
. If they say, We do not look at packages, but we invite you to send an e-mail with up to five j-pegs, a resume and your URL: That’s what you send. (Invite. Such a lovely word.)
. And be aware of what they absolutely don’t want: Here’s the verbatim instruction on that issue from a Brooklyn gallery: "Sorry, our mail server storage is miniscule. Please never send us Jpeg attachments. We will immediately dump them in the trash." Harsh but helpful.
.
.
They’re still thinking about it
This is a very large gray area that could easily be confused with all of the above, but assuming you did submit materials in the approved/requested format and you haven’t heard back, it’s possible they’re considering it. Here’s that same gallery I quoted in the previous paragraph: “Please do not expect an immediate response. [We] often hold onto work for future programming.”

Update 2.28: And just so you know this is true, here's an interesting story from an artist named Jeanne Williamson, who sent a package to a gallery in December 2006 and never heard back. . . until the other day, when she got an invitation to show there.
. So what do you do in the meantime? Do what you normally do: Keep making art. Keep showing it. Keep getting it out into the world. If the gallery or curator does finally contact you, great. If not, your studio practice continues as it always has. (There's no reason you can't have a few packages out there at once. And if it turns out that two galleries want the same work, well, that would be a great problem to have, wouldn't it? Cross that bridge when you come to it.)

. You do continue to visit the gallery, right? Just because you haven't heard back doesn't mean you should boycott the place
.
Postcards Don't Require a Response
That’s why I like postcards as a way of getting your work out there. You never get a rejection because you’re not asking for anything outright. Dealers like postcards because they offer a quick look with the option of a quick Google search or online visit, and they don't fill up the inbox. But, trust me, those postcards get looked at. Some postcards get propped up next to computers, tacked onto bulletin boards, stacked or filed with other related images. In other words, dealers and curators do with postcards exactly what artists do with them. (Remember the dealer who said, above, "Put me on your postcard list.")
.
Curators, especially, seem to regard postcards as snapshots of the zeitgeist. They hold onto the ones that interest them, typically filing them according to their particular system. Eventually one of those people you've sent a card to will pull the whole batch of them out to see what’s been going on over the past six months or year, or to see who might fit the bill for a particular show. Then you'll hear back.
.
Or not.
.

Marketing Mondays: Adjunct Teaching

.

Glenn, a Marketing Mondays reader, writes: "I have a BA in Art and an MA in Education and am trying to figure out how to land an art adjunct teaching position. Do you have any specific advice, given your background and experience, on how I might be able to go about this?"

.

I’m not the best person to address this issue because whatever teaching I’ve done in the in the past few years has come through referral or invitation. That doesn’t stop me from having an opinion, of course, but consider my comments just the beginning of a larger dialog that depends on you. If you teach, or if you’re an administrator, please weigh in.

Filling a Need
Frankly, I think the best way to get an adjunct job is to know someone who’s already teaching at the institution you want to teach at. You do have to have a resume with the requisite degrees and some teaching experience, and it helps if you have some visibility in your field. But while full-time positions or fixed-period appointments typically require search committees and many hours of meetings to consider hundreds of resumes and then, winnowed, dozens of interviews, the adjunct passes through far fewer hoops. If you’re referred, if you’re networking and your name comes up, you may well be invited to teach a course—or at least invited to submit a resume for consideration. Do a good job and you’re likely to be invited back.

Getting on the Institution’s Radar
. If you’re looking to teach and you don’t know anyone in the institution, put the department head on your postcard mailing list. Don’t ask for anything; you just want the person to know you’re a serious working artist. Regular postcards will keep administrators and department heads apprised without any kind conversation
. Success breeds success: If you’ve just gotten a well-placed review or some regional recognition, that might be the time to drop a note saying that you’d love to share your insights (on getting a grant, receiving a commission, whatever) with the students. There are visiting artist programs for which you might be perfect, and for which you would get paid
. Let the department head know you’re interested in serving in an end-of-semester crit. Not all institutions maintain such programs, but many do depend on artists outside the institution to offer a fresh perspective on students’ work. There’s usually an honorarium, and of course the opportunity to distinguish yourself with insightful and helpful comments. ( Don't grandstand.)

Caveats
. It makes a difference whether the institution is private or public. Private institutions answer to their board of directors, of course, but publicly funded institutions must hew to specific criteria for each and every job. If you don’t have the appropriate degrees and experience, you’re likely to be passed over for someone who does
. There are no guarantees with adjunct teaching. If your course doesn’t attract a requisite number of students, it will not run. If you count on adjunct teaching to pay your bills, you may find yourself unhappily unemployed for the semester
. Some institutions cover adjuncts’ wage schedule in their union, some don’t. Either way, you won't get rich on an adjunct’s salary
. Even though you're adjunct, you may be asked (or required) to attend faculty meetings or help with registration
. New York City is a different beast when it comes to adjunct teaching. There are, oh, 17 million artists for every teaching job. In my observation, the pay is poor and the artists are not treated well. I'd rather eat dirt than work here

Continuing Ed Programs in Degree-Granting Institutions
Many degree-granting institutions have continuing studies programs. Typically they’re run by a different department.
. The good news: It’s usually easier to get a teaching job here. For one thing, while the regular academic departments have specific course requirements, the continuing ed administrator is usually looking for new, fresh and unusual courses to attract new students and to bring back students who have already taken other courses. Come up with some good ideas and proposals, and you’ll probably get a call
. The bad news: Typically the salaries are not up to even adjunct level. And since continuing ed must turn a profit, you’ve got to pack your classes. Also, you don’t think about this until you’re hit with it, but every institution has its own administration, protocols, paperwork. And equipment. You may have mastered the digital projector in one institution, for instance, only to find that you’ve got to learn a whole different system in another
. Once you’re in, however, you can propose related courses, or explore your interests with other, different offerings. Popular teachers with a following remain happily employed
. Sometimes regular faculty members teach in these programs, and it's possible that networking will lead to a referral

Is it likely that a continuing ed course will lead to an adjunct teaching job?

Maybe. It certainly seems possible, but I don't know. Who can answer this?

..

Is it likely that adjunct teaching will lead to a full-time position?
Here, I think, the answer ranges from “probably not” to "definitely no." I've never sought a full-time teaching job, so I'm basing my answer on observation. The artists I know who are in adjunct positions have remained in those positions, sometimes for years, even after getting the MFA. My guess is that once seen as adjuncts, that's where they remain in the the perception of colleagues and administration. They'd have to move out to move up. Who has experience with this?

Art Centers–Or Your Own Studio
If an academic affiliation is not important to you, there can be opportunities at nonprofits. (Don't be a snob: Some nonprofits have great facilities, good gallery space, and a constituency of enthusiastic students.) You don't necessarily have to have an advanced degree, just good ideas and proposals. A popular teacher with a following can earn a nice little income. Come up with ways to distinguish yourself:
. Propose an exhibition of your class’s work
. Propose an exhibition of your own work and organize a forum or panel on themes relating to what you’re showing and/or teaching
. Create a blog that the institution's administrator can use as a promotion tool for the institution. Your students will love seeing their work online, and you and your courses will benefit from the visibility

The increasing popularity of Open Studios means that you can create a mailing list of people who might be interested in studying with you. You may not need an institution at all.

Now, as they say in Italian , tocca a’ te. Your turn.

Marketing Mondays: Lost in Space

.

Click here for my open letter to Maureen Mullarkey

.

.

Back in the early days of Chelsea I was making the rounds with an out-of-town friend. “Wow!" I’d exclaim to her each time we walked into a newly opened gallery, with its high ceilings, particular wall treatments, good light and, often, spectacular views of the Hudson. “What a space!”

Finally, exasperated, she turned to me and demanded, “What about the art?”

Living in a big South Carolina home, she was unaware of the almost mystical power that large spaces have on New York’s tiny-apartment dwellers. Of course she was right. I was spending far too much of my visual energy looking at the walls instead of what was on them.

Are you interested in the gallery's programs or its real estate?

Once I got over the novelty of the Chelsea spaces, I got back to the business of looking at the work on exhibition. If you don’t visit the galleries too often, whether in New York City or elsewhere, it’s easy to get seduced by the space—especially if you’re “shopping” for a gallery. Who wouldn’t want to show in a temple of art?

Focus on The Program
I have a friend who drops off packets to galleries with great spaces. He's so fixated on being shown in in one of them that he pays no attention to their programs. He's still looking.

Look Up
And listen to my friend C, who is a partner in a Chelsea gallery with a beautiful ground-floor space:

“If you don’t have a track record, look upstairs.”

Sure everyone wants to show in those ground floor galleries with the sweeping interior views that beckon from the street, but, she says, “We’re paying an enormous rent. We can’t afford to show an emerging or untried artist. Look upstairs where the rents are lower, where the dealers are able to take more risks.”

.

While you’re up there
. Consider size: Unless you’re Richard Tuttle or Tomma Abts, if you have small work, a small gallery space will probably be more receptive to considering it

. The opposite is true if you work large

. Consider context: Whatever the size of the gallery, its program—the gallery’s esthetic as expressed by its exhibitions—needs to be of a piece with the kind of work you do

. Appreciate the opportunity, whatever the floor: there are some pretty great galleries upstairs, too

.Eventually (and against the logic of the business world) you just might work your way down

What About the Art?
And here’s a faux pas you don’t want to make, says C: “Don’t compliment me on my ‘beautiful space.’ Do you know how many times I hear that? I know it’s beautiful. I want to know what you think of the show.”

I'd add that brief, thoughtful comments by artists do make a difference in the artist-dealer dialog. Dealers don’t get out too much; they’re in their own galleries when the others galleries are open. A well-informed gallerygoer who connects the dots between and among previous shows in that gallery or among other current shows is a bright spot in the gallerist’s day—assuming they’re up for short chat. Don’t expect gallery representation to come out of it. In fact, don’t expect anything to come out of it except the pleasure of a brief conversation about the art. But your network grows incrementally over time.

.