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2.24.2010

Family Tree

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Leonardo Drew: Love child of Louise Nevelson and Anselm Kiefer?.











You be the judge. Drew's solo is up at Sikkema Jenkins through March 6.
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Installation view of middle gallery, above
The view as you enter the main gallery, below

2.22.2010

Marketing Mondays: The Studio Visit


View of my cleaned-up studio, 2006, in preparation for a solo at the Marcia Wood Gallery, Atlanta (The "studio visit" here was photographed for a postcard to announce the show; this is the image that didn't get selected)
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The studio visit is its own special event. It’s business. It’s social. It’s intimate. It’s work. It might be a fishing expedition for one dealer, a deal-sealer for another. Here’s curator Mary Birmingham, who has been so generous with her comments in previous posts. Substitute curator for dealer, critic, or art blogger, and the advice is the same:

“Curators visit artists for all kinds of reasons. Maybe I'm planning a show and am considering your work; maybe I'm curious about work I've seen in an exhibition and want to see more; maybe I'm doing someone a favor or accompanying another curator on her rounds; maybe I'm actually interested in possibly offering you a solo show; or maybe none of the above. The important thing is to not read too much into it. I sometimes sense an impatience on the part of artists I've visited when nothing immediately comes of it. Curators have lots of other factors that influence whether or not they will work with a particular artist--often out of their control. Remember that if a curator visits you there's a good likelihood he/she liked your work to begin with. That may be all you get--at least for the moment.”

So take the visit seriously and be prepared for whatever does, or doesn't, happen.

Basics
. Directions: Provide them if you’re in a hard-to-find location. Be prepared to take the elevator down to meet the visitor if you’re in a building with a rickety lift (it’s reassuring to the vistor) or if the hallways seem foreboding (s/he doesn’t know the building the way you do). If you’re way out of the way, offer to pick up the visitor at the train station. A few across-the-river artists I know have even picked up dealers at their Chelsea galleries and driven them back after the visit
. Food: Some years ago Ivan Karp came to my studio on Saturday morning on his way to the gallery. I’d put out a small spread with coffee, juice and some breakfast nosh: bagels and cream cheese, croissants, fruit. He looked at it and said, “So you don’t think I had breakfast before I left for work?” OK, too much. (I had a full breakfast every day for a week.) On the other hand, water is always appropriate. And on a hot day, a cool drink is appreciated. I think that chocolate or fruit is nice, too. Make sure it’s set out on a clean space. Provide napkins
. Bathroom: If the dealer has traveled expect that s/he will want to use it. If it’s a shared bathroom, make sure it’s clean. Put in a roll of paper towel and toilet paper
. Heat or A/C: You may be willing to work in a barely heated studio in the winter or in 90 degrees in summer, but provide some kind of comfort for the person who makes the special trip to see your work: a space heater, a window fan—even a hand held fan, which most people don’t usually carry with them
. To clean or not to clean: You don’t have to overhaul the space—it’s a working studio, after all—but the visitor should be able to negotiate the space without stumbling.
“I went into one artist’s space and felt as if I needed a miner’s hat,” recounted a dealer friend, describing a space claustrophobically full of stuff. If you’re using toxic materials, close them and ventilate. (You should be ventilating anyway.) If paintings are still wet, keep them away from a traveled pathway. Visitors who leave with paint on their good clothes—and most are working, so they’re dressed for work—will not be happy if your paint has ruined their clothing. Clean the chairs!

Now, On to the Work
There are a few ways to set up. Personally I like to ask the visitor ahead of time, “How do you like to see the work: all at once, a bit at a time, or do you like to be surprised? If you don’t ask, consider these options:
. Make it like a gallery visit. Don’t cram the walls. Show the work in a way that allows the dealer to see how your work would hold a gallery wall
. Create a salon show. There’s more work here, but it’s still an opportunity to “show” the work. Leave one wall empty (or provide an easel) so that you can move specific works there for closer viewing
. Show work in progress with a few finished pieces. For curators who are interested in process, it’s a change to talk about the how as well as the why
. Bring out the work in a way that allows you to control the presentation—one work at a time, which you place on a viewing wall. I’ve never done this, and I’m guessing it would be a shock to the visitor to walk in to empty walls, but you’d get her attention right quick. You need a sense of the dramatic to pull this off. Think of it as the overture, Acts 1 and 2, possibly an intermission (see Food, above), and then the Denouement
. By the way, don't leave out anything you don't want the visitor to see. It once happened that a painting I'd rejected was the only painting a dealer wanted. I let him take it and hated myself for months afterward

. Show your work in the best possible light. Literally

Pick a Chair
I make sure there’s a comfortable chair as well as a straightback chair for the visitor. Call me an armchair psychologist, but the person who goes for comfy is at ease in the studio visit process and likely to stay a while.
. I also make sure there’s a notebook and pen. Visitors like to take notes
. And did I mention to make sure the chair is clean?

Takeaway Material
. A small package with resume, statement, a CD with images, and a printout of the images on the CD; couple of reviews or articles
. A card with your contact info

How Long the Visit Lasts
I’ve had art professionals literally “stop in”—say hello, give a once over, and then leave. It’s a disappointment, but they don’t want to waste their time on a visit that will go nowhere. It happens. On the other hand, I've had studio visits last the afternoon. I once had a studio visit from a prospective dealer who spent five hours looking at everything, and then we went to dinner. I’ve been with her gallery for over a decade and had three solo shows there. If someone travels a long way, expect a reasonably long visit (see Food and Bathroom, above)

Studio Visit with Another Artist
Most of this same stuff applies when another artist comes to visit, though they understand—probably in a way a dealer or curator does not—just how much it takes to get a space presentable, so you don’t have to set up in quite the same way. But studio visits can and do lead to connections and opportunity, so take it seriously.
. Don’t have just anyone over. Your studio is as close to the inside of your mind as a physical space can get. I think about this when I blog about my studio visits. I want to give my readers a look into the artist's space, but I always ask, "May I photograph your bulletin board? Your in-progress work? Ideas and unusual techniques could, and do, get ripped off

. Beware the impromptu studio visits from your building neighbors. Visitors come knocking when they're on break but you're not; that can be a huge timesuck. (I used to put up a sign that said, "No Visitors Right Now. Thanks." )
. Then there's the more devious issue. “Every time [artist's name] visited my studio, I ended up seeing work just like mine in her studio,” complained F, an artist friend. “I finally stopped opening the door.”
. Some artists "hide the silverware," so to speak, to keep expensive expensive brushes or tubes of paint from disappearing. My feeling is that if you can't trust a visitor with your supplies, that's not a visitor you want in the studio. (Open Studios are, of course different because you are opening your space to the public. But the same caveats apply.)
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Apropos of artists visiting studios, here's artist Lisa Pressman talking about her visits to other artists' studios for a talk she's giving in June.
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Over to you: Readers, your comments and stories are welcome.

2.18.2010

Color Forms, Part 1

Richard Bottwin at OK Harris

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This post began a month ago when I saw the shows of two artists, Richard Bottwin and Stanley Whitney. Both were in SoHo, Bottwin at OK Harris, Whitney at Team, and I was struck by the geometric brilliance of their work--Bottwin's so spare (and deceptively complex) as it juts out from the wall; Whitney's flat canvases so packed with relationships--color to shape, brush stroke to surface, layer to layer, field to edge--that they felt sculptural. Before I published it, I saw additional work that fit the theme and so I postponed the post. Then I saw so much more I had to revise the post to the one you see here.
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Most of the work is what you would call painting, but there’s a strong sense of dimensionality in even the flattest work, Whitney's painting a case in point (just as there is a strong sense of painting in Bottwin's sculptures). Much of the work is geometric, even if there’s a sense of the organic about it. The hand is everywhere present, process is implied, and there is a deeply satisfying sense of materiality.


Above and below: The view along the wall of Bottwin's work, the planes shifting as you move closer
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.Below: Turn and look in the opposite direction and what was wood becomes color, and vice versa
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Bottwin's sculptures are constructed of birch plywood covered with two distinctly different surfaces. One is laminated in a graphically beautiful wood--ash burl, birdseye maple, and dark, striated veneers--the other is painted a flat, saturated hue. The conversation between the two surfaces is amplified by the angle and form of each work. There's more about Bottwin's work in my studio visit with him last summer. In fact, you're seeing in that post a preview of the work in this show.
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Stanley Whitney at Team: Agean, 2009s; right, Bob's (Rauschenberg's) Smile, 2009
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Below, Wonderland, 2009; all oil on linen, 72 by 72 inches
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I wrote about Whitney's work just about a year ago. It was the first time I'd seen it. Whitney is like the Agnes Martin of geometric abstraction in the way he hews to his particulars: same-size canvases, same strong saturated palette, same kind of rhythmic composition--two rows of large blocks over two rows of more compressed shapes. It's easy to think you know this work until you spend time with it. I'm still getting to know it.
. . . . .
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View from the street: Roy Newell at Carolina Nitsch Project Room
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I'd not heard of Roy Newell (1914-2006) before. This show of about two-dozen small and glorious paintings was curated by Richard Dupont. The paintings were a revelation: tiny compositions with a tangible physicality that developed as he repainted, overpainted and then repainted again and again over a period of 50 years.
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I wish the press release were online. Here are a few excerpts: "Newell adopted the framework of the grid because it offered endless permutation; it was a place to put his mind so as to focus more on color and touch. Color would vary depending on his mood. The touch is what remains of the work. He would capture something, lose it, and then paint it again on top of itself. He never finished a painting. For him they were never finished. They were an extension of his body, growing and deteriorating in time. A density of feeling builds up in them. The works have a certain memory in them; even if you can't see it, it is felt."
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And: "During his lifetime the total number of solo shows was less than ten."
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Above and below: I don't have titles for these two Roy Newell gems, and the website doesn't provide information, but I can tell you that these two paintings are small, under 12 inches at the longest dimension. The oil paint is build up to the point that there's actually a nap
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. . . . . .
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Matthew Langley's show, The Series (with Heejo Kim) was at Blank Space, a new small gallery on 25th Street, until February 2. Langley's grid-based work is built up in layers, some of which have been scribed into or scraped back, so the surface is informed as much by what's barely visible as much as by what used to be there.
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Matthew Langley at Blank Space: Installation view, above, and a painting I particularly like, below. More images on Langley's blog

Below: All Her Songs, 2009, oil on canvas, 36 x 30 inches .

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Installation view: Lloyd Martin at Stephen Haller: Large work is Current, 2009, oil on canvas, 72 x 144 inches
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Lloyd Martin shares with Langley a sense of the hidden and the revealed. Martin's work, larger and often composed of two or more abutting canvases, has a sense of rhythm as well. Cadence is the word that comes to mind. Strictly formal, they nevertheless suggest notation for music. The sense of lush and spare makes for involved viewing.
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. . . . . .

Rick Klauber at Howard Scott: Red Stripe, 2009, 20 x app 17 inches
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Below, installation view with Quick Sand, 2007, 39 x 117 inches; both acrylic on white cedar shims with wire brads
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Cedar shims are used to level an architectural frame. Here they throw you off balance: Is the work sculpture? It is painting? The shims are the substrate and ground of a painting, the form and stucture of a sculpture. As a painter I am concerned with the archival quality of the paintings I make; it's a burden. With this work there's a sense of being in the moment, unencumbered even by canvas. Very Zen. And very beautiful..
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Scott Richter at Elizabeth Harris Gallery: Installation, drawn from stuff in the artist's studio, with detail below
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We're ending with Scott Richter, and we'll begin with him in Part 2, which I'll post next week. My totally unacademic response to this work is Wowsa! The wall you see above is the amuse oeil to the rest of the show, which I'll show you next week (or which you can see for yourself on the gallery website). There's nothing refined about this work. It's juicy, luscious, sensuous, slathered and swiped. Eye sex. I love it!
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What's Up and Where
Richard Bottwin at OK Harris through February 20
Stanley Whitney at Team; over, Jan 6-Feb 6
Roy Newell at Carolina Nitsch Project Room through February 20
Matthew Langley (with Heejo Kim) at Blank Space; over Jan 14-Feb 2
Lloyd Martin at Stephen Haller through February 20
Rick Klauber at Howard Scott through February 27
Scott Richter at Elizabeth Harris through March 13

In Part 2, next week
We'll we’ll begin where Part 1 leaves off, with Scott Richter
Carolanna Parlato at Elizabeth Harris Gallery through March 13
Christopher Tanner at Pavel Zoubok through March 13
Diane Ayott at Kathryn Markel through March 13
Renee Magnanti at Tenri Cultural Institute through February 27
Chinese Lacquer at the Met through February 21

2.17.2010

Rupees. Gold Dust. Miss Monalisa Wuko. I've Got Mail!

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A sample of recent email that made it through the spam filter:

Rupees? For Me?
Dear applicant,
After the last annual calculation of your fiscal activity we have determined that you are eligible to receive a tax refund of 820.50 Rupees. To Access the form for your tax refund please click here: Tax Refund Online Form
Department of Revenue,
Ministry of Finance Government of India


Maybe No Rupees After All
Dear Bank of India customer,
We recently reviewed your account, and we are suspecting that your Internet Banking account may have been accessed from an unauthorized computer. This may be due to changes in your IP address or location. Protecting the security of your account and of the Bank of India network is our primary concern.. . . We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause, and appreciate your support in helping us maintaining the integrity of the entire Bank of India system. Please login as soon as possible.
Thank you,
Bank of India Customer Service


Then Again, Maybe Just Maybe Those Rupees are Still There
Dear Customer,
Your Internet Banking Account need to be update Please login to your Online Bank of India and update your data info. To Login, please click the link below [info deleted] at Online Bank of India.


A Born-Again Senora from Kuwait
Estimado en Cristo,
Soy señora Eveline Hamson de Kuwait. I casada con Sr. Robert Hamson. Él trabajó con la embajada de Kuwait aquí en Costa de Marfil para nueve años antes de que él murió en el año 2003. Nos casaron por once años sin un niño. Él murió después de una breve enfermedad que duró por solamente cuatro días. Antes de su muerte éramos ambos otra vez nacidos cristianos. Puesto que su muerte que decidía no segundas nupcias o no conseguir a un niño fuera de mi hogar matrimonial contra el cual la biblia está. . . [yada yada yada, somebody died, she has dinero that she wants to share with me, in cristo]

Miss Anita Has Something She wants to Discuss With Moi (It's Definitely Not Punctuation)
Hello,
Friendship is not only because of feelings or what we have. but because of Understanding, sharing and Caring. friendship does not think distance, age or even colour. friendship is not just playing or chatting with each other. but friendship is hearing each others voice from the heart. A friend is a gift from God. someone who will cares as much as i do. i have read your profile and i became interested in you and i will like to know you more, i am miss anita, i want to be your friend please mail on then i will send you my picture and as well tell you more about me. Beside i have a special something i want to discuss with you, hope to hear from you soonest. with this address. (anitamabou@ deleted)

Anita

Five Bucks and Insurance Quotes From Ron
Hi,
My name is Ron Park and I run an auto insurance business in Miami. Since you run a blog in Miami, I'd like to ask if you'd be interested in working out an advertising relationship with me.It's pretty simple. All I'd ask for is a blogroll link pointing to my website, [yadayadayada].org or a blog post with a link to my website from your blog. And after the links up, I'll send you $5 with Paypal. Easy as that. And I'll also throw in free insurance quotes for you! ;o)
Thanks for your time, and let me know if you're interested!
Ron

Gold Dust From Jerry Konoyima
Re: I do not need any financial assistance from you neither do you own me any financial obligation in this transaction.
Hello
Greeting, I am Mr. Jerry konoyima. My reason of contacting you is that we have Gold AU GOLD DUST Quantity: 240 kg every month or more Quality: 22 CARAT Purity : 97.56% for sell from Ghana and freetown Serria Leone. If you are interested please reply this mail: with your full contact details, Detail will be giving in next mail.Wait to hear from you. I want to sale the gold 5% below international market price for gold.
Thanks
Jerry konoyima


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Screenplay for a Made-for-TV-Movie? [parens mine]
From: Miss Monalisa Wuko to you
Dearest One,
Good day and how are you today? I hope fine? After going through your profile, permit me to inform you of my desire of asking you to be a guardian or foster parent to me and then help me out in what i am about to tell you. I know this may sound strange to you , receiving a mail from an unknown person, but my condition has forced me to do that.

[Act 1]
I'm Miss Monalisa Wuko 19 years old, the only daughter of Late Mr. & Mrs. John U.Wuko. My father was a very wealthy cocoa merchant here in Abidjan, the economic capital of Cote D'Ivoire. He was poisoned to death by his Brothers on one of their village meetings, my mother died when I was a baby. Before the death of my father on March 2008 in a private hospital here in Abidjan, he secretly called me by his bed side and told me that he has the sum of Eight Million United State Dollars USD ($8,000,000) deposited in a suspense account in one of the big banks here in Abidjan.

He then strongly advised me not to seek for assistance in the investment of the money from his lawyer nor any of his friend here but to seek for a foreign partner from a country of my choice (outside our country, Cote D'Ivoire) that will assist me in the wise investment of the money. I have since left the money in the bank with the view of my making use of it for investment purposes after my education carrier here. But as you may be already aware by now, our country (Cote D' Ivoire) is presently at political crises. Rebels have already taken over the whole Northern part of the country and making efforts towards to capture the commercial center of the country, Abidjan, where i am now. For this ugly development in this country, i have now decided to take quick actions and have this money transferred out of this country before it is too late for me in doing that.

[Act 2]
I now want to transfer it out and use it for investment purpose like real estate management or hotel management. Because of this i am honorably seeking your assistance in the following ways: (1) To serve as a guardian to me and then assist me transfer the money into your bank account.
(2) To make arrangement for me to come over to your country to further my education and then settle there parmanently.

If you accept to stand as my guardian or foster parent to me, i need not discuss on any percentage with you as you have to see the whole money as yours and then assist me invest it. But if you still want a percentage, i am willing to offer you, 20 % of the total money as compensation for your assistance. Please tell me if you feel the percentage i offered is not ok by you. As soon as i receive your concrete assurance to assist me with my proposal and also your full contact address/phone number, i will then give the bank your contact information and then tell them to transfer the money into your account as i want to come over to stay with you parmanently.

[Act 3]
The bank will then contact you and communicate with you on the transfer. You shall then be giving me information on when the transfer will be over. I shall also send my pictures to you and shall also need yours own too. No matter what your decision may turn out to be, please i beg you to keep this highly secret for my safety, as I believe that those people that killed my Daddy are still after me. Indicate your willingness to help.

Thanks and God bless you.
Best regards,
Miss. Monalisa Wuko

And god bless us all, Miss Wuko

2.15.2010

Marketing Mondays: How Do You Define Success?

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It's been over a year since Marketing Mondays started. I wasn't sure I could sustain 52 weeks' worth of ideas, but here we are seven MM posts into the new year and there are plenty more topics to consider and some to revisit.

Artist Karen Schifano suggested I revisit the topic of success. I first posted on the topic in June last year, but now that readership is way up (1600+ of you every Monday!) this seemed like a worthy topic to revisit.




Cartoon by Eric Gelber


The paradigm for success looks something like this:
Get a BFA.
Get an MFA.
Set up a studio in a large city, preferably New York.
Tap that font of inspiration to make art every day.
Sweat, agonize and work your little fingers to the bone to create a substantial and worthy body of work.
Do the obligatory Open Studio or two.
Exhibit in group shows.
Get a solo in a non-profit or small commercial gallery.
Receive some blogger attention.
Apply for and receive a Pollock-Krasner grant or other award that marks you as an up-and-comer.
Invite dealers and curators visit your studio--and have them actually come.
Move from being an assistant to having an intern.
Get invited to join a good gallery in which you've previously been included in group shows.
Have a solo show there.
Sell out the show.
Receive a great review in one of the print publications we all read.
Be the subject of a raging debate on one of the art blogs.
Be invited to a Whitney Biennial.
Find yourself hated or lionized (envied either way); pick one.
Have kids that your wife/partner/nanny takes care of.
Have your dealer take your work to the art fairs, where big-name collectors wrangle for the opportunity to acquire it.
Hire assistants (no more pesky interns).
Jump to a bigger, higher-profile gallery.
See your big-ass dealer sell your work for a six figures (maybe more).
Find there's a waiting list for your work.
Move to a larger studio. Make that a much larger studio.
If you're teaching, get tenure.
Apply for and receive a Guggenheim (because you really need the money).
Make the cover of Art in America.
Better still, hit the trifecta, AiA, Art Forum and Modern Painters.
See your work curated regularly into ever higher-profile museum shows with ever more lavish catalogs.
Soar into another level with a MoMA retrospective.
Receive a MacArthur "genius" grant.
Renovate your loft after you buy the building it's in.
Get a second studio in another place--Greece, St. Maarten, Berlin, Rio--your choice.
Have your assistants do the work.
See your work be the subject of multiple monographs by high-profile art historians or critics.
See your work included in the art history books.
Watch your work go for seven figures and your bank account bulge.
Die happy and rich.
(Did I miss anything?)
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The reality for most artists is anything but:
Working two part-time jobs with no benefits.
Working a full-time job with benefits but not enough time to make art.
Making art but getting little attention.
Getting some attention but making no sales.
Making sales but never getting into the good collections or seeing your career advance critically.
Sleeping on a futon when you're 35 and all your non-artist friends are buying homes.
Living and working in New York; spending all your time in the studio or working to support the studio.
Not living and working in New York; it's an easier life, but it's not New York.
Not living and working in New York and it's still not easy.
Not having a tenure-track teaching job, but struggling to patch together some adjunct teaching.
Seeing your students get the galleries and the attention.
Not getting the adjunct teaching jobs.
Having kids and regretting it.
Not having kids and regretting it.
Not getting the Pollock Krasner, Guggenheim or MacArthur.
Not getting on the cover of Art in America.
Not getting reviewed in Art in America.
Not getting a retrospective even at your regional art center.
Not getting retirement benefits because you never put in enough hours at any one job to be vested.
Not having a 401(k).
Moving your studio for the fifth time in 20 years because your rent has gone up higher than you can afford--and losing four months with each move to the pack, move and setup. (And, yes, you're doing it yourself with a rent-a-van.)
Battling with sexism or racism for decades only to find another ism biting at your angles: ageism.
Enjoying the privilege of whiteness and maleness for decades only to find your bald or gray-haired self in the same boat as your non-male, non-white colleagues whom you've secretly thought of as complainers.
Losing your gallery, if you ever had one, because it's closing, or because your work isn't selling, or because you're past middle age and the dealer won't admit that's why they're dropping you from the roster.
Losing your studio when you're 75 because the building is going co-op and you don't qualify for credit--plus you couldn't come up with the down payment.
Dying with a studio full of art that gets thrown out when the landlord comes to clean out the space.


OK, somewhere between those two extremes is the career that most of us have, neither big-ass blue-chip nor its black-and-blue opposite.

And that's the topic of today's Marketing Mondays: How do you define success for you?
. Is it based on the art world paradigm?
. Or is it something else--integrating art and life in a bucolic setting? Teaching, raising a family and showing every couple of years in a regional co-op gallery? Finding a way to combine your art and your politics? Working nine-to-five so that you can be free to outside of the gallery-go-round?
. Whatever it is, how close have you come to that ideal?
. Has your ideal of success changed during the course of your career?
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2.11.2010

Studio Visit with Karen Schifano

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The viewing wall in Karen Schifano's Williamsburg studio
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I visited Karen Schifano’s Williamsburg studio in September. I knew her work from the Minus Space website, and from group exhibitions around town, including the summer group show at the Minus Space Gallery in Brooklyn the month before.
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Schifano's studio is a large, well-lit square of a space in a work-only commercial building. To orient you, if you were looking at a floor plan, I entered at the bottom left of the square. Facing me was a wall with large windows. To my left was a viewing wall, and on that wall were the two paintings you see above, with that little row of maquettes between them. Karen and I sat on chairs facing that wall.
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A door-size work, with maquettes of new projects
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With artists who work minimally I’m usually careful not to make associations—an acute angle is just an acute angle—but looking at these paintings, which are twice as long as they are wide, I’m thinking door, doorway, hallway, passage, the unknown, maybe even escape. These “doorways” are only slightly “ajar,” with what appears to be a shaft of light. Like I say, it could be just an acute angle, but I’m free associating despite my intentions. There’s nothing about them that says “welcome,” and indeed those “shafts” have an almost menacing shardlike quality. .
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Yet when I step away from the associations, the cool geometric formality of each work invites closer viewing. In that light, it’s simply about what’s happening at the edge in relation to the rest of the field. Shape and color. And Schifano has a quirky, Truitt-like sense of color that maximizes her minimalism.
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Apparently I'm not alone in the door association. “It’s true, they kind of loom and cover the walls here,” allows Schifano. “I think I’ve been in a transitional space mentally for a while, and so maybe they keep me company, support me in this. I think I’ve envisioned my life changing, the world changing. The paintings in hindsight have been ways of keeping that desire going without necessarily conjuring up an answer. Then again, I so also just look at them and see what works, what doesn’t, what could come next in the series.
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“I couldn’t continue the series at one point because I was unwilling to see them as figurative. When I got over that, it all became easier.”
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The maquettes up close
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The maquettes are similar but different. Up close I see that these paintings are more sculptural. Where Schifano implied a foreground in the large paintings, here that space is physical, extending out to meet you. The space pours from the wall to the floor. And since I’m making associations, it crosses my mind that those floor elements function conceptually as, well, welcome mats.
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I’m thinking about all of this as we’re talking. And we’re talking not so much about art but about ourselves—we have some commonalities: Italian American daughters, with language and familial connections to the Old Country; we’re of the same generation; and we both work reductively.
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Perhaps because of the less-is-more sensibility, we're both neat. You can certainly see that here. "I can't seem to think straight unless their order in my space," says Schifano. "I sometimes rearrange the furniture as a way of clearing my head." I can dig it. .

The space opposite the viewing wall...

At the opposite wall, shown above and below, there’s a work table with a freshly gessoed canvas the same distinctive size as the others. On the wall itself there are some small relief works: monochromatic panels whose space is bisected by a flat orange line that continues on to the wall.

I ask: "How much of you is a minimalist and how much is a conceptualist? How much of you is a painter and how much a sculptor?" Of course I don’t expect numbers, but I am curious to know how Schifano places herself in the scheme of things.
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“I think of myself as a painter primarily, who conceives of paintings as objects as much as illusions." she says. "I think I’ve come into my own in a reductive way. I’m now more interested in getting to essentials, in being direct and clear, saying what I can in as strong a way as possible while still being complex and sensitive. I have a strong analytical streak, so my working in an intuitive way as a painter—even while preconceiving my pieces more or less, I can keep my brain and gut in synch.”

On the wall near this just-gessoed canvas are small sketches that she had completed during a residency at the Provincetown Fine Arts Work Center a few weeks earlier, along with a number of images of space that has been divided by one kind of line or the other.
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Stepping back a bit, you can see the wall of sketches, above, and . . .
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. . . continuing to the right, images that make connections between the spaces she sees and the spaces she makes.
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Karen Schifano in her studio

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On the window wall, there’s another grouping of images and sketches—mundane but graphically interesting stuff like crosswalks and painted curbs—that seems both tangential and essential to Schifano’s work. Seeing their abundance, I realize why she conceived and curated (and, disclaimer, invited me to participate in) Bulletin Board: Inspiration Information, a Minus Space Viewlist project that asked artists to talk about what germinal images were on their own studio walls.
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“Funny, I thought I had a sparse collection,” Schifano says when I remark on the large number of sketches, photographs and images that she has altered to define the space with her colored line. “There’s not always a direct connection between what I see and what I do. Architecture definitely plays a role in my mental/emotional stew.

“I also like to look at other artists’ work: Ellsworth Kelly, Blinky Palermo, Stephen Westfall, Donald Judd, for example. Seeing all that stringent work feels supportive and jogs me into being brave enough to take more chances.”

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Inspiration information: the wall of images that both contribute to and reflect the artist's visual thinking
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Schifano mentions a picture of her father—the man in the winter gear standing next to a large sculpture in the top right corner of the image above. “He’s almost 85 and still working on welded figure-size pieces after a long career in advertising. His favorite artist is Ellsworth Kelly. My mother, who was an art teacher, loves Barnett Newman. Good heritage, no?” Indeed.

I didn't want to take up all of Schifano's studio time on this afternoon. She works four days a week as a painting conservator, so studio time is precious. I thanked her (taking, with her good wishes, the rest of the salty chocolate bar she'd put out during our conversation). This is the view of the way out, below: A third elongated painting on the viewing wall and a cogent definition of space via the small wall/floor piece.



Above, the view on the way out of the studio
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.Below, a few blocks away: A hint, perhaps, that the universe has been listening in on the conversation and is trying to communicate?
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Want to see more? Schifano will be part of a two-artist show at Blank Space in Manhattan (with Paige Williams), April 1-30.
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2.10.2010

Hitler: Just This One Time . . . .

In this installment of the Hitler Finds Out series on You Tube, the mustachioed screamer learns that the MOCA job has gone to a different guy with round glasses. Happy snow day!

2.08.2010

Marketing Mondays: Do You Really Need a Gallery?

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Whenever I teach a workshop to mid-career artists, their first question is always, “How do I get into a gallery?" It's a legitimate query, especially if they've spent years on the outside looking in.

But here’s how things have changed: The 20-something students in a senior-level careers class I teach typically get around to just the opposite line of thinking: “Do I really need a gallery?”


Chelsea: chockablock with galleries. Do you need one?

This new generation of students has figured out that with their fluency in the virtual world of Facebook, Twitter, blogs, websites, and e-newsletters in concert with real-world venues such as open studios and non-profit spaces—all coupled with the current strong D.I.Y. work ethic—they can create their own career opportunities early on.

I don’t think it’s a black-or-white issue. Working outside a conventional gallery now doesn’t mean you’ll do it forever. And I don’t think it’s strictly a generational issue, either. Indeed, After I wrote the first draft of this post I got this email from a 50-something artist who sums up the issue: "I'm wondering if, due to the recession, I might be better off to bypass galleries entirely and try to reach clients directly via blogging, FaceBook and so on. That feels like a huge gamble, but maybe that's because I've grown up with the gallery system. Am I crazy not to sell direct? Yet I also think galleries lend credibility that I cannot create on my own. My mind plays ping pong on this topic a lot."

With the promotional options available to artists now, and with a seemingly new respect for entrepreneurship (perhaps because there are more independent curators and critics than ever, and because dealers are also looking for new ways to run their businesses effectively on smaller budgets), it would appear that making a career without gallery representation really is an option. A few thoughts for artists of all ages, whether you're tending more toward the ping or the pong:

You don’t need a gallery if you:
. Want to do it your way
. Don’t wish to split sales with a gallery
. Don’t mind having a regional career or are willing to (literally) take your show on the road
. Can work well with others
. Don’t particularly wish to live in a big city
. Are prepared to not only make your work but market it, promote it, deliver it and install it
. Have a strong sense of entrepreneurship coupled with an equally strong business sense
. Can interact well with the public

Tech-savvy artists have the potential to explode the white box, and do-it-yourself thinking may knock hierarchical thinking down a few pegs, but let’s acknowledge that there have always been those who have worked outside of the commercial gallery system. Co-op galleries are a great example, organized by artists who band together to create exhibition space for themselves. Sure some may not be able to get into commercial galleries, but many artists choose the co-op system as a way to control what they make and how and when they show it. And let's acknowledge the value of the community that develops among artists in such a gallery.

Co-ops aside, I’m thinking of the Pacific Northwest artist who throws two big salon events a year in her large Victorian home, in which she shows her own work and that of others—and sells up a storm. I’m thinking of the couple upstate who combine art and life is the most artful way, selling their work to a devoted coterie of collectors; of the couple on Cape Cod who lives simply, rurally, with their two kids, raising their own vegetables and selling their work out of their studios to a summer clientele; of the various collectives, couples and independent entrepreneurs who make art all winter and then sell it all summer, whether in big tourist destinations like Cape Cod or Ogunquit, Maine, or along a circuit of art and craft fairs.

More recently, I’m thinking of two West Coast artists who opened their own gallery to show their work. You don’t need a gallery if you have your own! Their business is doing so well, they're thinking of applying for booth space in Miami next year. (To bookend this thought, there are dealers who have closed their physical spaces and are, with their original artist roster, maintaining their galleries online as they work with their collector base.)

In terms of online opportunities for artists, there are the electronic marketplaces Etsy and E-bay, as well as the Painting-a-Day sites. One Brit moved his studio to Provence, cranks out and sells his little paintings for a hundred bucks a pop and then has the time and money to make the larger plein air paintings that are his passion.

You do need a gallery if you:
. Aim for a career beyond your immediate region
Yes, you can do this on your own with travel, correspondence, and a lot of schlepping. But dealers share resources as a matter of course—the “resources” being us. A couple of dealers meet as neighbors at an art fair. Before you know it, an artist from Gallery A in Portland, Oregon, is showing at Gallery B, in Portland, Maine, and vice versa. Or a dealer you work with in one city suggests to a dealer in another city that s/he take a look at your work.

. Want a business partnership with one or more galleries
In my experience, having a network of galleries represent you is the way to actually earn a living from the sale of your work. Even in hard economic times, some regions of the country are in better shape than in others. For example, a friend from the Pacific Northwest recently explained why she was showing in Tulsa. Tulsa? “Its economy is based on oil money, and the economy has not crashed the way the rest of the country has. People are still buying art.”

. Expect to relinquish certain jobs in exchange for the gallery taking a commission You’re never going to be free of that dreaded administrative work. Indeed, working with eight or ten galleries takes a lot of desk work to keep track of who has what, when it was sold, and did I get paid yet. But the psychologically draining work of constantly submitting—sending CDs and packages, entering juried shows, putting out that choose me energy can be redirected into the studio

. Need an advocate to promote your work, find you commission, get the payment due you Curators and many consultants prefer to deal with a gallery rather than the individual artist. Decisions about whose work to include in a museum show, which artist to commission remain between those professionals and the dealer until a short list is decided upon, or a request for a studio visit or specific work is made

Says one dealer I work with, "I never like seeing one of my artists lose out on an opportunity, but I can absorb that rejection with less personal attachment. Sometimes my artists don't even know about the rejection; I don't tell them. I know there will be another opportunity for them down the road."

Here's another way your dealer is your advocate: A consultant was taking her sweet time about paying the gallery for work. My dealer knew just how patient to be before taking off the gloves. I was in awe. “It’s part of my job to make sure you get paid,” she said. She rolled up her sleeves, metaphorically speaking, and got the check.

.Want a barrier between you and rest of the world You get a taste of these questions and comments at opening or open studios: “How long did it take to make?” “Can you make this smaller and in chartreuse?” “My neighbor is an artist.” “We love art; we just bought a Thomas Kinkaid/collect posters/framed our pre-schooler’s drawings.” Your dealer is fielding that crap every day so that you don’t have to.

Personally, as an artist I wear enough hats. I don’t wish to add “dealer” to my headgear collection. And I like the partnerships I've forged with my dealers over the years. But I like participating in D.I.Y. projects or occasionally organizing one of my own. I'm curious to see how things develop outside the white box. Options for artists—respected, viable options—can only be a good thing.

What do you think?

2.06.2010

A Six-Minute Trip Through the Known Universe

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Click here for a peek at eternity

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2.03.2010

Cloth? Not

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Susanna Starr: Untitled (Folded Doily), 2007, handcut maple and mahogany wood veneer, cable, 45 x48x6 inches; image courtesy of Marcia Wood Gallery

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The splendid image that opens this post arrived last week via email from the Marcia Wood Gallery in Atlanta. It’s the work of Susanna Starr, a New York-based artist who’s having her first solo there, Not So Domestic. If you look closely, you can see that it’s not a textile at all but tissue-thin wood veneer that’s been cut into a simulacrum of a doily and draped over a rod. I love it!
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This piece started me thinking about Linda Besemer’s no-substrate acrylic paintings, which are also draped over a rod; of David Ambrose's perforated gouaches that compress architecture and textiles into exquisite rectangles of art history; and of my my own small reductive color fields of encaustic on panel, which assume some semblance of silk. Things developed from there . . .
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Starr's installation view at the Marcia Wood Gallery
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Carving the veneer with a penknife and then oiling its surface, the artist transforms the anachronistic doily into a larger-than-life object--an anti antimacassar, you might call it--which she describes this way: "The doily has gone wild and the wood has been fully domesticated."
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I love how Starr's works relate visually to . . ..
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. . . David Ambrose, Advancing Architecture in Umbria, 2007, watercolor or pierced paper, 60 x 45 inches . . ..
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. . . and Linda Besemer, pure acrylic painting, draped over dowel, at Angles Gallery, Santa Monica, at Pulse Miami, 2008.
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Clytie Alexander, perforated aluminum, from her solo Diaphans, at Betty Cunningham Gallery, February 2009.
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Detail below
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Nobu Fukui's high-intensity geometry partly veiled with a scrim of embedded pearl beads, at his solo at the Stephen Haller Gallery, Fall 2009.
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Detail below
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Ambrose again: Charlemagne's Chapel, 2005, watercolor on paper, 44 x 30 inches, from the artist's website
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Liz Hager, Strawberry Fields, gouache on paper, 10 x 8 inches, from a series called Imaginary Textiles on the artist's website
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Hager's work, as well as that of Barbara Ellmann, below, are reminiscent of Indian chintz and of the the woven and printed textiles, many with fruit and flower themes, from Central Asia, where decorative elements flourished in lieu of representation..
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Barbara Ellmann, River Town, 2006, encaustic on board, 24 x 24 inches, from the artist's website.
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Grace DeGennaro, gouache on okawara paper, each app. 24 x 16 inches; these from my post on her work, Wellspring

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De Gennaro's themes, particularly the tree of life, are familiar on carpets througout India and the Middle East. However, the transparency of the paper and the luminosity of the color call to mind swatches of sari fabric--and legendary Vogue editor Diana Vreeland's cultural observation that "Pink is the navy blue of India."
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Tim Bavington at the Jack Shainman Gallery, September 2009.
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Bavington's work is drawn from music. Here's New York Art Beat on his show at Shainman: "Taking music as a starting point, Bavington translates chords, notes, guitar necks and solos into visual systems by approximating their equivalents in color and then spraying them with synthetic polymer onto canvas."
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While it may not have been intentional, Bavington's painting is nevertheless visually akin to the ikat fabrics that are woven throughout Japan, Southeast Asia and Central Asia. To make an ikat cloth, the weaver (or dyer) colors the vertical warp threads in a particular pattern or sequence so that when the threads are woven, the resulting fabric features a vertically oriented, often flame-like pattern. Cloths with this kind of loose-limbed pattern come from Samarkand in Uzbekistan, Central Asia, a major stop on that fabled caravan route from China to Venice known as the Silk Road. Which brings us to my own work, the series Silk Road, whose color is built up from layers of translucent paint and whose surface has evolved to suggest the grain and shimmer of slubbed silk..
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Joanne Mattera, Silk Road 69, 2006, encaustic on panel, 12 x 12 inches .
Below: Studio wall, late 2009, before the work went to Metaphor Contemporary Art. See more here, here and here
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More: If you read this blog regularly, you know that I often talk about the textile sensibility that runs through some of contemporary art. A couple of recent posts on the topic can be found in my reporting from the 2009 Miami art fairs: Five Woven Grids and Pulling a Thread, and from the 2009 Armory Fair in New York, Sew Me the Money.
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2.01.2010

Marketing Mondays. Out of Work. And Invisible

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Desiree Palmen, from the Internet


A recent article for MSMBC discussed the 9 Professions That Saw Most Job Losses in 2009.

Here's the list:
1. Architects
2. Carpenters
3. Production supervisors and assembly workers
4. Pilots
5. Computer software engineers
6. Mechanical engineers
7. Construction workers
8. Bank tellers
9. Bookkeeping, accounting and auditing clerks

Notice anything missing?
How about this for #10: Artists

Not that this is a list anyone would want to be on, but how is it that a group struggling more than usual (and, as usual, more than most) to earn a living is not mentioned? Where’s the information that would have allowed the reporter, Eve Tahmincioglu, to acknowledge us?


The visual arts have seen countless artists lose what little paid employment they had. I’m not picking on the writer of the article; she’s simply the most visible indicator of how invisible the creative community is.
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The number of bank tellers without employment is greater than the number of artists without jobs, only because most artists never had a countable job to begin with.
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. An artist whose commissions dry up in this economy has an invisible job loss
. An artist who sees sales at Open Studios dwindle to nothing has an invisible job loss
. An artist who has been teaching privately and has no more students has an invisible job loss
. An artist who has no sales because her dealer closed the gallery has an invisible job loss
. The dealer who closes her gallery has an invisible job loss that impacts many other invisible jobs, not just for artists but for administrative staff, part-time installers, bartenders for the openings, and yes, #9, bookkeepers.

I wrote about this latter issue of collateral damage in
Where’s the Bailout for the Arts? just after the banks got all those billions, while artists saw grant money dwindle, museums cut back, and galleries close. Think about the impact to our community in this economy: artists without dealers, dealers without galleries, galleries without collectors; curators without museums (or vice versa); and all the folks who are out of a job due to cutbacks and plain lack of work: art handlers, art critics, PR firms that focus on the arts, assistants, secretaries and all the backroom and behind-the-desk support that’s so essential to the running of these businesses.

The bottom line: Aside from a handful of famous names, 99% of artists—my figure, and it’s probably too low—and the art professionals with whom we work most closely are not given a second thought.

But I’m not posting this just to complain. My question to all of you: What do we, as individual artists and as a community, do to be more visible? And equally important, what can we do to stay off the list no one thinks to put us on?