Confessions of an Emotional Cutter (aka Happy F–kn Valentines Day)

One of the most memorable fights that my ex-husband and I ever had occurred on the Valentines Day of our final year together. I remember the gift I gave him and when it was his turn to reciprocate I was thrilled to find a pair of sapphire earrings. Well, thrilled that is until I realized they were real.

I was livid! How could he have spent so much on a gift for me when this same person yelled at me for spending $3 on a drink from Starbucks once a week. The same person who made me take back the little black dress that I was so excited to wear at my first San Francisco Christmas party. The indulgent purchase totaled $120 and his comment “you spent HOW MUCH on something that looks like THAT on you!” had me in tears as I gave in and got the refund he requested. While coffee and clothing were something I held in esteem within modest amounts, I didn’t even like jewelry. I felt somehow violated that he knew so little about me. How could our priorities be so different? Later when I found out that his girlfriend picked them out for me it began to make sense. Happily that story ended with the girlfriend keeping the earrings (and the husband) and as recompense I got my second piece of art which I still love dearly.

I haven’t thought about this in years but it is a common theme which translates to engagement rings, electrical equipment, apts., my inability to celebrate birthdays and holidays, and my negative judgement of anyone attempting to take me to trendy restaurants. Basically I feel if I can’t pay may way — regardless of whether I do or not — that I don’t want it. I admit to having an abnormally high level of independence and the joke that I’d allow myself to bleed to death before calling for help is not far off from the truth but where does it come from?

Not to blame but to remark, I do think shifting from parents who gave more than they had and encouraged me to buy what I wanted to a financially controlling husband was a bit extreme. By the time I got separated, I was making a rather remarkable salary and enjoyed a lifestyle of eating out every meal with friends, a great apt. and the freedom to buy whatever little black or other colored dress, shoe or purse that intrigued me.

This lasted for a few years until I fell in love again with art. I’d been collecting for years but once I made the decision to pursue art full time my priorities quickly shifted. I translated every $200 I spent to the cost of wine and invitations to host an event and yes, it made for lots of nights alone while my friends went out but for the first time I felt I understood the value of money and my personal values surrounding it. Over the years I’ve experienced feast and famine — I prefer feast — but through these experiences my relationship to money and gifts has evolved which brings me to today’s drama.

The day started innocently enough, dogs walked, coffee consumed and my favorite Saturday morning pilates class. I had a few errands to take care of, a day of art planned and all was well with the world until I received a text asking if I’d been home. Don’t ask me why but I knew it could only mean that some well intentioned person was trying to deliver flowers. Now to be clear, I have NOTHING against flowers in fact it is one of the charms of living in NY as they brighten every corner bodega and if you know where to shop fresh tulips can be yours for $6 a bundle. I mean who doesn’t like flowers BUT delivered flowers are expensive and for someone who has struggled to eat and pay rent for the past few years it seems like an extravagancy akin to lighting candles with dollar bills. Okay, okay extreme example but I flew into an irrational rage. I truly know they meant well. They thought it would be a nice surprise but I guess they ended being more surprised.

I realize I seem horribly ungrateful but for the money spent I could have paid my electric bill or bought dog food for a month or groceries or something I needed. Terminally unromantic but it seems a terrible waste and as my blood continues to boil, my eyes begin to fill with tears of shame.

Perhaps this is all too practical but let’s face it gift giving makes the giver feel good but shouldn’t the receiver also be happy? In my opinion, it should be about giving what the person needs or wants not forcing them to accept what they want you to have. It’s the same argument every Christmas with my aunt who insists on sending something for me to open on Christmas morning. Year after year I plead but she still ships a large box of “stuff”. She thinks it’s for my entertainment but as the items end up in the lobby of my apt. building or donated the week after, I have such guilt for the wastefulness that it fills me with dread. I know she means well but a card with $20 would be a far better choice and the shipping is virtually free.

So why am I so upset? I do feel I have a valid point on the misuse of consumerism but there’s also an argument about allowing someone to show affection, to do something for you and to be loving enough to simply say thank you. Have I really become the equivalent of an emotional cutter unable to accept loving behavior without hurting myself? I wish it were that simple to bleed myself of this behavior but it continues to pulse through my veins as my independent — okay moronically stubborn — heart continues to beat. This same heart that will beat until the dreaded hallmark holiday passes. Perhaps next year I’ll allow someone to do something for me but for now NO FLOWERS PLEASE.

My Three Heroes of FB Past: Reflections on 2010

Last year my closest friends and I gathered for a NYE party. It was a great night and I thought a perfect way to say goodbye. You see last year (2009) had so many obstacles I had no clue how to overcome and having fulfilled my dream of living in NY, I thought perhaps it was enough and time to move on.

A random FB encounter brought a stranger to the party who saw what my friends could not. He confronted me, he held me, I cried but I was not yet convinced. The 2nd FB encounter was not so happy as it was soon into the new year that I found out a dear friend had taken his own life. At first I was envious but then the anger overwhelmed me. His reasons – though very real and valid for him as mine were for me — seemed selfish and could have been resolved with the help of his friends over time. It was a glimpse into the reality of what I would have put my friends through and I couldn’t do it.

Soon after my 3rd FB encounter re-introduced me to Michael Mut and his new gallery. All of a sudden my life had meaning again and art was back in my life. It made the drudgery of the day job more bearable and sparked the flame that introduced me to amazing artists. It also lead me to begin curating again as RG giving me the opportunity to work with people who I respect and admire.

2010 was certainly a year of lessons, of lack and of boundaries. I’ve learned who and what I can count on and was sad to realize others were only a mirage. I’ve allowed a small dog to enter Ella and my life and bring such love and joy it astonishes me and I’ve fallen even more madly in love with the city I call home. My body is healthier, my meditation stronger as is my curiosity of what is possible and what is next.

So here I sit almost a year later, a year older and hopefully a year wiser. Do I want to live to be 100? HELL FUCK-N NO but what if I had forfeited this past year. What great art I’ve seen, what great people and artists (yes, I realize artists are people) I’ve met. Perhaps I haven’t allowed myself to laugh enough and certainly my famous quote this year that “I’d rather cut my throat that fall in love” may seem a bit harsh in reflection but perhaps that is the challenge for the new year.

What I hope to share is that you just never know what’s around the bend. Every bump, every corner leads where you need to go even if it’s not where you think you’re heading at the time. Stay on the course…

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions” — Rilke

Happy 2011!

Flirting with Intention

Imagine my excitement when a tall, handsome artist asked me out for a drink. His choice of location and wine perfection, my new outfit worth every penny I didn’t have. Conversation was easy and things were going great; or so I thought until I realized this was not a date at all but an overt submission. This happens to me more than I’d like to admit and the most recent example – which is embarrassing and sadly happens to be true – is that I had a submission via Match.com. I understand Linked-In and Facebook as they are networking sites and I respect an artist who sees an opening and takes it but Match? Really?!

Trust me this can work both ways as I am often times the one who does the “hunting”. There is nothing quite as awkward as telling someone who I am, what I do and why I think we should work together. It’s vulnerable on both sides but the key is to wait for signs of interest. You wouldn’t just rush up and kiss someone on the street after all (well, okay I’ve done that but it has been a while and I did ask first).

I have a bit of an advantage as most artists want to be approached but it still requires savvy. Unlike the singles scene when you can assume someone to be available unless they are wearing a ring, there generally are no markings to indicate whether or not an artist already has an existing relationship with a gallery or dealer. Rejection and disappointment go with the territory but you hope they accept your interest as a compliment to their work and you move on.

My point is that as an artist, curator, or gallery owner there is a public persona that comes with the territory. I don’t think of myself as Sharon the ____________ (fill in the blank), I am just me. Of course this encompasses many different variables. I am a curator, a collector, a woman, a dog owner and someone my friends can humble in 2.5 seconds with “Silly Sharon” stories. We are all multi-dimentional, complex creatures. It’s not healthy to puff up and deem yourself solely as any one of these elements any more than it is to deny them. The tricky part is to know which dimension you have access to and which they are interested in seeing at the time.

I love art, I love artists and my mind never turns away from putting the puzzle pieces together but sometimes I just want to be me. Perhaps my perfect match is someone who I won’t initially see beyond his talent but hopefully if that be the case, he will be wise enough to make those intentions clear.

Reminder: About Face (Deadline Extended)

Under the guise of this seemingly innocent post lies a CALL FOR ARTISTS. Your mission should you choose to accept it is to submit within the following guidelines.

THEME:
The Artists of Facebook. I have hundreds of artist “friends” that I’ve never met and whose work I have never had the pleasure of seeing and since time is so limited and the medium is so ripe why not see how much traction this little ol’ FB post will generate. This call will not be posted via any other medium, strictly FB. It is not required that submitting artists be my “friend” on FB only that they follow the protocol listed below. The goal however, is to go viral so please pass this on to anyone and everyone you think may be interested regardless of location, medium or experience level. The more the merrier BUT only one submission per artist.

GUIDELINES:
Please submit a POSTCARD size work of art (4″ x 6″) directly to the following address: 102 West 80th St # 38, New York, NY 10024. I will not review works online, via email or FB and if it doesn’t fit in the standard apt. sized mailbox I will not chase it to the post office. No direct deliveries, no FedEx, UPS, or large boxes, etc. Strictly a postcard in the mail, plain and simple.

REQUIRED INFORMATION:
Your Name, Date, Medium, Contact Information (phone, website and email), an artist statement and bio are appreciated but not required.

ACCEPTED MEDIUMS:
Pen/Ink, Oil, Acrylic, Mixed Media Collage, Encaustic, and Photography

SUBJECT:
You have a 4″ x 6″ format to introduce yourself and your work. Your selected subject should give me an understanding of who you are as a person, your process, your artistic voice, and your medium of choice. You are welcome to use any material you choose to create your work on as long as it keeps within the 4″ x 6″ size limit and can be easily mailed.

SUBMISSION FEE:
Zero but please keep in mind that works will not be returned

DEADLINE:
Entries must be received no later than August 15th 2010

SALES/COMMISSION:
Works will be made available for sale at a set rate of $100-500 based on jury selection. Jurors will be comprised of myself and no less than 2 other art professionals (curators, critics and/or educators). Proceeds from sales will be divided 50%/50% between artist and gallery with a portion of my proceeds to be donated to my charity (or charities) of choice.

WHAT NEXT:
Works will not be returned so please photograph for posterity. Selected works will be curated and shown in a gallery in Manhattan Fall 2010.  Date and gallery to be confirmed once scope of project is determined. In addition, all works will be presented in a catalog which will be made available for sale at the opening.

ABOUT ME:
If you are being forwarded this randomly and want more information, I encourage you to review my bio which can be found on www.reavesgallery.com

KEEP IN TOUCH:
Due to the expected volume of this “experiment”, there will be no direct communications other than this blog and FB. To get updates as to announcements of jurors, show date, gallery selection, submissions recieved, etc. please check here.

Pretty Boxes

I have a new friend. She is smart, funny, down to earth, thoughtful, super-model gorgeous and completely insecure. Newly single, I will cut her some slack but after spending a few hours reassuring her of her beauty, I drew a few parallels between my own… need for reassurance that is.

I grew up hearing the words “what a pretty face”. This of course is what they tell fat girls when they are young. The underlying message to focus on your face because of course no one could love you for the horrible mess you are.  This point was brought home in first grade when one of the beautiful little girls said to me that I should be grateful I was “so ugly” because there was hope for me to outgrow it. The second was more traumatic, this time on the last day of school picnic on my 15^th year. My mom took a picture of me that day so I am never to forget what I was wearing or the excitement when a certain popular boy called me over and said “guess what (he likes me, he likes me I thought as I timidly walked towards him until he finished with)… YOU ARE FAT!” The other kids laughed, some threw trash while I tried to hold back the tears and laugh because that’s what us jolly fat girls do. It was horrible but it was also the motivation I needed to lose 47 pounds that summer only to return as cheerleader, voted a few years later as “flirtiest” and “most likely to succeed”.

I read once — but don’t ask me where — that studies were done on the affect of children (twins in particular) who were given the same compliment on a consistent basis. Some were told they were pretty, others smart, some athletic, musical and sadly some ugly, worthless or dumb. It’s as if someone simply checked a box not realizing the power of words and their ability to act as swords, daggers and pistols wounding our egos, aspirations and self-worth if we allow it. It has been a challenging lesson for me to learn the positives to outweigh the negative information and I admit at times passing by a group of people laughing I have to tell myself, they are just having fun not laughing at me as was perhaps once the case.

Getting back to my friend briefly, I completely sympathize with her vulnerable and unfamiliar status. As women, we sometimes validate ourselves through this partnering. We think that because someone chose us as the best, the brightest and the prettiest (for them) that they are going to love and care for us and make us feel special and safe until death do us part. The problem here is that if we are seeking this validation we are probably not giving it to ourselves. Just speaking on my own behalf, I couldn’t believe that someone as brilliant, young and talented as my ex husband would choose me but my insecurity was the beginning of our end and the boil that festered during the course of our time together. Out of insecurity I would put myself down hoping this passive aggressive method would win me a compliment but instead he learned to agree with me even making up names for my thighs, breasts and stomach. His words hurt, they still hurt and it still takes courage to pretend that I am okay and that I won’t be judged for my size 4 body.

Society constantly informs us of the perfection we are to attain. Use THIS and you will have the perfect smile, try THAT and you will look 10-years younger, go HERE and your life will be perfect and you will be loved. Our low self-esteem an advertisers target mark but what they forget so conveniently to market to you is the truth that regardless of how we look, we are all beautiful beings, worthy of love especially our own. Your appearance is borrowed anyway — or so I believe — but it is the ugly judgement, the belittling, the harsh words thrown around so carelessly that we must own until we are ready to forgive ourselves. Think about your best friend, your lover, a child and think of their crooken smile, the wrinkle near the eye, the mole in that place that only you may be aware. Perhaps each of these symbolize a flaw of imperfection something we were once made fun of and find unlovable in ourselves but perhaps that is the very flaw that made someone else adore you.

The point is it was me all along that believed I was nothing more than a “pretty face”. I didn’t listen when I was told I was capable or kind or a good friend. I further admit now that years have passed and people typically view me first as someone who has lived her dreams, experienced much and stands proudly before you as someone who has reinvented herself in a fearless, confident manner. I am no longer offended when people tell me I am smart but there is that surge from deep within when I know someone thinks I am pretty. I want to be pretty, I do but I know — like my friend — that regardless of how we once allowed anyone else to make us feel, it is how we feel about ourselves that matters and that confidence is the prettiest box of all.

“They” and “We”

As you may or may not know, day-after-day I go into a corporate cube with the intention of paying rent, buying food for Ella and myself, and escaping back to art full-time as soon as possible. I am a visitor in a place I do not belong and Monday – Friday, I am surrounded by seemingly unhappy strangers who know nothing about me.  Afraid of poison from their lackadaisical existance; they look at me oddly when I burst into song, yell “Fuck!” as I often do, and the looks I got when I climbed on my desk to close the air vent, you’d think I had done a high-kick in front of them. Oh, wait I guess I did that too.

Needless to say, there is a very different vibe among those who chase the dollar versus those who are lead by inspiration. I am in no way implying that artistic people should not be focused on making money and am not assuming that all financial types lack an artistic soul but in general terms what “they” seem to appreciate and what “we” seem to appreciate appears before me as a mirror without reflection. Truth be told I feel sorry for them. To me, they seem lost, trapped behind a paycheck, an insurance card and lacking in the passion of their pursuits for the most part. My perception is that while “we” live in bold sweeps and circles, “they” live in the safe dotted line that leads them from cradle, to college, to wedding, to mortgage, to baby, to grave.

Now I realize it sounds like I am sitting in judgement and jokingly I am. My point however is not judge but to poke impolite fun and perhaps allow the “theys” of this world to add a bit of color to their light blue shirt and khaki pants infused lives. And while we are at it, let’s talk fashion. If you walk through the Concourse of 30 Rock, you will notice a parade of uniforms of the corporate variety. Why do they think looking like everyone else will help them to stand out? I swear to you, I’ve been at this company for 3 months and still can’t tell most of the men apart. Same short dark hair, no beards, no visible tattoos. What’s the point I tell ya?

Next let’s focus on hygeine and what is appropriate in a public workspace. People, I don’t want to watch you put on your makeup, pluck your eyebrows, or god forbid pick your nose. I get it, you spend your lives invisible an employee ID on a paycheck, a blank ID to validate your entry and you think that people can’t see you but let me assure you that we can. And more to the point we hear you and there is nothing more annoying – in my opinion – than for someone to take this liberty of clipping their nails. Artistically I could perhaps forgive this if your intent is to create a mixed media piece or perhaps a homage ala Kiki Smith but my guess is that you are not.

Day after day, I am annoyed by the “theys” and saddened to think that there is a “we’ lurking somewhere beyond the nail clippers and neckties. At times I want to shake them and yell “COME OUT, COME OUT, wherever you are?!” I want to see the fire, the spirit, the passion but I can not even though I am sure it is there or once was. Perhaps what I really want is some common thread to hold on to then it hits me. Perhaps the thread is the difference. The cold hard truth is that we need each other. “They” need our humor, our spontanaeity, our lust for life; and for me at least — in the early moments of NY — I needed their money, their security. Someday “they” will perhaps work for us as our accountants, bankers, and lawyers. Who knows perhaps while they are crunching numbers they are dreaming of sculpting metal and it is for us to show them that it is okay to live that dream. We are all still professionals afterall whether we define ourselves as corporate or artist. Each an individual human with something beautiful to contribute and perhaps when all is said and done the “they’s” and the “we’s” are truly just one big “us”.

How Sweet it Sounds…

Flashback: Sunday, May 31, 2009, 12pm, Reaves Gallery, San Francisco, CA. The space is bare, art returned to its creators, walls patched and freshly painted, and floors freshly scrubbed. The final inhabitants – Ella, my i-Phone and me – a combination that could lead to no outcome but a final dance. The song of choice “Sister Moon” and — as I often did — I began twisting and turning, legs lifting over a fearless Ella, arms outstretched. Moments after, I took a final glance to pack up all the amazing memories: the conversations, the opening nights, the artists, the clients, the friends, the stolen kisses, and as I locked the door I could swear I heard the sound of a champagne cork popping then fading gently into silence.

Over the months and the miles since, there have been many champagne corks, conversations, and friends but when I locked those gallery doors behind me and moved forward I wasn’t certain what direction this would lead me. I’ve applied to a vast array of art-related jobs ranging from museums, non-profits and galleries. I’ve gotten a few responses but for the most part, it’s just me doing what I know how to do the only way I know how to do it. What this means is that I’ve adopted various non-profits and artists. I’ve given lectures, curated shows, volunteered and along the way have connected to a few mentors who have been helpful and open with suggestions on my future path. A path that on this day has lead me to a neighborhood much like Hayes Valley. A neighborhood filled with fashionistas and families, young people and old, strollers and dogs. I walk down the street as if invisible no one yet knowing that I may be the person who sells them art or inspires them to create or perhaps even become their friend. It’s a nice moment, one that brings a tear to my eye and a smile to my lips.

And in that moment of transparency, I can’t help but relive a few of the twists and turns that brought me here. You see, I am en route to a gallery, a gallery owned by a friend. Someone who was kind enough to fly to San Francisco in 2005. Without first meeting me, he agreed to participate in a show, the second I ever curated. The title was “Re-Discovery” and it was held at the DragonBar in North Beach. Instantly smitten with his larger than life persona and his amazing talent, I bought a painting and we stayed in touch in over the years running into each other year before last on a random street in the East Village. We walked together, excitedly catching up on life, swapping stories on art but other than the occasional “at-a-boy” or “at-a-girl” when one of us achieved an accomplishment that was the extent until 2 short weeks ago when he saw a random posting on Facebook. The posting stated my first goal of 2010 which is to be back in art full-time. He suggested I call him and a few short hours later an agreement was born. It’s not full-time but I will help him curate and manage his gallery. I am needed, I once again have purpose, I am once again at peace. That friend/artist/angel is Michael Mut and it is in his gallery, www.michaelmutgallery.com, a few blocks from that last random meeting on the Lower Eastside, that I dance today. I chose the same song of course but just as sweet, it somehow sounds different, the moves are different but arms are still outstretched, still reaching.

The beautiful truth is that I am not sure where my life is headed and I am okay with this for the most part. This is the only area I feel confident enough not to “completely” choreograph, the one space in my life I allow to remain open. The unknowns expanding into glimmering possibility and it is with perfect certainty that I am confident once again that it will be filled with art. Art is what inspires me. It’s what I look forward to each day, it gives me community, it motivates me, it allows me the freedom to dance with fearless abandon, and in some small way I believe the feelings are mutual.

When You Can’t Look in the Mirror Anymore…

They say everyone in our lives acts as a mirror, at various times reflecting who we were, are, or desire to be. That has been most evident to me as of late. Sometimes I would almost swear the characters of my life are characters in a play, too on-the-mark to be “real” (but that is a tangent for another day).

A great example of this is when I first moved to NY. I have been very blessed to meet friends of friends and through one of these introductions, I met a very lovely man who had also recently re-located to the city. With art as the common denominator, we became fast friends and I started to see my reflection more clearly through his eyes. You see in leaving SF, I also left behind 3 of the 3 factors which I felt defined me: my dog, my gallery and my long hair.

My move was a confident and faith-based maneuver and though I knew from the top of my newly sheared locks to the bottom of my well-grounded soul that this was the right thing for me, I wasn’t sure who “me” would end up being. The beauty of this of course is the opportunity for re-invention but I had finally found the me I liked — dare I say loved — and to come here empty handed I wasn’t certain how I would translate to new people in my life until meeting him.

His reflection was also one of re-invention as his chosen career was currently on hold, his living situation the same as mine (non-existant) and our financial means equaled at zero. Yet what I saw in him that I had been unable to see in myself was the ability to know and trust yourself enough that these things were a part of us not the definition of us. We each knew who we were and would again be, regardless of the standard trappings.

I grew in admiration towards him and unified we each claimed stake to rebuilding our lives. The sadness is that unification was also the shattering point and as we each moved forward on our respective paths realizing the vast difference between mirrors and the static image we were both wise enough to appreciate. He had shown me what he was intended to show. A lesson on looking past the mere glance of what is obvious on the surface to the image beyond, the one that ultimately leaves the lasting impression also known as the true self.

Labels

It is next to impossible to live in NY and not become conscious of labels. Labels denoting brand are everywhere; they parade in front of you in window displays, signage on subways ads and of course all along the Avenue numbered Fifth. Women constantly check out other women to see the bag and the shoes she is wearing and I’ve never had so many (straight) men inquire who made the dress, shoes, etc. “Target” I proudly replied which was the truth but not sure if they were as impressed with my ability to make a bargain look good.

Like it or not, labels can act as a reflection of how you are perceived based on what you have chosen. The same is often true of art and artists and it is important for you to understand how this affects you as artist, dealer and/or collector.

ARTIST/DEALER
Ask yourself what you think of when you hear the word “Gap”, “Gucci” or “Van Gogh”. What each of these have in common is instant brand recognition. As an artist or dealer your goal is to create that same connection between yourself and/or your work and your intended audience.

Intention is key here and I ask you to first consider how you want people to relate to you. Start with a statement of intention or if this seems daunting at first start by writing words or phrases free-flow that is your desired descriptive. Consider not only your aestetic and medium such as “bold”, “encaustic”, “haunting” but also your personal attributes “easy to deal with”, “honest”, “warm”, etc. As these words flow together remind yourself of your target market and how these attributes relate to them. As an example, consider once again The Gap best known for jeans and basics with an expected level of quality and value. Over time their target became so broad other subsets such as Old Navy, Banana Republic, etc. were created in order to best concentrate their audience. The same may be true for you if you are for example working in multiple mediums such as photography, painting and sculpture. If they all relate to one another then great but if each has a varied target then a variance of brand may also be suggested.

I also suggest you consider personal attributes that affect the overall experience of the viewer for example I take great pride in being approachable, goofy and slightly irreverent. It’s who I am and clients who prefer a more formal interaction will probably not choose me any more than I would them. It’s all part of the package and all worthy of your consideration.

COLLECTOR
As a consumer, it is critical you understand the value of what you are getting with your purchase. For names like ”Monet” or “Basquiat” you instantly visualize the story of the artist, the importance of his contribution as well as a visual appeal. If you are buying emerging art however this may not seem as obvious. What I encourage you to do in this scenario is to think about the following:
1) Valuation: Consider the artist’s education, years of experience and types of venues where they have shown.
2) Medium: Painting, photography and printmaking. Is this an original or part of a numbered series?
2) Does their visual and verbal messaging align? Consider recent press, bio, statement and series information. Avoid smoke and mirrors, you want to make sure what they are doing and what they say they are doing adds up.
3) Gallery or dealer reputation. You don’t have to love the gallery or dealer representative but you do have to trust them. A well-respected gallerist or dealer has the ability and dare I say power to make an artist’s reputation. They not only have the depth of knowledge as to overall art-market but much of the time “insider” information as to the direction of the artist’s career, where they may be showing next, who collects the work, auction data, and pending press.

Lastly it is important to note that not all brands are for all people so it is critical to do your homework and make sure how you present yourself aligns with your goals.  Art (and fashion) are very personal decisions and it’s important to trust more than the packaging, trust yourself.

A Loveletter to SF Open Studios

As much as I love my new home (NY) I have to be honest and say the two occassions that have brought me close to defection have been the Art-for-Aids auction and Open Studios. Both of these events have been a constant in my life and Open Studios in particular has been more like a family reunion than spending time with my own. My flesh and blood best exchanged for oil and collage.

It started in 2000 shortly after moving to SF. I was new to the city and one of my first friends in SF, an aspiring artist suggested we go check out some studios. The first was Fort Mason and I remember being overwhelmed by the amount of work and how there could possibly be that many artists in SF. And people were buying, leaving with paintings and prints and photos tucked under their arms. As a new collector, this was amazing to see. I felt like I had found my people and of course time would only draw me deeper into this conclusion.

Two years later — and newly single — my friends encouraged that we all buy  tickets to Private Preview which we did and again I was flooded with overwhelm to see all of the art displayed in tiny grids, hundreds and hundreds of pieces each a whole new world to discover. Year and after year passed, each with Open Studios firmly on the calendar and each year I found ways to be more involved first through volunteering, then consulting, then as committee, gallery sitter, juror, panelist, lecturer and always, always, always collector of art and artists.

Over the years, I would look forward to a journey into the familiar sea of faces, followed by warm hugs and greetings. I would reflect on the guide and guess whose work is whose without looking at the names and enliven the surprised way my heart still races to see the evolution of style and subject matter as artists’ have had a year to mature. Each time new, each time magic. 

So here I am 3,000 miles from the center of what was once my universe, my family, my bliss and it is with joy and sadness that I feel my place taken by someone who will experience that same wonder for the first time. Perhaps they too will move on to a world (and apt.) filled with art. Perhaps they too will sit where I once did as a gallery sitter at SomArts feeling glorious sunlight on my face and thinking how deeply I wanted this to be my life. Perhaps they will love the art and their artists creators and connect in that rare and lovely way that happens when studios and minds are open. Perhaps, oh perhaps they will even know when it is time to make room for the next phase and to begin living a new dream filled with memories, and hope, and possibility and dare I lack for saying it filled with art.