Making the Nut.

Back in the days when traveling carnivals toured the land, smaller independent outfits would often talk about the difficulty of "making the nut". This phrase referred to the necessity of covering the daily costs of the operation. I'm enamored with the colorful slang associated with that milieu, and I'm vulnerable to employing such language whenever I can justify it. So when people ask me how my show went this weekend, my answer has been given relative to the possibility that I might achieve my essential goal. Have I "made the nut?" Well, the truth is more complicated in the realm of "art". It's not necessarily a "pay-to-play" proposition. And while I can understand the resistance to thinking about and discussing it on these terms, it's still ultimately a form of willful denial to beg the question.

It is a bit crude to think in terms of getting your money back when you're engaged in something as nebulous as "art". I think it's an unspoken rule that all participants (artists, curators, gallery owners, and those that "patronize" the work) are required to approach the subject of the market with subtlety and circumspection. Because when all the artifice and pretensions are pealed away, art simply isn't necessary. Sure, it uplifts the human spirit (and all of that flowery jazz), but you can't eat it, wear it, or huddle underneath it for physical warmth. It is a luxury in the truest sense of the word. When times get hard, it's the first thing sacrificed. Not only that, but a lot of people seem to feel entitled to it for free.

That's the nasty secret for a lot of people that work to put on shows. There is something undeniably gratifying about getting an exhibition of art together. It is beyond utility, and not easy to put into a standard of dollars-and-cents. Certainly I get a sense of satisfaction from doing something that I enjoy that results in a tangible product. And it's enjoyable to get people together in an environment that one has created, and communicate an idiosyncratic vision. However it all costs quite a bit of money, and not many of the participants are aware of the total expense. Obviously the physical space itself has value, and inhabiting it requires an allocation of wealth. This is usually transmitted to the artist in the form of an upfront hanging fee, and/or a percentage of any sales from the event.

Meanwhile the individual creator must pay for materials, promotion, presentation, and refreshments for the opening. Obviously these costs can accrue, and become prohibitive for someone wanting to actually generate income from selling his/her artwork. Fortunately I have a job/career that minimizes the need for me to acquire profits through the pursuit of my passions. At the same time this isn't a vanity enterprise for me, and I feel some compulsion to make my activities pay off. At the very least, I want to get back the money I put into making and showing my art... thus my obsession with "the nut". Maybe by this point you are impatiently expecting a straight answer regarding this, my latest show.

In addition to generating what I believe to be a healthy amount of goodwill, I see the possibility of bringing the balance sheet into the "black". That's not to say that I have all of the money in hand. I have an armful of promises as well that don't weigh quite as much. They feel pretty good though, and perhaps that's the main point. It is a serious tribute when someone pays a price for a piece of art that is commensurate with the amount one might spend to finance a nice night on the town for him/herself, and a date. But there are rewards that are less quantifiable, and that doesn't invalidate them. I did have a good time, and I'm confident that the vast majority of those who shared the experience with me would be able to say the same thing. It can be about that if it needs to be.

Sophy Burnham, "The Art Crowd" (1973).

When I first started showing my work a few years ago, the last thing I thought I'd be mulling over was the 'business of art'. Like many people of ordinary, late 20th Century, middle class backgrounds, I had a naive sense that the pursuit of art was somehow transcendent. The truth is that everything in the United States is vulnerable to the processes of commodification. The day you decide to exhibit your artwork is the beginning of a drastic re-imagining of what it means to participate in the 'art world'. Whether or not you are showing your work with the intent to sell, someone is going to inevitably bring up that possibility. The reason for this is the cost of space. Every parcel of land, and every wall within has been demarcated as property. Whether or not you have a specific proprietary interest is beside the point.

To tell you the truth, I am fascinated with the idea of art as part of the marketplace. Art is so inherently subjective that putting a value on it is largely a subjective enterprise. Ultimately a piece is worth what someone will pay for it, and in that respect it differs little from any other product we might buy or sell. But where did the rules come from? How did the market for art develop? Certainly we'd need an exhaustive historical study just to get close to coming up with a basic answer. However, here in America we can get some idea of its development by looking at the art scene in New York during the post WW II era. It was during this period that contemporary art was introduced as a viable economic investment. That fundamentally altered the way that things were done.

For as significant a change in the cultural landscape as it was, the emergence of contemporary art speculation was characterized by an inordinate amount of mystification. To a large extent it still is. Try to find a body of literature that explains the forces behind art market valuation in layman's terms- its rather difficult. I found an obscure book written in 1973 by Sophy Burnham that seemed to offer some basic insight into the phenomenon. The Art Crowd focuses on the various forces that combine to attribute monetary value to modern art. Burnham takes us on a journey that introduces us to artists, museum directors, collectors, dealers and the all powerful institutional trustees. She identifies the internal workings of the marketplace and describes how the various principals interact with each other.

Along the way our guide includes the results of a series of interviews she conducted with the movers-and-shakers of the art world elite. It is remarkable how incestuous these circles are. This is a comparatively small milieu, and key individuals have a disproportionate amount of power to determine which artists become 'successful', and which among them languish in perpetual obscurity. There are a lot of dual relationships, with the same men and women curating works from the very artists that represent the bulk of their collections. It doesn't take much scratching to reveal the extent of unethical behavior beneath the sophisticated veneer of this 'Art Crowd'. Critics accept gifts from artists that they review. Museums receive deep discounts from dealers looking to increase the profile of their respective stables. And trustees use their connections for influence and profit.

It wouldn't take much for a reader to become quickly disenchanted with the the idea of purchasing art. That's probably why this title has such a low profile. Burnham herself seems to have been discouraged from further exploration. A quick internet search reveled that the author now identifies herself as a 'Medium' and practitioner of Reiki. Maybe she divined something so rotten at the core of The Art Crowd that she permanently disengaged from it. But the book is an interesting snapshot into the way things were done during a pivotal point in the evolution of the contemporary arts scene. I don't think it's a stretch to believe that much of the current situation remains the same. The faces and names may change, yet the actual machinations that propel the scene continue to be enigmatic to outsiders.

Art Bargains in Pittsburgh.

As I expected, my father and I had a fun time last night at the downtown gallery crawl. He was in town for a couple of days to get his first look at his new grandchild. For some odd reason my Dad enjoys just holding the baby quietly, and it doesn't seem like he needs much else to keep him content. That worked out well for M. and I, as it gave us our first opportunity to go out by ourselves for a couple of meals. The first chance we got to do that- we headed out to a local pub. It was refreshing and a bit surreal to be in that kind of environment (especially for M.). Yesterday we had lunch together. Unfortunately we ended up with a fairly terrible meal when I suggested that we try something new. With the new logistics regarding baby care, the stakes are higher every time we get some time away. It's probably good policy to stick to what we know and enjoy.

Regarding the crawl, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention a few things I merely glossed over in my preview. Ladyboy's solo show down at 707 Penn Avenue is a bit of a must-see. I had no idea that "Totally Maybe" was a black-light (black-lit?) show. The artist used glow-in-the-dark and fluorescent paints to screen-print his designs on identically-sized panels of wood. In the center of the gallery space, he erected a shrine with a green plaster cat statue at its center. Surrounding this centerpiece was a pyramid of multi-colored luminescent strings, stretching from floor to ceiling. Apparently this was the part of the installation that required the most effort, as Ladyboy hadn't anticipated his initial hours-long effort failing to hold. I had no idea that this was his first solo show in the city, and I was honestly impressed by his articulation.

I was especially pleased by Ladyboy's references to the cat-portrait-painter Louis Wain. Several months ago, I included a YouTube clip about this artist in one of my blog posts. I was fascinated by several aspects of Wain's life. The idea of obsessively focusing on portraits of cats for an entire career is an adequately interesting idea in and of itself. But add in the progressive mental deterioration of schizophrenia, and you get a particularly compelling story. I'm frankly drawn to appreciating feline imagery, and so I couldn't forget many of Wain's later depictions. There was no missing the inspiration behind one specific Ladyboy painting last night- it was a psychedelic homage to the master himself. I got to share a short discussion with Ladyboy about the place Wain has had in his own formation in the arts. On a peripheral note, I also learned that Ladyboy had the unique distinction of getting two vehicles (a moped and his friend's car) impounded within a 24-hour period while setting up the show. Hopefully this won't cause a "Wain-esque" disruption in this promising creator's life.

Moving on, I'd like to point out that I enjoyed the Mattress Factory Staff show at 937 Liberty... and I'd like to draw the reader's attention to a bargain basement deal available at the gallery. Katherine Young, whose works I have been following in town for a couple of years, has two large ink drawings depicting a pair of adolescent girls walking through an idyllic natural setting. They are framed very nicely and priced at a mere $250 apiece. I consider them excellent pieces, and highly representative of what Young is capable of as an artist. If I hadn't already spent over a grand on art this past month, I would have purchased one myself. Have you been considering starting an art collection, or expanding an existing one? This is a great place to start.

Finally, I want to express my excitement in discovering the work of another talented young artist who is new to exhibiting in the city. As soon as I walked into La Vie last night I was drawn to a group of smaller-scale paintings prominently featured on the wall. They were of an exceedingly-skilled illustrative quality, with subconsciously realized elements of fantasy and bright fields of color. Suffice it to say that they were quite extraordinarily consistent with my aesthetics and taste. When I consulted the gallery guide and saw the prices attached to them, I was amazed. Gabe Felice is a Greensburg artist and amiable conversationalist, who has done a great service by offering his work at an almost obscenely low cost. Not only did I walk out of the opening with two new pieces for my walls, but Felice also sent me on my way with a VHS copy of Eye of the Tiger, with Gary Busey. Anyone who appreciates that prince-among-men is one to watch, very closely. Luckily for you, I left some great pieces unpurchased. Get your ass down there and get in on that action while you can.

What is an "Outsider Artist", anyway?

Sometimes I can find myself in a long, drawn-out discussion after such a minimal prompt as, "Have you read anything good lately?" Last week I wrote about having read a book about outsider photography. The authors were very clear in stating that the subject has not had a long tradition of academic inquiry. Although I might not have expected it to be the case, it turns out that many people are still uncomfortable with the notion of "outsider art" in general. The phrase itself evoked a variety of responses when I brought it up at the Brillo Box the other night. It's not surprising that everyone I was with had an opinion, as they were all either artists or ardent fans of the arts. But I didn't expect the negativity I heard in some of the reactions.

Apparently there are still folks who think that the term "outsider artist" is pejorative. One friend of mine interprets the categorization as a dismissal of an artist's worth. She seemed to suggest that it's akin to an attack on the legitimacy of the work it is applied to. Her immediate associations with the words are a "lack of training" and condescension. I was taken aback by this interpretation, as it seems to me like "outsider art" has paradoxically entered the mainstream awareness of collectors, dealers and critics. This evolution of the concept has certainly made understanding the phenomena more confusing.

When people first began to discover (and take seriously) the artwork of creators who weren't traditionally thought of as "artists", the label may have been appropriate. These works were created by folks who were entirely divorced from the canon of art history. They weren't shown in museums, or picture books, or galleries. They originated in prisons, mental asylums, and other shadowy corners of society. For centuries art was the concern of an extremely rarefied segment of the population. In the early Twentieth Century, established artists such as Jean Dubuffet brought attention to the work of "primitive artists", but it would be decades before the acceptance of the merit of such work would be widely spread.

Really, it wasn't until the 50's and the beginnings of the Pop Art movement that art was truly democratized. On a grand level, artists like Lichtenstein and Warhol exploded the traditional definitions of what could be considered "art". The simultaneous advance of technology did its part to spread the new paradigm. Suddenly entirely new groups of people began to engage the art world, and brought with them irrevocable change. Not only could the masses appreciate a wider range of work, but they could also (on occasion) make it as well. This novel spirit of adventurous discovery became all-encompassing, and art connoisseurs started seeking out art in increasingly unusual places. The expansion of the market demanded a steady stream of product, and there was a place at the table for work that would have formerly been rejected.

But a strange thing happened as this process developed. The artwork of "outsider artists" was integrated into the marketplace. Soon it was appearing in galleries and museums, and established critics paid attention to it as well. Once academia appropriated the more famous examples within the expanding "genre", the lines of discrimination got blurred. The artists themselves (at least the ones who weren't dead) went through their own transformations as they became aware of their own value. Some of them were even being invited to host their own solo shows at prominent galleries. They had become "insiders", and prominent figures within a movement of "outsider art". Ironically, the success of such artists ultimately undermines the authenticity of their banner.

Once again, the "Value of Art".

I thought that tonight I'd write about the value of art. But it occurred to me that this subject had already been extensively examined on this blog. To verify that this was the case, I did a search on my front page for "value of art". This is what I came up with. So, yeah... I've already said a lot about this topic. But being in a reasonably inebriated state, I'm going to forge ahead as if I was covering novel ground. Please forgive me for redundancy, syntax and typing errors, and whatever rambling tone I set in this post.

Once again I spent my Friday evening at a gallery opening. This was actually the grand opening of a new space on Hatfield Street in Lawrenceville (the Zombo Gallery). The inaugural event ("Squaresville") featured a middle-aged local illustrator named "Wayno". This artist has been prolific, and I knew his work from local media and from a comic called Beer Nutz that he created years and years ago. He's actually had work in The New Yorker, Entertainment Weekly, and The New York Times. Here's a guy who has found commercial success in creating images and lives in the suburbs (Mt. Lebanon). And he's selling his paintings in the $200-500 range.

I'm considering these prices in the context of having just made a trip to the galleries in Chelsea. Granted that this section of NYC is pretty much the pinnacle of the international arts acene, but (after all) the shows I saw were mostly of "emerging" artists. Yet you'd be hard-pressed to find an original painting there for under $1000. From the perspective of someone that's spent any amount of time in the Pittsburgh arts scene, those prices seem exorbitant. But who's to say that the art market in the 'Burgh is more representative of the "true" value of art? Certainly from what I've heard, the local market is extremely depressed. I recently bought a painting (here, in Pittsburgh) from an artist who is selling his work in Chelsea for four times as much as I paid. What is the intrinsic value of that object?

Just like with real estate, all types of factors affect the cost of art. But unlike property, artwork can't provide you with shelter. You can't eat it. It doesn't help you get to work any faster. It's value is determined (mostly) by what someone is willing to pay for it. Why would some people pay $1000 for a print (with an edition run of 500) of a work created by an "art star"? Does it represent the time it took to make it, or the quality of the materials? Does it depend upon the past and/or the prospect of future work by the artist. Is it based on the quality of the piece- and who even determines that factor? Ask an expert. Consult a ledger of previous sales. Consider where it is being shown, and who represents the sale. Throw it all in a blender and pour that mess into an objective assessment.

It's too easy to get caught up in the mind-frame of the investor. You start out buying artwork because you love the way it looks. You want to have it... to put it in your living space. You want to call it yours. Then you become a collector, and you start considering the relative value of different works. Does it seem like a "good" deal? Maybe you eventually find yourself purchasing a piece that you don't even really like- just because you think its creator is "going places"... and it will surely appreciate in value. But what is it worth if the economy collapses, or after a nuclear war, or when the oceans rise a few feet? It' merely an object with some medium of color applied to some material- often wood or canvas. What's the price of that material per pound?

I find these questions compelling. I even play with the answers in my own work. For Christ's sake, I draw on phone book pages. What? That's last year's directory? Throw the damn thing away! It's not archival anyway. But I make scans of the work on quality photo-paper with archival ink. Surely the intrinsic value of the print is worth more than the original? Hmmm... it's awfully fun to turn a convention on its head. What if I make 1000 copies? Then what happens to the value? Hahaha.

The Aspiring Artist's Dream.

Now that I am once again safe in the bosom of Pittsburgh, I can find the mental space to consider my trip and impressions of New York City, circa 2007. One of the most unsuspected reactions I experienced has to do with the speculative idea of living in such an environment fulltime. All throughout my twenties I entertained the idea that I'd love to move to the "Big City". It had to do with the beehive of activity that such an environment represents. I honestly believed that I could have found everything I wanted from a life within the Five Boroughs. In retrospect, it's a bit shocking to think about how naive an idea this was. During that period of my life I fancied the simpleminded vision of what an artist's life was "supposed" to be like. What that really amounted to was hanging out with the pose of a disaffected hipster, and producing very little of anything with true merit. The thing is that one would have to be independently wealthy to pull off that lifestyle in NYC.

Meanwhile that choice was very easy to make in a place like the 'Burgh, where even the middle-class wastrel youth can emulate his/her vision of the lives of the artistic saints. One can truly meet their goal of being a fullblown slacker in a place like this. You don't have to make a lot of unseemly compromises and/or bust your ass just to survive day-to-day life. In NYC you'd have to work so many hours that you would defeat your purpose. In the meantime you'd be living in a shitty little apartment with roommates crawling over you like cockroaches. Forget trying to advance yourself. If you can sponge off your family, then you might be able to approximate the freedoms a typical Pittsburgh service industry wage slave currently enjoys.

If you need to live in the perfect embodiment of the Social Darwinist petri dish in order to kick your own ass- then so be it. You can return to your hometown years later and talk about all the cool stuff you couldn't afford to do or see when you spent your formative years in NYC. Your friends will get a huge kick out of those stories, as they lounge back in the houses they bought at prices (psychic and monetary) that constitute a mere fraction of what you would have had to pay in whatever upcoming NYC neighborhood where you tried to make a go of it. Anyway, the days when you might have been able to scrape by and buy property on even an upper-middle class salary in Brooklyn are long gone. And if you were all-the-time trying to get noticed as an artist, forget about it. There are a million aspiring art star wannabes competing to be one of the hundred or so emerging artists to be included in a Chelsea gallery summer-time group show.

New York City is the prototypical American dog-eat-dog metropolis. Unless you are born into the Alpha Male class, you can forget about it. You have as much chance of winning the lottery as being "discovered". Everybody is screaming at the top of their lungs, trying to get noticed. If you have a loud voice and prior connections you might eventually save up enough to get the fuck out of that rat race. And with all that noise you are trying to generate, when do you think you'll find an opportunity to do any quality work? Go to Williamsburg and try to figure out why there are so many ironic twentysomethings snaring at you. They've realized that they've sacrificed their chance to build any real equity, they have no health insurance or retirement plan, and they are still mere plankton in an ocean of sharks. Is it any surprise that they resent all the entitled-from-birth yuppies who are moving into the brand new condominiums in the once-cool neighborhoods that starving artists struggled to build?

Perhaps there is a viable formula that includes a stint in NYC as a realistic component. Maybe if you work and save money in your hometown, and produce a quality body of work first, you can rent a room in one of the transitional NY neighborhoods. You'd have to have a large chunk of change, so you can devote yourself to networking within the arts scene. If you can then convince an aspiring art dealer to make a studio visit (just tell your three roommates to get lost for the day and scatter your paints and canvas around), then you could possibly worm your way in. Who knows? But you should be prepared to recognize when to cut your losses. Good Luck.

Three Rivers Arts Festival- 2007.

As an artist, I completely appreciate that efforts need to be made to expose a wider audience to the world of art. There should be opportunities for people to engage artwork that don't require an MFA to understand and enjoy. It's true that there is an insular quality to much of the stuff that gets exhibited at local galleries and even museums. But at the same time, the integrity of art and artists needs to be preserved. This is a timely topic for me as I have spent the last two days attending public spaces involved with the dissemination of art.

June has always been the time for the Three Rivers Arts Festival. For almost as long as I've been in Pittsburgh, I have made it a point to check out the event. I'm not sure whether it's my own evolving perspective, or if it is objective reality- but it sure seems like every year TRAF becomes less and less about the "art". Years ago they used to have a juried show outside, protected by mini-pavilions. It's true that there was always plenty of room to meander through those works. Even then it attracted mostly serious art fans. But it was my absolute favorite thing about the festival. Then they moved the juried show into the 937 Gallery, and space considerations limited the number of pieces they could include. This year they had their "Best of Pittsburgh" show in the PPG Wintergarden. I don't know how many people even realize it's there.

I enjoyed the "Best of..." exhibition, but it was the leanest offering I've seen yet. There were quite a few artists I know personally, and I did enjoy seeing what they submitted. Pieces by Adam Welch and Chris Lisowski were among the standouts. But there were only 48 total works, and they were labeled in the most confusing way possible. They had xerox copies of floor plans, completely unadorned with sufficient information to locate the individual pieces. The only way I could figure out that puzzle was by identifying the works of the artists I knew by sight, and working backwards from there. God help the visitor that isn't familiar with the Pittsburgh art scene.

And then I checked out the "Artist's Market", which is always held around Gateway Center. I think calling the vendors "artists" is generally a bit misleading. By and large the tents contain crafts and such. If you enjoy that sort of thing, more power to you. The people making those products are certainly artisans. There are many fine pieces of handcrafted jewelry, wind chimes, homemade wooden instruments and lots of stock photography. I know I risk sounding like an elitist snob.... but that's not representative of Pittsburgh "arts". Of course, there are always a handful of vendors selling paintings that you couldn't find at every other such event in the country.

I had a short conversation with Kentucky-born transplant and fine artist Mark Traughber. We were both puzzling over the lack of quality artists. Perhaps it has something to do with the jurying process- maybe the organizers don't want to include "challenging" artwork. Or maybe not many local artists take the market seriously enough to consider setting up downtown. I do know that Unicorn Mountain and some local galleries had booths this year, but they only set up for the first session and I missed out on them.

Anyway, it didn't help matters much that the TRAF this year was hampered by the construction going on down at the Point. Usually there is some interesting outdoor sculpture down by the performance stages. This year,the city has decided to fill in the trench that exposed the last surviving wall of Fort Pitt. That's right... on the eve of our 250th anniversary, our leaders are burying our history. Construction is underway, and so the stage and the food booths are jammed in tight with everything else going on. I'm sure there were a few people this year who wondered why they even bothered to fight the traffic. At least there will be more lawn for people to trample while watching the crappy Jimmy Buffet cover bands they always bring in for the Regatta.

Maybe I'm being a bit too harsh. On Saturday night they are having a Flux event (#15) in conjunction with TRAF, and it might redeem my opinion of the festival. There are a lot of good people involved with making that night a success, and I don't want to invalidate the energy they put into it. So show up on Saturday... see what there is to see of the "art" downtown... and then come to the tri-annual celebration of local artists at 610 Smithfield Street. There's free bike parking for the environmentally-conscious.