The opening is only a few days away and you've been putting off the task of preparation. You have a rough idea for the show but you're not sure exactly which images to use. You convince yourself that at some point in the next few days you'll find the time to edit a cohesive show, make exhibition quality prints, matte and frame them, hang them in the gallery, write a statement, and update your website to reflect the new show. Yeah, right.
Somehow the show comes together. Now it's up but it's hard to gauge response. There is no feedback, no inquiries, no review, no comments. You ask your close friends what they think but none of them have managed to see it yet. And in fact you can't tell who has seen it beyond the few brave souls who made an appearance at the opening, probably there for the free cocktails. For the next month you live in an angry unknowing vacuum. Grrrrr!
There's been a sales inquiry. They're wondering if you'd cut a deal for one of the prints. They'd like it smaller, unframed, and at a quarter the price. And oh yeah, they're curious if you can make the colors pop a little more and could you print it on canvas like those gorgeous Thomas Kinkades they saw at that one shop. You say you'd like to sell the print as displayed in the gallery, at that price. You never hear from them again.
Closing date. You take down the show by yourself. The gallery walls are now blank. You go home, remove the prints from their frames and resort materials into their places. The frames go on their shelf, mattes on their shelf, prints in their box. The artist statement gets recycled. After a few weeks you begin to wonder if the whole thing ever happened or you just imagined it.
Gradually, after many shows, you realize that each one follows the routine described above. What's more, it's likely that any future shows will follow the same pattern. So you stop organizing solo shows, a decision which frees up a chunk of time you can now to devote to practicing photography in earnest.