Denial
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.
Anger
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!
Bargaining
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.
Depression
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.
Acceptance
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.
16 comments:
This is all too familiar to me and I'm glad I gave it up. The first one was the best as it was a huge group show there were plenty of people at the opening. I was giddy as I listened in to the conversations of people admiring my work. I figured that I was ready for MOMA at that stage. Then the next one had fewer people and fewer comments. Finally, at the end I didn't even care what people thought and it just became a pain in the ass, having to cut mattes and mount. My best sale ever? A drunk guy came in with some chick he had just picked and wanted to show off his wealth, so he paid way over the (low) asking price. He never picked it up and probably didn't remember buying it. I still have it on my wall and the money is long gone. Thank god I have a day job.
It's somehow reassuring to see that my experiences in the art world are not unique. I hit the acceptance phase a few years ago, and now happily make the work I want, thankful that I have a good teaching position for income.
Blake, you are right on the money (or lack of). Nice to know we've all had the same experiences...I'll never forget seeing a crowd form around one of my pieces and there was lots of animated conversation...I edged over to hear what was being said and realized they were trying to decide where to go to dinner. I have long moved on from any expectations.
Ha! As someone who is not only a photographer, but also involved in the running of a gallery it is all too familiar to me. I've just recently gotten to the acceptance phase and am looking forward to doing what I do best.
My favorite question from someone viewing my photos was "Is this art?" He wasn't being a smartass, he really wanted to know. At least he was honest
g-e-n-i-a-l
excellent...the question for me after showing is "why do i do this?" but there is always a response that stays with me...one viewer who says something that resonates. It is not about my work but a wildly random chance of synchronicity on some level.
I don't mean to slam exhibitions entirely. I think there is value in showing work, mainly for the serious editing and contemplation that it forces on you, and also for the occasional comment that resonates. But by and large it's usually a lot of time, effort, and money for not much in return.
Not to be too cynical but to make money with photography appears to me that you must have the ego and desire to make yourself and your images a commodity... the shows are just part of the game thereafter... for the rest of us it should be an exercise in getting a body of work out to the photo community for their inspection and possible enjoyment( not Joe Public as mostly photographers see these photo shows as opposed to investors who see the more commodity oriented).... Not to knock either... there are many famous as well as truly amateur photographers whose work I enjoy and seek their shows.... Also some of the former remind me that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and the Emperor can sometimes be naked........
My sentiments, exactly. I have given up on shows completely, I just can't afford to make prints that will never sell.
Same for showing to galleries, museums, going to portfolio reviews, or any other activities that cost me money. I'm tired of feeling like a lost puppy begging for a pat on the head for doing such fine work. I accept that fact that the deciders in the art world don't really dig what I do. The photo industrial complex, along with my kids, wife and cats have tapped me out. I'm done.
I will always make images, post them on line, collect them in Blurb books that no one will buy, and go along my merry way. I've surrendered to my limitations at marketing myself, I suck at it, and the limitations on my time. I have a more than full time job, and I freelance, so all week and many weekends are spoken for.
I'm happy to have a small following on Flickr who appreciate what I post, and to have gotten the attention of a few bloggers. So I'll just shoot what interests me until I croak. At which point my kids will fill a large dumpster with all of my negatives and other junk, and be done with the whole sordid affair that I've had with photography. A big heaping mess will be the only thing that will be left to give to my kids, but it will be a good mess.
This posting really hit a nerve and it seems that the majority of photographers (who were serious) will go through these stages. As SR alluded to, it is a business, on both sides, and if you don't have those skills for self-promotion then you're at a huge disadvantage. Of course you also have to be currently relevant, which means Conceptual or The New Docugraphics. Classic-style photographers need not apply.
Droid, I think you bring up a good point which is that arriving at these discoveries is a process. That's why I used the Kubler-Ross model as a framework. I think a lot of photographers move from step to step through this and arrive at around the same point.
My bedroom looks like a gallery show right now. Maybe I'll have an opening.
I have Kubler-Ross pajamas.
I remember a time when a smaller galleries would nurture and help photographers with their work and not just leave it to fate and hope something would sell.
The first solo show I had didn't cost me anything. The gallery paid for the prints (on the premise that if I sold any work they would then recoup the costs). They supplied all the framing, hung the work and made everything look wonderful. The opening night was packed, thanks to their exclusive guest list, and enough work was sold that night to cover all the costs. Everyone was happy. That was fifteen years ago.
The last solo show I had this year was a complete flop. I paid for all the work to be made after being told the gallery would help a little, which they did not. I framed all the prints myself. Hung the show on my own. All the people on the opening night were from my own 'guest list', the gallery had invited no one.
The directors of the gallery spent all night chatting with the interns and didn't lift a finger.
A lot has changed since that first show, and not it would seem for the better..
Anyhow, I always say work belongs on peoples walls, not galleries..
I just tell myself that at least I'm leaving something for my daughter that reflects the best of me. Better than Waterford crystal, at least.
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