Recently I had an interesting email exchange with a very well-known artist, whose work I have sold (in my capacity as an art dealer and gallerist) many times in the past, including to American and Latin American museums.

She was giving me prices for her new work, and checking up with me (and all her other dealers I assume), because she had noticed that some galleries were selling a particular limited edition etching for “$3,000 each, when the gallery price should be $5,000.”

I’ve never seen this work listed for under $5,000, but I digress.

She affirmed that the gallery price for that particular work was $5,000 and that only she could sell her own work in her own studio for $3,000.

What?

This is a harsh lesson that most artists need to learn very quickly: An artist cannot afford to compete with him/herself when it comes to prices.

Nearly all emerging artists, when first dealing with a gallery encounter the business fact that a gallery has to make a commission from the artist’s work in order to make ends meet as a business. The first reaction of the artist is sometimes to “bump” the price to meet the gallery’s commission.

No good!

The exact same editioned work can’t be sold for $1000 in DC, for $4000 in London, for $800 in Brazil and for $500 bucks in your studio. The same size painting cannot wonder all over the price scale depending where it’s being sold.

See what that does?

1. It can damage the reputation of a dealer. Imagine the collector who pays $1,000 in London and then he sees the same work for $500 elsewhere? The immediate reaction is “that dealer ripped me off,” not realizing that the artist is the one who is ripping everyone off by creating price confusion and trying to pass the gallery commission off to the collector. A good artist and gallery relationship is a symbiotic one, not a money struggle.

2. It will damage the reputation of the artist and will always bring the “real” price of the work down to the lowest price, when the idea is for art dealers and artists to work together to raise demand and thus prices; not have prices wondering all over the scale.

This is very different from the secondary art market, where auction prices can wonder wildly all over the place.

But artists must be consistent in their pricing and accept the fact that if they are going to work with an art gallery or art dealer or both, then they can’t have them competing with each other and also with the artist, because a good art dealer’s job is to protect both the artist and the collector.

Of course there are nuances to this process… both dealers and artists should have a specified leeway to give collector’s discounts to ahhh… collectors, and also offer discounts to multiple buys when someone buys several works at once.

But not discount your own work by 50% just because it is being sold out of your studio.

That just drags your prices down and will cause your art dealer to scold and educate you, or even drop you.

Of course, like some artists that I know, if you do not need an art dealer and can sell your own work all the time, then — since you are the only one selling it — you control prices and can do whatever you want, and hopefully won’t be having art “sales” where you’ll be “discounting” the work that you sold to collectors a week earlier for a specific price, to a much lower price.

It’s a little complicated at first, but once you truly examine the issue, then it should be clear to see that the idea and goal is to expose your artwork, get it seen, commented upon and — if that’s your goal — sold for a fair and reasonable price, and letting the laws of economics take it to where it should be.

But definitely not under the “blue light special” of your own studio.

Banner for the exhibition “Body Politics” at the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Massachusetts

Salem, Massachusetts –To look at the face of an elderly person in any culture is to see their history. Assuming they haven’t been Botoxed or lifted, every wrinkle, every line is part of the narrative—hard living etched into place, overindulgence gently plumping out the creases, and gravity, over time distending cheeks and jowls.  The mostly youthful faces of the Maori shown in the photographic exhibit,  “Body Politics,” at the Peabody Essex Museum here, contain more than personal history. They are writ large with the symbols and messages of their culture.  

Writ, as in inked.  Inked as in tattooed.

Lauren (Piata) Heenan: “My moko is the moko of a woman proud to be a wahine.”

To be honest, it’s a shock to see.  A filigree in blue black ink is like a curtain over facial muscles. Is that a grimace…or the ink? How do I match up what’s in the eyes to what’s on the skin? These faces are fierce!  But I’m imposing my New England-bred, New York City-honed identity on people who have an entirely different life and culture. (Yes, of course I’ve seen plenty of tattoos, but on the face, not so much. And certainly not with such an urgent sense of  culture and self.)  The decision to receive moko, to be tattooed with the symbols and stories of their culture—indeed, to receive the specific patterns of their familial ancestors—is not just personal among the Maori, the indigenous people of New Zealand. One’s entire family and iwi (tribe) are involved. Permission must be granted from the elders, a design drawn up and accepted.

Moko is not new.  For hundreds of years it has been part of the culture. Organic spiraling designs feature fernlike shapes that symbolize new growth as well as ancestral roots. Each design, customized so that its whorls and eddies fit the contours of its wearer’s face, is unique as a distinct record of whakapapa (genealogy), whenua (land), and personal accomplishments. New Zealand has been under British rule since 1840, according to the wall text, and in 1907 the colonial government banned Moko and denied Maori access to their language, land, and beliefs. Gangs revived the tattooing initially, not so much with tribal patterns but with words like “Mongrel” and “Outlaw”  to assert their independence over authority. That rebellious spirit pervaded the larger culture, and regular folks took the ink.

“The revival of Moko for many of us is really exercising our rangatiratanga—our fundamental right to exist,” says Tame Wairere Iti, whose image is on the banner I photographed in front of the museum (top). He is a robust man with shoulder-length hair, ink-blackened lips, and a frond-like facial pattern that swoops down to the chin and up to the forehead from a starting point on the bridge of his nose.  An accompanying video shows him as the host of a Maori language radio program and identifies him as a Maori Cultural Advocate.

Maori culture not a closed loop. Contemporary wearers of moko live contemporary lives. While the patterns typically come from or are inspired by one’s ancestors, their wearers are attired in fleece sportswear and Nike logos, and there is at least one groups of practicing Rastafarians with dreadlocks to accompany their moko.

Photographer Hans Neleman has documented some of this revival. The Dutch-born, New York-based photographer visited New Zealand in 1997 and was inspired to record the faces of  the people he saw. Receiving permission from the Maori elders after agreeing to work within their cultural parameters, he returned the following year with an 8×10 camera and a crew of three to travel the country, “capturing the renaissance of ta moko,” he says. His sitters approved their images, and each shared something of her or his story, which accompanies their large-format photograph in the exhibition.

  Piri (Dave) Iti

“I am the only member of the New Zealand Army to wear a full face moko,” says Piri (Dave) Iti, who sought the approval of his wife and family before taking the moko. He is photographed in his uniform.

Kimiora Ereatara Hohua

“The bottom of the design represents my mountains, the sides my whakapapa, the curls at my lip my children, and the top spirals each side of my family,” says  Kimiora Ereatara Hohua, whose chin moko is complemented by larger tattoos on her upper arm and thigh. Women’s moko tends to involve the chin rather than the entire face, though some women are additionally tattooed on the forehead.

  Dion Hutana

And the gang members? For some, moko has changed their lives. Dion Hutana, photographed in a suit, says, “Originally I put the moko on as part of the gang experience. Then it changed with my life. Now I’ve got no choice but to speak the body language.”  

That body language typically means, says one sitter, ethnic pride and  “a healthy context for my body: no drink, no smoke, no drugs.”

The exhibition consists of large-format color photographs installed in the museum’s photography gallery, a second-floor wraparound balcony overlooking a collection of Colonial American objects. It’s an effective exhibition space. A wide perimeter encourages both intimate looking and step-back views while affording wider vistas of the exhibition across the balustraded opening.

After my initial apprehension, I enjoyed reading the faces and the snippets of story that accompanied them. But the photographic style is just a little too reminiscent of the Gap ads from that period. I guess this is what happens when a commercial photographer ventures into territory that embraces sociology, portraiture and fine art. Still, if you’re in the area, go see the exhibition. (Just don’t go in late October, when the area around the museum turns into a Halloween horror show).

“Body Politics: Maori Tattoo Today,” organized by Karen Kramer Russell, PEM curator of Native American Art, will be up through February 1, 2009.

Photographs (except top image) by Hans Neleman, courtesy of the Peabody Essex Museum 

. . . . . . . . .

Museum postscript:  Founded in 1799, the Peabody Essex Museum is the oldest continuously operating museum in the United States. It began as the East India Marine Society, when Salem was one of the largest trading ports in the country. Its members, Salem-based sea captains, returned from their Asiatic voyages with objects to establish the collection, which also consisted of objects and artifacts of Native America and New England marine history.

The lobby of the Peabody Essex Museum

If you visit Boston, drive up to Salem—or take the commuter line from North Station (about 30 minutes), which will bring you to within a short walking distance of the museum. Recently renovated by architect Moshe Sadfie, it boasts a new lobby whose soaring spaces and strong curves are reminiscent of the sailing ships that brought back the early acquisitions. If you are an architecture buff, the museum contains the 200-year-old Yin Yu Tang House, recently installed after a piece-by-piece dismantling in China (the video is informative and quite moving); as well as three nearby properties: Salem homes from the 17^th, 18^th and 19^th centuries.  And if the weather is nice, walk Derby Wharf, a half-mile jetty that runs straight into the hah-bah (you know, where the boats are) where a recreation of the 18th Century “Friendship,” a three-masted schooner, is docked.

Speaking of pronunciations, you’ll be marked as a tourist for sure if you pronounce Peabody as pee-body. Everyone in these parts call it pee-b’dy.

This is from a Wikipedia entry, so take it for what it’s worth:

Art competitions formed part of the modern Olympic Games during its early years, from 1912 to 1948. The competitions were part of the original intention of the Olympic Movement’s founder, Pierre de Frédy, Baron de Coubertin. Medals were awarded for works of art inspired by sport, divided into five categories: architecture, literature, music, painting, and sculpture.

The art competitions were abandoned in 1954 because artists were contended to be professionals, while Olympic athletes were required to be amateurs. Since 1956, the Olympic cultural program has taken their place.

Art competitions turn my stomach, truth be told. I don’t care whether it’s kids’ work or juried shows. It seems ignorant to me to treat artworks like Holsteins at the county fair. “Well, Bob, Glenridge Thunder’s got great head carriage, wrecking-ball testicles and a topline you could split wood on, but I watched him walk into the ring, and — bad news — he’s sickle-hocked. Sorry, Son. Maybe next year.”

In a short paper (pdf), Beatriz Garcia, a doctoral student at the Center for Olympic Studies at the Autonomous University of Barcelona — yes, with all the world’s other problems solved, the A.U. of B. has gone on to tackle the desperate issues presented by the Olympics –  tells us about a clause in the Olympic host city contract that requires the production of an Olympic Cultural Program. But this provides little reassurance to that city’s arts organizations, which will now be competing for the attention the visiting hoards will lavish on the Games.

Ms. Garcia goes on to inform us in another, more-detailed paper on the subject (pdf), that Olympic Cultural Programs are wildly inconsistent from city to city, lasting from three weeks to, in some cases, four years. And here’s the kicker: proposals for cultural programs that were presented by cities during the bidding stage are often not followed through on once a city has been selected. There’s no mechanism in place to enforce promises made during bidding, apparently.

Funding for Olympic Cultural Programs is spotty at best. This makes sense, even if I wish it didn’t, considering that they compete for (incredibly exhorbitant) investment resources with the games themselves.

Perhaps the arts have only themselves to blame if people are apparently more interested in seeing the Torch Relay than in attending a show of Olympics-inspired artwork.

But that could be some seriously funny artwork. Let’s take a fantasy-walk through just such an exhibition, shall we?

John Currin’s stretched-out Neo-Mannerist women, cackling wildly while snapping their backs on the uneven bars.

Picture an Olympics-inspired Richard Serra — thick rectangular mega-tons of steel to suggest the airy flight of a gymnast.

“Tara Donovan’s installation, Mound, consisiting of ten million jock straps arranged into a forty-foot heap, suggests the myriad ways in which our male-dominated culture flaunts its testosterone-fueled fantasies while absolving itself of all responsibility.”

Here’s an Olympics-inspired Damien Hirst: a kangaroo split down the middle, posed in full running extension in a tank of formaldehyde.

Murakami could make giant fiberglass statues of his body-fluid-squirting boy and girl engaged in a competition for distance and accuracy. Perhaps they could be directed at a Bill Viola video of swimmers in ultra-slow-motion.

Maybe the host city’s museums win during the Olympics, and maybe their arts districts get extra visitors, too, and we should all be happy for that. But as far as the Olympic Cultural Program, Ms. Garcia makes it sound like an afterthought at best.

And really, artists of all stripes out there, when have you ever benefited from what the jocks are doing? Didn’t we always eat on opposite sides of the cafeteria?

But I could have it all wrong. If I ever visit a host city during the Olympics — which, incidentally, would be the perfect reason for me to stay as far away as possible — perhaps I’ll find that it’s become a worldwide nexus for the arts, with musicians on every street corner, theatre troupes performing in every park, and art installations on the water, in the air, and spilling out of every enclosed space.

Incidentally, if you’re in Beijing right now and you’re reading this, first, check behind you; I think you’re about to be arrested. But if there’s time before they slap the cuffs on you, I’d be interested in hearing about the Beijing Olympic Cultural Program.

Until I hear more about the Olympic Cultural Programs in Beijing and previous host cities, I’ll have to be content merely to marvel at a world that supports a Center for the Study of the Olympics, while no nation on Earth is apparently wealthy enough to feed a small island whose people are so destitute that their children are forced to eat mud.

I was going to title this post “Signature Blues,” just to be cutesy in the wake on my last post on framing issues…

In the hundreds and hundreds of shows that I have organized as a gallerist or curated or judged as a juror or curator, one of my constant pet peeves is how artists sign (or not sign) their work.

My biggest pet peeve in that den of peeves is the common artist mistake of having a HUGE signature that makes such a bold statement as to often destroy the integrity and composition of the art itself.

Some artists, such as Norman Rockwell, often signed their works in bold, and even interesting ways that were designed to still be read when their paintings were reproduced as a magazine cover. For these master illustrators, it was very important that their name was recognized once their work was printed on the cover.

But most artists should not make their signature distract from the work itself. Do not sign your work somewhere, anywhere other than in a discreet location on the margin somewhere. Never a few inches into the work itself and never, ever in gold or silver or some other ghastly color scheme.

Amateur photographers are especially fond of signing their photographs with gold or silver pens. Did you notice that I wrote “amateur?” The visual presentation of a photograph should not be marred by that kitschy practice. if you sign your photo on the front, do it discreetly on the margin; otherwise sign it on the verso, also on the margin. I’ve also seen the practice of signing the mat in pencil, and I am OK with that, although I know some gallerists and museum symbiotes do not like that practice either.

Let me be clear: the art must be signed.

If the signature distracts from your own personal aesthetic, then sign it on the back of the work. To be blunt, most collectors demand signatures and there’s ample empirical data that shows that unsigned works always get less in auctions than signed pieces.

Vatican legend has it that when Michelangelo finished his Pieta, the night before it was to be opened to the public, he hid behind some columns as a bunch of priests and cardinals admired the masterful sculpture.

“Who made it,” asked someone.

“I think it was Raphael,” replied someone else.

Michelangelo was so incensed that his masterpiece was being attributed to his rival, that once the place was cleared, he climbed atop the statue and carved his name in bold letters across the sash that crosses Mary’s chest. He carved: “Michelangelo Buonarroti of Florence Created This.”

I believe that it was the last piece that he ever signed.

And it was too big.

Over the many years that I have been an art dealer, I continued to be amazed on a regular basis by the framing monstrosities that artists and art buyers seem to produce.

Regardless of what your framer or your interior decorator, or your mom tells you, the prime purpose of a frame is to protect the artwork and ready it for presentation and exhibition.

The dizzying array and varieties of mouldings do offer a challenge to the uninitiated, but as long as you keep in mind a simple rule, you will not screw up: Keep It Simple!

While gold rococo frames once worked well in the 19th century, and still hold their presence in presenting the Impressionist paintings that they have been guarding for over a century, they should never make a 21st century appearance in, let’s say, framing a simple black and white photograph.

Not to imply that a good gilded frame is framata non grata for all contemporary artwork; in fact they still manage to complement and make - as an example - traditional landscape paintings look good.

Colors, designs and textures that do not compete with the artwork should be the goal. I am even more severe in my own personal artwork about framing. I prefer simple matte black metal mouldings for my drawings and the thinnest and barest of light wood frames for my paintings.

A good professional framer should already know all of this.  A hack who wants to sell you an expensive, thick, elaborate moulding for your simple artwork must be avoided at all costs or your visual and monetary cost will be enemies of your art and finances.

For do it yourself framers: learn how to frame properly and learn about conservation materials. You would not believe the number of times that I have seen badly hand-cut mats (the result of using an Exacto knife to cut the mat instead of a good mat cutter), a colored acidic mat, a gaudy, cheap frame and brown cardboard backing from your last move used as backing. They will ruin a perfectly decent work of art.

Some basics: for photography only use white acid free mats (or any light, neutral color mat) and acid free backing. Thin, let me say that again: thin, metal (black or silver) metal moulding frames (matte not shiny) or thin light wood frames. Avoid color mats at all costs and thick frames at all costs. If you can afford it, avoid frames period, and use those gorgeous frameless presentations where the photo is sandwiched between two sheets of museum quality  plexiglass re-inforced with strengthened aluminum to prevent warping (for large photos).

For paintings, I have always subscribed to the less the better and prefer the floating mouldings that allows the canvas to free float in the frame while still protecting its edges. I am also OK with gallery stretched canvasses, where the canvas hangs frameless and the staples are hidden behind the work.

Next: My pet peeves on huge artists’ signatures.

Earlier on I discussed commercial galleries and vanity galleries.

Together with commercial art galleries, artists-run cooperative art galleries are perhaps the most important gallery components of a city or area’s art tapestry.

A cooperative (or co-op) art gallery is a for profit art gallery which is owned and run by a group of artists - or a cooperative of artists.

The artists share the costs associated with running the gallery, and often also share the task of manning the gallery - or the costs of hiring a gallery staff to run the space.

Running anything by committee is never easy, and cooperatives (in my experience) tend to have some very good, solid points, and also share the drawbacks of a committee-run enterprise (usually 10% of the people end up doing 90% of the work).

Depending on size and structure, a co-op can usually “guarantee” each member a solo show every couple of years. Most co-ops also have an area (bins or a small room) where members can always have some work on view.

Because co-ops share and spread the costs of running a gallery, they are often better equipped to survive the prodigious ups and downs of a gallery business life. As a result, a good co-op will be able to survive a market where most new galleries fail, and in my experience it is not unusual to see that in many cities the oldest galleries are usually co-ops.

Because co-ops thus dissipate financial dangers, they are also optimally equipped to present shows that are never intended to be commercially appealing, but which nonetheless offer a good contribution to the artistic dialogue. Thus a co-op can sometimes present a show that a commercial gallery may turn down as commercially impossible.

Co-ops are often also the best place to discover emerging artists, and in my experience this happens at all ranges of the age spectrum.

I am a big fan of cooperative galleries, and I strongly believe that this artist-run model for an art gallery is one of the key elements of any art scene.

Next: Non-profit art galleries

Yesterday I discussed (at a very high level) the model for commercial art galleries; today we will look at vanity galleries.

A vanity gallery is an art space that “rents” or sells its space to artists in order for the artist to have a show. Thus, the main driver in having a show at a vanity gallery is not necessarily the quality of the artwork, but the artist’s ability to pay the gallery to host his/her artwork.

New York is crawling with vanity galleries, and a large number of European galleries are vanity galleries. In the US however, vanity galleries are often looked down upon by everyone who knows that they’re a “pay-as-you-show” space, since they are essentially a “rental” gallery.

A knowledgeable art critic or curator knows which galleries in his/her town are vanity galleries, and often ignore them, much like book critics ignore most self-published writers, who use “vanity publishers.”

An interesting fact in my experiences as a gallerist, is the fact that I have seen “reputable” galleries which sometimes cross the line and become “charge the artist” galleries or vanity galleries once in a while, as the mighty dollar (or lack thereof) calls.

Sometimes, when I was co-owner of the Fraser Gallery in Washington, DC and Bethesda, Maryland, we’d get a phone call from an embassy, or from the agent of a Hollywood actor who’s also a “painter” or “photographer,” or from an individual “artist,” and they would ask us how much would we charge to host a show by their “artist.”

When we’d inform them that we do not rent the gallery for artists to have shows, they’d thank us and hang up. Then a few months later I’d see that “Hollywood artist” or “embassy artist” exhibiting in one of the area’s “reputable” art galleries, and immediately recognize that - at least for that month - that gallery is making ends meet by renting the space to someone.

While I understand that most galleries are labors of love, and often run by the skin of one’s teeth, I still find it somewhat distasteful, and dishonest - to appear (on the surface) to be a gallery that shows work based on merit, while at the same time showing work based on an artist, or a corporation’s ability to pay.

And it’s not just commercial art spaces. Several years ago, a local Washington, DC newspaper profiled a local non-profit, which inadvertently - in the text of their profile - admitted charging a multinational corporation a hefty fee to put up an art show at their “reputable” non-profit art spaces.

One can even make the case that even some museums sometimes cross the line and become “vanity museums.”

A few years ago I was astounded when a Culture Minister from one of the embassies in DC told me that they had finished a deal with a local museum to host the first ever retrospective of one of that country’s artists for a fee of four million dollars! To him, it was “business as usual,” while to me it was distasteful and dishonest and left a bad taste in my mouth about that museum for the longest time.

Next: Cooperative Art Galleries

A few years ago a freelance galleries critic for the Washington Post reviewed a show at a particular DC gallery, and while reading the paper during breakfast with an artist friend, I couldn’t help myself.

“Can you believe that she reviewed this show?” I said to my friend, “that’s a vanity gallery!”

My friend looked at me puzzled. “What’s a vanity gallery?”

Now I looked at him puzzled. “You, know… a gallery that an artist has to pay and rent in order to have a show.”

While that particular space - the only one of its kind in DC at the time - has long ceased to exist, vanity galleries flourish in most American cities (most often in NYC) and constitute a significant number of European galleries, where the model seems to prosper more readily than the US.

There are several “models” of art galleries. I will discuss them all, but will start with the commercial art gallery, and eventually we’ll get to discuss the vanity gallery model.

First among equals is the independently owned fine arts commercial art gallery, which is usually either a heroic labor of love from someone who (a) loves the visual arts or (b) is a collector who decides to become a dealer, or (c) someone grabbing a chance to dance at the leading edge of the fine arts — in my experience by someone who is on the upper end of the well-to-do financial scale.

“If you want to make a million dollars in art,” goes a well-known industry saying, “start with five.”

Starting an art gallery is a risky, usually money-losing situation, often driven by nothing but idealism and love for the arts.  I was once lectured by a US Chamber of Commerce expert on the subject with the statistic that after restaurants, art galleries are the second most likely business in the US to fail - usually within six months.

Commercial art galleries survive by selling artwork in order to pay for their rent, utilities, advertising, shipping, opening expenses, staff salaries, etc. If they don’t sell, they close. They generally collect 50% commissions on the sale of the artwork that they showcase - on consignment in business terms - from artists that they “represent.” Some galleries, especially in NYC, may charge more, and I know of quite a few that go as high as 70%, but 50% is the “standard.”

Or, as was the case rather recently with a “power” art gallery, you can lose money consistently and indifferently if you are an owner who is independently wealthy (she got tired after a few years and abruptly closed the gallery).

Or, as was the case with a very trendy gallery that got all the reviews, and whose openings were always packed, you can have “investors.” The problem is that at some point the investors - say five years - will start asking questions and a return on their “investment,” and suddenly the gallery closes.

Those asterisks aside, reputable commercial art galleries also promote their artists and help them to grow alongside the gallery, and have no “hidden” monetary charges in their dealer-artist contracts, other than the commission of art sold - either by the gallery or through referral.

Other gallery models include artists cooperative galleries, or “co-ops,” vanity galleries, non-profit galleries, embassy galleries, alternative art spaces, restaurant galleries, library galleries and “moving” galleries… more on all those later.

Scroll down for part I and II or click here and here.

Day Three, Saturday, July 26

Started the day with another spectacular gourmet breakfast at our “Buckingham Palace of Inns,” and then headed out to the streets to observe the “Quick Draw” event.

Note to self: Next year bring art supplies and sign up for the “Quick Draw.” It looked to be a load of fun!

To recap: The Quick Draw is quite a novel event to bring the art of plein air painting directly to the art lover. In Easton more than 130 artists, competition painters, professionals, amateurs, etc. had pre-registered and participated. These artists were then given two hours to complete their works within a three block area of the town.

During this short time, all registered Quick Draw participants set up their supplies and paint, draw, or sculpt “en plein air” in downtown Easton, while hundreds of people stroll around and look in and ask questions.

There were artists everywhere in this small Maryland jewel of a town! And they were not just painting the streets and beautiful houses and spaces around them! Painter Scott Powers, a young Chicago artist, was mesmerizing the crowd by delivering a portrait of a gentleman reading a paper in the shade of an Easton cafe. The crowd was hypnotized as Powers delivered a remarkable piece that not only captured the subject’s likeness, but also that key ingredient of great portraiture: the subject’s unique sense of individuality and self. How he managed to do that in two hours was a spectacular feat.

We walked around for the two hours (I got a mean sunburn) and admired both the multitude of artists of all kinds of artistic skill, and also the multitudes of people admiring them.

When the “finish” horn sounded at high noon, artists began filing down to Harrison Street, where they began to set up their easels to display (and sell) their just finished work. The paintings were then judged by Plein Air-Easton! Competition Judge Gay Faulkenberry and awards were presented at 1:30pm. By 2:00pm the exhibit and all of its paintings were gone from the streets of Easton.

Once again I witnessed a near feeding frenzy as paintings were bought almost as soon as they were up on their easels. I would say that within the first five minutes about 50% of all the works had been sold, with works ranging in price from $250 to $2,000. By 2pm nearly all pieces were gone and heading to the home of a new collector.

Larry Moore from Florida won the top prize at the competition and it was a well-deserved award - he was also my pick for the best piece in the show. I also quite liked Joe Meyer’s light-filled house (it also won an award), and Ken DeWaard’s piece.

My wife and I then went biking around Easton (biking with my wife, who used to be a world-class triathlete before she retired from competition a few years ago, is like playing chess with Bobby Fisher) and then back to the Inn to get ready for my talk at the museum at 7PM.

My talk had been advertised as a “new signature event that will embody Plein Air-Easton’s slogan ‘Art for Everyone.’ Campello, a respected artist and art critic with a flair for engaging his audiences with humor, will give a short history of art and discuss the knack of art collecting. This event will not be boring. Cocktails will be served and attendees can mingle and view the competition galleries. Seating is limited but Campello’s wit and wisdom can be heard throughout the Academy” and sort of like Richard Pryor once said, I thought to myself as I walked to the museum: “I better be funny.”

The room was packed, with maybe 150-200 people, and I had expected to talk for about an hour as I gave them a little background on art history and then discussed collecting art and other associated issues.

The audience was really good and I didn’t notice anyone falling asleep or leaving, and so when I glanced at my watch, and noticed that I had been talking for nearly two hours I was dumbfounded by both my ability to just talk and talk about art and by the audience’s resistance!

So I ended it (I could have talked another hour, but I took pity on them), and surprisingly quite a few people came over and started asking questions and I spent another 20 minutes or so answering them… so I think that it went OK.

My apologies for those who were late for other things because of my Castro-like performance.

Next: the last day at Easton, with Winners Paint-Out and Brunch at Rich Neck Manor.

Scroll down for part I or click here.

Day Two, Friday, July 25

After an amazing breakfast at our even more amazing Inn, we walked around town and dropped in at the Pam Foss Gallery, where we admired some of her paper casts before walking over next door to check out the installation effort, started last year by artists Carol Minarick and Mary Ann Schindler — with the help of gallerist Vivian Knapp — to provide a contemporary “shadow” exhibition to the plein air festival.

This year they’re presenting an installation about the disappearances at sea of two men who have become mythical art figures.

Mounted at Viviann Napp’s small gallery cottage at the corner of South Street and Talbot Lane in Easton, the installation is a seascape from another perspective. Combining contemporary paintings and actual nautical elements, including a naval architect-designed 1939 lapstrake dinghy from the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum, the work recalls the voyages of cult Dutch conceptual artist Bas Jan Ader and English inventor and would-be circumnavigator Donald Crowhurst.

See a 1970s video by Bas Jan Ader here.

It is an elegant and intelligent installation which is the first in what I hope are many new steps to expand the town’s intelligent approach to endorse the fine arts in general; Easton has a good thing going with the arts, kick-started by the hard working folks who put together the Plein Air Art Festival, and I hope that the city council continues to work hard to make this art event the seed for more and more fine arts in Easton.

We also visited and chatted with the owner artists of the Sharp-Mayer Gallery, where we admired the works of owner Joe Meyer. Across the street we walked to the South Street Art Gallery where we ran into the familiar works of the talented NancyTankersley and sort of our first exposure to figurative art in her current series on chefs and restaurant workers. We also quite liked the work of old favorites Sara Linda Poly and Bethanne Kinsella Cople, two extraordinary landscape painters.

4th of July Sky by Bethanne Kinsella Cople

At 7 PM that night we attended the Collectors Preview Party at the Academy Art Museum, where each of the plein air artists had two pieces for sale, and where the 2008 juror, artist Lynn Gertenbach Gay Faulkenberry (who graciously stepped in at the last minute because Gertenbach could not attend) would later select the 2008 award winners.

Considering how I have been reporting the blues that seems to have hot the art market in 2008, let me tell you that this evening was almost like a feeding frenzy of art buying. Artists were able to replace work on the wall as it was sold, and I would estimate that around $100,000 worth of artwork was sold on this opening night, where collectors paid $150 in order to be there and have first choice at the available works.

This was quite a refreshing change of pace from what I have been seeing in various art fairs so far this year, and while it is clear that the plein air painting niche is very specific on its genre, it is nonetheless a good shock to see artwork fly off the walls.

It was also surprising for me to agree with about 75% of the award selections given out by the judge, although I did have a couple of major disagreements with a couple of her top choices. Nonetheless it is also unusual for me to agree to this extent with any juror, so in that particular vein we seemed to walk a parallel line.

My choice for the top prize?

Had I been the juror I would have given the top award to Bethanne Kinsella Cople’s beautiful landscape painting; her handling of light, application of paint, and experienced brushwork was the best that I saw that night. I also liked the works that I saw that night by Edward Cooper, Stuart White and Frankie Johnson.

Part III will have the “Quick Draw” - More than 130 artists, competition painters, professionals, amateurs and the simply adventurous compete to paint, draw, sculpt and have fun in the sun. These artists have only two hours to complete their works within a three block area, then they are exhibited on easels, prizes are awarded and they’re up for sale!