“Dance for Me Little Artist, Dance for Me”

“Go long!” I said.

“C’mon, throw it” he said.

“Nope, go waaayyyyy long!” I replied.

He was a younger kid that lived across the street from me when I was in the third grade. His sister Nancy was my age and a real pain to be around. He wanted to play catch with the football and I got the brilliant idea to send him damn near a full city block down the street with plenty of insinuations and promises that I would throw the ball to him if he would just “go long”.

Once he was barely within sight, not to mention wayyyyy out of my throwing range, I underhanded the ball into his front yard and started walking over to my house.

I don’t remember the kid’s name, but I do remember his old man. “Joe” was a fireman that smoked cigarettes non-stop all day long and was usually pissed to begin with, so any stimulus would only add to his issues list.

“What the hell’re you doin?” he screamed at me as he ran out of his front door. I made it back to the house before he got to me, but I never walked on that side of the street again even though we lived there until I was 16 and they moved when I was 11!

The story comes to my mind not because of the irony that it centers around a kid growing up in Nebraska actually contemplating throwing a football rather than running it over and over and over again (an inside Nebraska joke) – but because a similar incident happened at a show last weekend.

“Sell it to her and I’ll buy it for her.”

I was at a tough street show in St. Louis last weekend. A friend of mine described it pretty well: “You’ll see them (show organizers) when you check in, but that’ll be it. You won’t see no water, no booth-sitters, no nothing. This is an old school show.”

He was right. It was a old-fashioned street show. White booths, wide range of art, new artists, old artists, some work was good, some wasn’t. Pure capitalism. If you wanted what we had, you bought it. If you didn’t. Well, then you didn’t. It had a wide range of attendees. Old, young, rich, poor, sophisticated, street urchins, art-savvy, no-taste-whatsoever, etc. It was all there. The background was a mid-town kind of atmosphere – working class, tough, spirited. The 3 day show went until midnight on Friday and Saturday – this brought out the 20-somethings with lots of opinions and dwindling manners stoked by various flavors of alcohol and wide open artist booths.

“Sell it to her and I’ll buy it for her.”

Some kid with apparently his first beer and first attractive girlfriend stood in my booth. His girlfriend wrapped around his neck and his wingman stood behind him with an eternal grin and razor-thin eyes.

“Sell it to her and I’ll buy it for her.”

The girl kept saying between giggles how much she just “loooooved” the painting and kept asking him to buy it for her. It was $1200.

“C’mon man, sell it to her.” (“Go long, go waaayyy long!”)

I turned and reached for the painting to take it down.

“I already did. Do you want to charge it or write a check?”

The girl stopped asking him to buy it long enough to look like she was suddenly incontinent – mouth wide open, wide eyes, astonished.

The kid nodded at me like all of the sudden I was one of the top ten people he admired most in the world – but not really. He turned and walked out of the booth with his wraparound girlfriend while his wingman gave me an approving nod as they shuffled out of my booth.

“Christ.” I thought, and then shook the experience off as quickly as I could. They reminded me of the Saturday Night Live skit a few years ago…..something about Two Douchebags Buying a Christmas Tree or thereabouts. I went back to selling to real customers and didn’t really think about it until later when I got home.

Back in the studio I read a glib piece by a young lady who went to a fairly prestigious art fair in Chicago. “Old Town” it’s called. It’s hard to get into as an artist, very hard. It’s a tough show, you set up in the early morning and you work the crowds of the Old Town Chicago for hours upon hours. Not an easy show, none of them are, but this one has a reputation for high quality work and long hours. Apparently this lady and her husband attended the show and did purchase a piece that she just loved and as I understand it – it was for her birthday and so forth and so on.

In her writing, she indicated her disappointment that artists did not engage them as they walked the show and entered booths. Many of them according to her did not have websites or polished artist statements. As I read the piece it became apparent to me that she was basing much of her purchasing decisions on the whether the artist was conducting him/herself as a professional marketer as well as a professional artist. One artist who apparently was doing well in galleries and was featured in a recent write-up was noted to be lacking in her marketing skills by the writer because she chose not to have a website.

There is no doubt the writer of the piece I read loves art and loves the idea of artists succeeding in their endeavors – however it was disturbing to me that her decision to not make a purchase in some artist booths was because they did not meet her standards (working website, professional artist statement, enthusiastic greeting and attention to the customer). On the surface this may seem trivial, but as I thought about it – I noted her lack of empathy and insight into the universe of artists selling work in art fairs and festivals – even with her long track record of attending shows and supporting artists. (The reality at many shows from the perspective of many street artists is to give the visitor plenty of space, keep the website low-key or even down during the show to keep the show as the primary event, and keep the focus on the art – which is why they are there in the first place.)

It is her prerogative to make her buying decisions and so forth in any manner she wishes. It is her money, her taste, and her standards. But her writing made me think of the young man in my booth in St. Louis. He was not my customer. He knew it, his girl knew it, his wingman knew it, and I knew it. Yet both this young man from St. Louis and the lady that attended the Old Town show in Chicago had one common denominator:

“Dance for me little artist.”

“Dance for me little artist.” (aka “Go longggggg, go waaaayyyy long!”)

“Dance for me little artist.” Is what a photographer friend of mine says when we discuss visitors to our booths that do have an intention of buying so long as they are pampered in the process or more commonly they have no intention whatsoever of buying artwork but are very interested in learning more about a technique, or maybe being entertained for a while by a real, live, breathing artist – or maybe they just are envious that someone had the nerve to roll the dice, work insane hours, and get their work out there to be sold.

I recently responded to the lady in Chicago’s piece about the artists in the Old Town show indicated that her lack of insight, despite her best intentions, exposes a flaw in her credibility with street artists. A deficit in understanding the life and times of an artist that creates and takes his/her work on the road, often alone, and sets it all out there for everyone to see. The artist is exposed and vulnerable, but eager to show, sell, and create more. The market is tough. People do not want to be sold to, but they do not want to be ignored. They want a good deal, but they want to know they are buying quality, they love the art but they don’t understand it, they want to possess it, but they can’t afford it, and so forth. It is a difficult commodity in a difficult time. The lady from Chicago was not impressed by my responses, but then she doesn’t need to be. That is precisely what is so incredible about being an artist – there are no rules because it’s art that is important here, not the marketing.

If it were that easy, everybody would be doing it. Thankfully not everyone is an artist or a marketer or an underemployed 20-something with a drunk girlfriend and goofy wingman. Thankfully not many walk a show and expect artists to dance for them – but some do, they really do.

What is important is the art, not how it’s packaged. I’ve said in earlier writing that art is not a good or a service – it’s more than that. It’s intangible. Good art always sells – eventually. Look at the art, not the artist, not the booth, not the artist statement. If the art speaks to you, means something to you, moves you – then consider taking it home and start asking questions of the artist. Let the artist know if you are interested, if it’s that good and it moves you – you don’t need to have it force fed to you – just exchange opinions, ask questions, share your interpretation, engage them in conversation and swap ideas. Do not be afraid to let the artist know you can’t afford it, (I can’t afford my work either!). The interaction is what is important. Don’t run away when the artist enters the booth and says “hello”. Some artists are very passionate about their work, but they don’t want to offend you or come across as too strong or “pushy” or “packaged”. Develop the relationship with the artists whose work you admire – don’t waste your time or the artist’s time if you don’t like what he or she does. Life’s too short, focus on the art you love.

The artist is there to sell the work to you, not to sell you on it. The work is at the show for the destined owners of the work to come in and claim their painting or sculpture or photograph or piece of pottery or whatever it is the artist is selling.

He or she is not there to push his or her website when the newest, best, and freshest work is right there in front of you, not to hand out business cards so you won’t feel embarrassed for not buying something in the booth, not to teach you to become a painter or a photographer, not to justify their work, not to “share”, not to entertain you like children playing with a football.

Make friends with an artist you admire. You don’t always have to buy from them. A lot of them are traveling alone and are taking a risk in a strange town just to bring some artwork to people who may be interested in buying it. They’ve done enough, more than most people ever would. Most of them will not dance or “go long”, but they would love to visit with you for a little bit. Enjoy the work on display at the shows and reach out to the artist if you love their work.

You will probably change houses, change couches, change walls, change your decor, change your electronics, change just about everything in your life. 50% will probably change spouses! But the art, the original fine art in your life – will remain in your life. Buy only what you love and buy only what you can afford.

It’s about the art, not the packaging.
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