Your Collection’s Afterlife

Collecting art is fun! Reselling…not as much. But inheriting someone else’s collection and having to figure out what to do with it can be incredibly frustrating. Think about it. If you didn’t collect it, you probably don’t have the same attachment. And now you are saddled with a bunch of stuff you don’t know how to sell or where to start, much less how to value it.

Because art collections add a few interesting wrinkles to estate planning, I’m taking a look at ways to minimize the issues and help you make sure that, even if your next-of-kin didn’t share your passion, they will know the value of the art you acquired and how to send it on to someone who does want it and will care for it.

Next Month: I'll break this down for artists.

Documentation

A common concern for collectors is that their kids will put everything in a yard sale and sell it along with stacks of faded towels and chipped plates for pennies on the dollar. As any good bargain hunter—and lots of savvy collectors—will tell you, estate sales and thrift stores are great places to find art, antiques, and important books at rock-bottom prices.

When you’re gone, you can’t do anything about yard sales, but you can nip that concern before you go. Determining what happens to your collection starts with a well-documented list that includes where you acquired things, sales receipts, current market values, and a list of dealers who are selling those works.

This can be tedious, but it’s well worth your time–or money to hire someone–to create this document. I discussed this in my monthly column The Collector’s Notebook in Western Art & Architecture “Art Appraisals 101,” in the April/May 2022 issue. Basically, the important things to notate are dimensions, medium (oil, bronze, glass, etc.), frame or sculpture base, price you paid, photos of the work including signature, front and back, and current prices of similar works selling at galleries or auctions.

For some collectors, this list is all you need to share with family members to kick off a discussion of who gets what. For other collectors, this list and the total valuation of your art is just the beginning.

Don’t know where to start? Check out my free online collections management database in Airtable.

Separating the Wheat from the Chaff

If members of your family have ever said (or you suspect this is how they feel): “When you’re gone, we’re going to sell all of this because we don’t like it.”, you are going to want to keep reading.

When it comes to downsizing and refining your collection, you don’t want to leave this task up to your family, which, for above stated reasons, you really shouldn’t. Your options are to donate, gift, or sell art on the secondary market.

There are some wonderful benefits to actively selling art from your collection even while you’re still collecting. Culling and refining your holdings is the key to creating an important and focused collection. Tastes change, especially if you are an avid collector. The more you look at art and get to know artists, the more adept you become at evaluating and refining your collection. You want to weed out lesser works and either trading up or move on.

Consider making time to meet with fellow collectors, dealers, and curators to discuss art and objects and learn more about the genre of work you most enjoy. These folks are great sources of knowledge and will help you improve your eye. They will also come in handy when you go to sell or donate things. You may find that you and your group buy from, sell to, or swap things with each other.

Cleaning House

Once you’ve identified the pieces that no longer fit your collection, it’s time to plan their departure. The best person to sell your art is you. Stay with us on this one. We’re not suggesting you open a gallery. What we are saying is that you, dear collector, know where you got these things and how much you paid. You probably also know something about the artist’s career and whether their art has gone up or down in value in the art market. I discussed resales in “How to Buy and Sell Art at Auction.” Give that article a read so you are prepared for what to expect on the secondary market or at auction. Auctions, in particular, can be tricky; you’ll want to go into that world armed with some basic knowledge about how they work and what to expect in the fine print on those contracts. Speaking of contracts, I’m also going to strongly suggest you read “Laying Down the Law,” my blog on contract and selling art through dealers. You really need to know what you’re getting into!

There are three main avenues for deaccessioning art: resales, gifts, and donations. Let’s start with resales.

Resales

Reselling art is always an adventure. The easiest route is to go through a gallery already familiar with that artist’s work. You’ll pay a commission on these sales, but often you can negotiate the amount. You might even be able to trade for something they have for sale.

Here’s an important caveat: when reselling art by a living artist on the secondary market, you are competing with that artist for sales. One or two pieces won’t make a difference, but if you collected ten or more works, it could crush an artist if you dump all of those pieces on the market at once.

Auctions are another venue for reselling work. They can be, however, deleterious to artists, especially living artists. Sales that go at or below the minimum or don’t sell (bought-in), can damage an artist’s pricing structure by signaling a drop in the valuation of their work. For collectors, auctions are a well-known place to buy below retail, but when you do that, you are, in a sense, lowering the value of the thing you just bought. For this reason, active dealers and some artists with means, will jump in and bid those works up—or try to buy them before they appear in an auction where they may not sell at or above the high estimate.

When considering sending things to auction, take the time to find the best place to represent those works. For example, a painting of a California seascape probably won’t do as well in a Chicago-based auction. Though auctions now can be followed and bid on over the internet, you might still want to place work where the auction house has a good track record for selling that kind of work.

I take a deep dive into reselling art, in the “Collector’s Notebook” article. Here’s a link: “Become a Savvy Salesperson.”

Gifts

Here’s where your itemized list of art will come in handy. Often family members have no idea what things are worth—they just like or dislike something based on an emotional attachment. While you want to make sure the people who love something wind up with it, you may also want to know that there is a fair distribution of art and objects among all. The best way to do this is to have your collection appraised.

If you have substantial art holdings, you most likely know to have that work appraised for insurance. These appraisals should be done every three to five years, as the market fluctuates and, if we’re being honest, you can’t seem to stop buying art and so need to have those new purchases added to your insurance documents.

Not only can the appraised values help you fairly divvy up your collection, but this information can help you understand any tax implications of these gifts. You’ll want to check with your accountant as to whether something exceeds the tax threshold. If you are wondering how anyone will know if you give away something that exceeds the gift tax limits, you’re right, they won’t unless the recipient goes to sell that art. The issue there, as with inherited art, is capital gains tax, which is another question for your accountant.

When it comes to figuring out who gets what, there are lots of ways to do this, such as having folks walk around with a stack of Post-it notes tagging the things they want. If you’d like to make a game out of it, try this novel idea: hold a mock auction. One couple we know with a sizable art collection, invited the kids over, poured some wine, and gave everyone play money. Then they opened the bidding. Winning bidders either left with art that night or were duly noted in the will.

Donations

Did you know many museums won’t accept unsolicited art donations? There are a few reasons for this. The institution may not hold collections, or they have too much in storage or they have enough works by the artist whose work you’d like to donate. This is where involvement with your favorite museum curators is important. Often serious collectors solicit curators to find out what they are looking for so the collector can acquire that work with the intention of bequeathing it to their favorite museum. The bonus is that the collector can write off a charitable donation, if needed.

There are strict laws around charitable donations, so I advise having a conversation with your accountant. The important thing to note is that, in order to write off an art donation above a certain amount on your taxes (check your state regulations), you will need a licensed appraiser to determine the fair market value and write-up a detailed report. This can be costly, and it has the be done within a specific timeframe. There are also restrictions on how long a museum has to hold donated art before they can turn around and sell it. Furthermore, there are restrictions on what a donor can demand of the museum in exchange for donated art. The kind of museum or non-profit organization can also be an issue if there isn’t a direct correlation between the art and the non-profit’s mission. Again, talk to your accountant before you get into a sticky situation.

Donating art has many appealing aspects when done while you’re alive or posthumously. For one, lots more people can enjoy that work and, unless otherwise requested, your name will be listed on the wall materials as the donor, which is a lovely way to immortalize your hard work and excellent taste.

Do you have questions or need help with your art collection? Please send me an email: rose@rosefredrick.com.

The Mommy Problem

Traditionally, women artists have had to make a choice between career and motherhood. More women, however, are finding ways to have their cake and eat it too. Four dynamic career artists talk about how they dealt with the Mommy Problem.

When Adrienne Stein and her husband, artist Quang Ho, told a group of friends they were pregnant, one man—an artist they both knew well—turned to Adrienne and said, “You know your career is going to take a big hit.”

“I thought it was interesting,” Adrienne says, “that he decided to say that to me and not Quang. The insinuation being that I will be giving up my career to raise a child.”

A Tax On Pants

That artist’s comment aligns with hundreds of years of historical proof that women traditionally have given up whatever they were doing to raise children, which is probably why the women artists whose names most readily come to mind didn’t have kids.

But really, it’s not just motherhood that sidelines women. Here’s a fun fact. Rosa Bonheur (1822-1899) was required to get a permit to wear trousers, which she needed so she could attend horse fairs and study animals at slaughterhouses and draw on location or ride her own horse comfortably. Bonheur, who never married and didn’t have children, was, by the way, a financially independent artist—quite wealthy, by all accounts, from the sale of paintings—at a time when women who made art were looked on as having a nice hobby, something to keep idle hands busy while the family was off doing other things.

Then there’s Mary Cassatt (1844-1926) who never married or had children either. Some have speculated that childhood trauma precluded her from marrying. More likely, she realized she had to choose between motherhood and an artist’s life, and so chose artist.

Sure You Can Be An Artist and Have Kids

As abstract expressionism exploded across the US, a few women artists were making strong contributions, however, it was extremely rare to meet a female artist of the early and mid-twentieth century who had children. Of the famous Ninth Street women—Lee Krasner, Elain DeKooning, Helen Frankenthaler and others—only Grace Hartigan had a child and she sent him to be raised by her parents while she pursued her career.

In more recent times, there have been prominent women artists who raised children but for more women, Tracey Emin’s famous commentary rings true:

There are good artists that have children. Of course there are. They are called men.

To get a pulse on contemporary women artists who have or currently are negotiating careers and mothering, we gathered Adrienne Stein, Kate Brockman, Robin Cole, and Stephanie Hartshorn to discuss the Mommy Problem.

The Mommy Problem

“I had moments where I’d think: I have to get the hell out of here and get to the studio, even if I just sit and stare at an artwork for two hours,” sculptor Kate Brockman confesses, reflecting on her choice to ultimately put her career on the backburner for eighteen years while she raised her daughter. “It just felt so selfish to go to my studio.”

Adrienne Stein, despite well-meaning warnings, hasn’t broken her stride. “I had laid a foundation of showing in galleries and doing portrait commissions by the time I met my husband,” she said. “I had built my personal vision as an artist before becoming a parent.”

Stephanie Hartshorn was working as an architect when she married and started a family. The thought of shifting into an art career happened, in a way, because of her children and the desire to instill creativity in them.

“When my girls were born, I ended up staying home for six years—that was unplanned. It worked out beautifully and I would not take one of those days away,” she says. “It’s strange though. I know myself as these different iteration in life; my girls only know me as an artist, and I find that mind blowing.”

Keeping a Foot in the Door

“I think this is so personality specific,” says Robin Cole, as she takes in what her fellow artists are saying. “I mean, it took me a really long time to decide that I wanted to have children, at a philosophical level. So, when I found myself with this sweet baby boy, it took me by surprise how much I absolutely ceased to care about anything else. It’s shocking. I thought I’d be back out in the studio in eight weeks. I mean, I’m self-employed, right? I can take as much unpaid leave as I want, but I am a meaningful contributor to our family’s bottom line.”

It’s not just contributing to the bottom line, though; it’s keeping a foot in the door in a world where you are easily replaced.

“Liam has really lived in our studios ever since he was born,” Stein says. “And by that I mean at three days old he was strapped on me in my studio.” This is because she couldn’t take time off—she had shows lined up and paintings in various stages that needed to be completed and shipped across the country. “I’m very fortunate to have a wonderful and supportive partner who’s very participatory. And since we’re both artists, it worked for us to fold him right into what we were already doing.”

Don't Mind the Belly

Hartshorn recalls walking around construction sites days before going into labor. “My daughter was born a week after my last big project ended,” she recalls. “Kate was born and right away I knew that the allotted time off was not enough. I requested an extra three months without pay.”

Hartshorn did go back to work but by the time her second daughter came along, the economy had gone south, and architecture firms were closing. Hartshorn took the opportunity to regroup and focus on developing her painting career.

For Brockman, a bronze sculptor who, prior to marrying had built a foundry in her studio to pour her own bronze casts, there was no way she could have a child anywhere near her studio. The bigger problem was finding a solid stretch of time to work away from home. “I couldn’t just pick up a piece of clay and start sculpting,” she says. “You’ve got to make an armature and, well, there’s a process. So, unless I could get four hours in my studio, nothing was going to happen.”

Postpartum--It's Real, Y'all

“I was in a very, very strange emotional and psychological place in postpartum,” Cole recalls. “I could not be parted from that child for more than a couple of hours for at least a year. Now that he’s a toddler, I do feel better about being away from him. I still harbor truly a lot of guilt for not perfectly sculpting every single moment of his existence, but I think it’s probably for the best that I don’t.”

And lest we gloss over the fact that chasing children is just plain exhausting mentally and physically, Cole adds, “One thing I have learned about myself is the type of energy that the immense life force that is toddler-hood takes from me comes out of my creative energy. I just can’t work in the studio without childcare because I can never fully get into the mental space that I need to be in to do any kind of meaningful work.”

“There are times that we have deadlines,” Stein says. “We have to work on weekends and sometimes into the evenings after I put Liam to bed. I think Quang’s less stressed out than I am because he’s a lot more established. And he’s at a point in his life where he can enjoy being a dad.”

The Guilt Spiral

Mommy groups and PTO parents generally don’t understand what these women artists do, either. Really, why can’t you just crank out a painting while you’re making cookies?

“I loved being involved with the girls’ school, but I had a new path in art opening for me,” Hartshorn recalls. “And I had not fully established myself.” So began the guilt spiral. “When things were happening at the school,” she says, “I found myself thinking I could help but wait, this is my time and it’s a very short window before the kids get home and need me.”

But as hard as she worked at her art, she says she wasn’t really considered a career woman either; she was looked at instead as someone who had a self-centered hobby. “It was really stressful for me at times,” Hartshorn says. “I just felt so much guilt.”

Now that Brockman’s daughter is heading off to college, she finds the divide between friend groups quite striking. “I had some sculptures in a gallery show downtown. All my friends came, and they were like, Oh, this is serious stuff; you’re not just fooling around with a little bit of clay,” Brockman says. “But I will say that beyond the parenting group, I kind of feel like an outsider anyway, with anybody who is not an artist. I mean, I don’t think my husband gets what I do, really, or why I do it.”

Loosing Yourself

“I think it’s very easy to lose yourself,” Stein says, not only of motherhood but of being married to an established artist.

“I sometimes question whether I am sucked into Quang’s vortex already. But I was never Quang’s student, and I don’t paint anything like him. I’ve had a path that’s really distinct. I have my own unique vision and artistic approach. We influence each other a lot as artists, and we ask for each other’s opinions, and we critique each other’s work quite a bit. And Quang is devoted to me having as much time to paint and to develop as an artist as he gets.”

Cole admits she was worried about losing herself and her art because she had been, before marriage, fiercely independent. “The part that kind of surprised me the most,” Cole says, “was not external pressure. It was a very honest, internal yearning. I did not understand how much of my emotional register had not been explored yet. And there was so much that came into my being as a mother, and by extension as an artist, that I didn’t know I was missing.”

Rediscovering Yourself

“Being a mother,” Brockman adds, “has matured me in a way that allowed me to jump right back into making art. I’m not behind, I haven’t suffered; my skills are still there. But now I understand unconditional love. I understand some of the other elements that only parenting really could have given me.”

And despite the fact that juggling motherhood and career requires a tremendous strength and patience and an ability to navigate minefields, for an artist, Coles says, there’s an unparalleled richness that comes into your life. “Though it took quite a number of studio hours away from me,” she says, “it returned dividends. It added a sort of nuance and fearlessness to my creativity that maybe wasn’t there before.”

“Yes,” Adrienne says. “I would just piggyback on what Robin has said that when we think of ourselves as artists, the primary thing is the hours spent in the studio, right? Our craft. But the most important piece that we often don’t think about, which is far more important than the hours, is the depth of the well that the art springs forth from. And there’s just nothing richer than loving your child and experiencing parenthood. And the art and the inspiration that comes from it happens in ways that you don’t expect.”

It's All In How You Look at It

“It’s really important to think in terms not of what you might be losing but what you’re gaining,” Brockman says. “And you don’t know what that is until you’re holding that baby in your arms for the first time.” Her advice: Be open to allowing your life to change instead of dwelling on what you might miss. “I have lots of friends who have maintained very good studio practices as sculptors and parents” she says. “Everyone’s different and it’s a very personal thing. What might work for your friend might not work for you.”

“I’m going to propose,” Hartshorn says as we wrap up our conversation, “that it’s not the mommy problem; it’s the mommy puzzle. Problems have weight. A puzzle, though, we’ve got all the pieces in the box. It’s a matter of putting them together, and it takes time, but they’re all there.”

Listen to artist interviews on my podcast Dinner with Artists!

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Why Lee Hutt Won’t Tell You Her Age

In the Spring issue of Sculpture Quarterly, the magazine is publish for the National Sculpture Society, I had the pleasure of writing about Lee Hutt. Her wisdom and delightfully dry sense of humor left me in awe–then there is her art.

One comment that really stood out to me came toward the end of the interview when I asked her the year she was born. She said she wouldn’t tell me because “we live in an ageist society and I don’t want to be judge by my age.”

Hard to argue with that. The following is my story on Lee Hutt. I hope it inspires you as it does for me daily.

“It’s a real working studio, so it’s not so pretty,” Lee Hutt says, still wondering why anyone would want to write about the old gas station in South Hadley, MA, she turned into a studio some 15 years ago. Her husband Alfred first spotted the building when it went up for sale. By then the gas station had been turned into a plumbing supply and was, to say the least, a fixer-upper.

“We looked in the window,” Lee recalls, “and I think what Alfred said is, ‘The first 20 years were mine, the second 20 years are yours. I want you to do what you want to do. This place should be yours.’”

An Artist's Journey

Prior to the gas station renovation, Lee had a series of studios in Holyoke, MA, across the canal in a building called the Mill.

“Can I tell you another story?” Lee says, leaning forward in her chair. “I was a family therapist, a full-time working therapist. And I always wanted to do art, so I went to the Mill, and I found a studio and David Scher, who owned the Mill, rented a studio to me. But I never went there, so I wrote him a letter and said, “I think you should rent the studio to someone else because I’m not going to get there.” He wrote back and said, “I can always rent the studio. Give yourself a break; art takes time.” The next week I moved into the studio.”

Her years working at the Mill provided more than four walls; it gave her a community of fellow artists. “That’s where I found encouragement, from other artists,” she says. “When you’re a late bloomer, as I am, that kind of contact and familiarity with other people is very encouraging to help you keep moving ahead.”

The Mill, however, was old and funky—perfect for artists—but eventually was flagged for not meeting code. The owner sold to a buyer who renovated the building and turned it into a marijuana dispensary. And so it goes.

Inspired by History

Renovating the gas station’s 4,000 square feet took almost two years. But it had good bones and a flat floor. She added doors tall enough for her rolling ladders to slide through, but otherwise the building had the basic necessities she knew she needed.

For the design of the interior spaces—she has three separate but continuous workspaces, an office, kitchen, and gallery—she paid attention to recommendations Malvina Hoffman (1885-1966) wrote about in her books on sculpture. Not only did Hoffman provide insight about layout for a sculpture studio but she also recommended important tools, such as the need for skeletons. “I have three or four,” Lee says, and then, after a moment, adds, “I bought a real skeleton from a friend, but I couldn’t work from it because it felt so odd—it was a real person. So, I built a very beautiful glass box for it. All the rest of my skeletons are made of plaster.”

Another imperative for Lee is her ever expanding book collection, for which she has floor to ceiling bookshelves along a wall, and a rolling library ladder for easy access. “You never can read enough,” Lee says. “I believe, even if you do different work, you should know about other artists and how their work was done and where it is. You should be able to navigate the world of sculpture.”

Of course, Lee had worked in many studios and visited numerous others, so she had a good sense of what she needed. Though, after a visit to the studio of Daniel Chester French (1850-1931), she was struck by the natural light that bathed the space. “I came home and said to Albert that we need a skylight!” And though it was expensive, Lee says it was worth it. “I think that lighting for sculpture is very specific; you have to be careful. You don’t want brilliant light because you can’t see shadows. Shadows tell you what’s there.”

Surround Yourself with Art

Back when Lee had her studio at the Mill, she was surrounded by artists, whose presence fired her imagination and opened creative possibilities. “A lot of artists stored their stuff in the hallways, so you could always see what they were doing,” she recalls. “I met so many people at the sink. That was very important for me, to see the diversity of what people do and what they see.” She also hired models and invited artists to come into her studio to sculpt, which she found quite instructional. “Everyone was different and that really encouraged me not to replicate the perfection that God had given the model. I tried very hard in the beginning to make it look exactly like the model, and I was pretty good at it, but the spirit came from somewhere else.”

These days, Lee doesn’t work amid the hustle and bustle of shared studio spaces, but instead enjoys long hours with one capable assistant. “I’ve always liked having people around me. I like having a bit of a dialogue.” Besides conversation, Kelly Potter, a ceramicist and artist in her own right, brings a youthful sensibility to Lee’s work.

“When Kelly first came to me, I left her with about three or four heads. They were this new slab work I do. I came in one day and she had glazed one and fired it and it had green stripes! I thought, ‘I’m a classic artist—what’s going to happen to me?!’ And then I realized that she has a young mind, and I can learn so much from her way of thinking without losing myself. In a way,” Lee adds, “I have always had that. While I think of myself as a solo artist, there has always been a model or somebody sweeping the floor or somebody down the hall. I like that. I think it’s important to your growth as an artist to be around other artists and other people.”

Despite her age, which she will not admit because, she insists, we live in an agist society, Lee still puts in eight to ten hours a day at the studio. (Thankfully, Alfred brings lunch most afternoons.) “I can’t wait to get back to work,” she says. “It’s corny but this is what people call a ‘happy place.’ When you’re an artist you have to work. You can’t sit around thinking, ‘what should I do?’ You just have to go and do it, however it comes out, whatever it is.”

And work she does. Lee is surrounded by sculptures in various stages, as well as brushes, glazes, tools, molds of nearly everything she’s sculpted, books, and life drawings that are perched on shelves throughout the studio. “If you can sculpt,” she says, frankly, “you can draw.”

In order to keep up with this practice, she has one workspace dedicated to charcoal drawing. The other two workspaces are set aside for sculpting: one for plaster casts, a messy process that must be kept separate, and the other for clay and her kiln, as well as an exhaust system to keep the air fresh and surfaces clean.

Interestingly, there are also fragments of her work lying about the studio. “One of the things that I have found over time is that sometimes the fragment of a face or the fragment of a piece you’re working on tells more than if you added every detail and every curve,” she explains. “I learned over time—and lots of broken pieces—that the fragments were more the ‘art’ than the entire sculpture. It’s very hard to learn but you have to see stuff laying all over the place.”

This practice of surrounding herself with work and fragments helped her learn when a sculpture was done, when it had captured the spirit of the person. “It’s hard to say why that is but you feel it, you see it, you have to listen to what you feel and see and stop fiddling with it because it’s done,” she explains. “It’s while you’re working, especially for portraiture, there is a moment while you’re working that you know this piece is done. You still have details to do but, in your heart, you know it’s done.”

Transitions

“In some ways, my whole life is a transition” Lee says, thinking back on her journey to this space. “You bring all the insights and experiences with you. And I don’t think you’re ever the same person. Why did I do ceramics? Well, I always took workshops. That’s how I learned to be a sculptor.”

Lee’s artistic path started after college when she took off to study painting in Belgium. A couple years into her studies, however, her parents let her know it was time to come home and get a real job, which she did, first teaching school in Brooklyn, then working in Manhattan for Child Welfare. The state of New York paid for graduate school, so she got a degree in family therapy and hung out her shingle. Still, art beckoned, and so, she sought out places to study art in the evenings and on weekends, which is how she wound up in a sculpting workshop held in the basement of the Springfield Museum of Art, MA. That workshop sealed her fate.

“Many sculptors will tell you,” Lee says, “it is like falling in love: you can’t think of anything else; you don’t want to do anything else. It’s compelling. You don’t do it occasionally, you do it all the time. I think that’s universal among sculptors.”

Recently, a workshop with Sergei Isupov (b. 1963) sent her on yet another new path into the world of ceramics. “What he did was demonstrate how you can use a slab to build a piece that could be six feet high. He showed me how you work a slab of clay to create something that is in your mind. No armature. I didn’t have to stand on my feet,” she says, pointing out the long tables she and Kelly work at seated.

“It’s not funny. When you get older, it’s hard to stand for long stretches on your feet. So, I learned the slab method and started working with slabs of clay creating whatever came to mind.”

She still sends work to the Modern Art foundry, Long Island City, NY, and has her longtime mold maker, Greggory Glasson, create molds of everything she sculpts, including the new pieces destined for the kiln.

“This is the next permutation of my life where I find myself and my interest. I just go for it. If I was my own patient and my patient said, ‘Should I do it?,’ I would tell my patient to go for it. Don’t let those desires and talents go to waste. Go for it. That’s what I do. Right now, it’s ceramic and lots of it. I have to tell you, it’s a lot.”

Whimsy

This latest body of work has taken Lee down a rather whimsical path. When asked how reflective this new work is of her personality, she says, “I like to make jokes and I’m pretty good at it. And I like beautiful things. Some of them are funny. I think it’s me, you know? What I think, you should be true to your feelings and your vision, whatever that is, you should pursue it. I’ve always been interested in people so, it’s a natural transition. I was a therapist, and now I’m a sculptor of people.”

A determined sculptor can make any space work. The main thing, Lee insists, is to be generous with yourself, to invest in your art, and to always present your work professionally. And, no matter what, don’t let anything get in your way.

“I am a late bloomer. I always was a late bloomer, but I’m blooming,” she says, glancing around her studio then adds, “I’m going to sculpt until the day I die.”

Why Collectors Should Buy Prints (but artists should not make them)

The fine art print market is a great way to start collecting. But it is a complex art form that requires buyers to understand some technical aspects to printmaking.

For beginning collectors, prints are an easy way to buy nice works by substantial artists at prices that won’t stop your heart. For seasoned collectors, the print market is a fabulous way to acquire works by deceased artists whose paintings regularly sell at auction for staggering sums.

Consider James Abbott McNeill Whistler (1834-1903). In 2020 at Christie’s British and European Art sale in London, Whistler’s 5 x 8.5 inch watercolor, “Chelsea Shopfronts,” sold for $79,840 (buyer fee included). And the following year at Christie’s New York 20^th Century Evening Sale, his oil painting “Whistler Smoking,” 9.5 x 6.63 inches, sold for $1.2M. Whistler’s paintings rarely come up for sale, but his print work shows up frequently on the secondary market. That’s because, during his lifetime, Whistler made more than 400 etching and dry point plates and some 150 lithographs, which means there are multiples of those 550 or more images out there in the world, many selling for $1,500 to $28,000.

It’s basically supply and demand: Whistler paintings are scarce; his prints are not.

Affordability and Accessibility

The earliest known prints date back to sixth- and seventh-century Egyptian wood block prints on textiles and eighth-century Japanese relief prints. Since then, other printing processes have been added to the mix, which has opened up this art form of “original multiples” and made it accessible and affordable for both artists and collectors.

But wait, artists should or shouldn’t make prints?

OK, I’m going to split hairs here. Prints in their various hand-pulled forms are works of art in and of themselves. Mechanical prints such as giclees are reproductions–facsimiles–of original works of art; they are not the original works of art.

There is an important distinction to make when looking at prints: manual versus mechanical; human versus machine. In order to figure out the difference, it’s good to start with a little background knowledge.

Printmaking 101

Manually pulled prints can be created using various means. The oldest prints were done as reliefs where a raised design on, say a carved block of wood, is inked, paper laid on top, and pressure applied to transfer the ink onto the paper. The second oldest form is intaglio, meaning “incising or engraving.” In this method, the image is etched into a plate, ink is pushed into the engraved lines, the surface wiped clean, paper laid on top followed by blankets, and then the whole kit-and-kaboodle is run through a press with heavy pressure, causing the paper to absorb ink from the incised lines. This process leaves a plate mark when the paper dries (check out the sidebar for more tips on discerning prints).

Here’s short video that shows you how intaglio prints are made. Pretty cool.

This video explains lithography.

The third process, which is more recent, is known as planographic or surface printing—we’re talking lithography. This is done on a litho stone or flat metal surface. The idea here is that water and oil don’t mix. An image is created on the surface in oil that is chemically manipulated to accept ink. Water is then applied to the surface so that when the ink is rolled across the image it only adheres to the oil. Next, paper is set on top, run through a press, and voila.

Screenprints and monotypes are the most recent printing processes. Screenprints are essentially large silk screens where the image is masked off. Ink is pulled over the screen so that it falls evenly onto the paper. Many layers of colored ink are used to create one image and, as a result, you can usually see the ink laying on the surface more readily than in other printing processes. Monotypes are “mono” because there is only one—technically. The artist does a painting on a flat surface—plexiglass or copper, for example—damp paper is laid on top of the painting, then the whole thing is run through the press. A mirror image is pulled, leaving a ghost image behind. The artist can go back over the ghost image and change it, re-ink it, and run another print, though it will be noticeably different, thus a new monotype.

How to print serigraphs like Warhol.

Quick Monotype demo.

And, just to make this all a little more challenging, lots of these processes can be combined to make an image. All-in-all, printmaking is deceptively complicated and quite possibly one of the most underrated art forms.

The final category of prints are mechanical. Machine made off-set lithography, which is how this magazine you are reading was printed, and giclees are the most common, which brings us to the downside of printmaking for artists. (Giclee is a French word meaning “to spray,” which refers to the inkjet process of spraying ink on paper to reproduce art.)

More Isn't Always Better

Supply and demand does play into pricing art. Paintings are singular. Yes, artists can riff off the same image, but those are all new paintings. Hand-pulled prints come in multiples (except monotypes, which, as stated already, are unique paintings run through a press). Prints are numbered; however, hand-made prints tend to have lower numbered print runs because the plate or silkscreen simply wears out. With wood cuts, the artist may have one or two plates for an image, but that plate is run through the press multiple times and for each new color—some images have upwards of 20 color changes—the wood block is further carved away so that, by the end of production, the plate is destroyed.

Machines that make prints, however, do not wear out—well, not in the same way traditional printmaking tools do. And beyond the photographer who took a high resolution photo of the art and the pressman who oversees the printing, there isn’t any human contact.

Competing Against Yourself

And now we get to why I suggest artists who are not traditional printmakers should not make prints (giclees).

With giclees, an artist can flood the market with reproductions of individual paintings. For new artists scrambling to pay rent and buy groceries, the promise of making a hundred bucks off a giclee sounds like salvation. You can practically sell them off your website while you sleep! What could possibly go wrong?

While these prints are incredibly accurate reproductions of paintings, they actually create a troubling side effect: artists start to compete against themselves. In the art market, at a certain price range, lots of art buyers can’t tell the difference between an original and a giclee and so, think, why pay more when the print is so good? Established collectors, however, know this is the equivalent of buying a Farrah Fawcett poster: totally rad, dude, but not the real thing.

So, when it comes to prints, scarcity and the human touch create value. Mechanical prints are beautiful but won’t hold their value. Manual prints, however, will because each print was—wait for it—hand pulled through a press. This is where being a flawed human is actually kind of a bonus. The savvy print collector looks for works pulled by specific master printers at certain presses that coincide with the era of the artist. Craftsmanship counts: you want to see the hand that built it.

Become a Savvy Print Collector

If you think you want to collect prints, we highly recommend educating yourself on the various printing processes. Bamber Gascoigne’s book “How to Identify Prints, a complete guide to manual and mechanical processes from woodcut to inkjet” is invaluable. Visit some print fairs to see works up close and ask experts to explain what you’re looking at and why it’s priced as it is. There are myriad issues to consider before buying prints, but it all starts with identifying what kind of print you’re looking at. Once you invest the time to really learn about prints, you can find truly valuable pieces at estate sales, consignment shops, and antique stores. Check out the sidebar for telltale signs you’re looking at something of value.

How to Find Hidden Gems in the Art Market

Rule out mechanical prints. You’re looking for a regular dot matrix pattern. This is a dead giveaway. You might need a magnifying glass (a loop with 4x magnification) to see the pattern of dots. It will look a lot like the Sunday comics in newspapers.
Plate impression. You can easily see where an intaglio plate left an impression around the outside of the image. These images are almost always one color—black or sepia. If there is color, that may indicate that the artist painted on the print, making it a unique work of art.
Color could also indicate lithography, serigraphy, or mechanical printing. Sometimes, if you look from the side of a print, you can see a layer of ink floating on the surface. This would indicate a monotype, lithograph, or serigraph. Again, look for the dot pattern, when in doubt.
Double signature line. If you see a print with two signatures, one within the painting and another on the white paper border, it’s probably a mechanical print. A high resolution photo was taken of the painting—signature and all—and used to create a digital file that was then run on a mechanical press. The artist then signs and numbers these pieces of paper, indicating it’s a reproduction of the original.
Single signature line in pencil. With hand-pulled prints, the artist’s signature will be written in pencil, usually along the bottom of the image. There will also be a title, often centered below the image, and edition numbers indicated by a number over another number.
Edition numbers. With hand-pulled prints, the first number is the individual piece number, and the second number is the total number of prints that were pulled. So, 21/50 means you have print number 21 out of a total of 50 prints. Look for low numbers. If, however, the number is above 100—say, 1,200, for example—those are mechanical prints. No plates or screens can hold up to that amount of re-inking and runs through a press or scrapes of ink across the surface.
Edition letters. You might also see things like “AP,” which is an artist proof. “PP” is printer’s proof, which are proofs given to the print studio. “HC” prints are hors commerce prints, meaning “out of trade.” They are only given out by the artist and are quite rare.
When selecting prints, inspect them carefully. You don’t want to buy things with tears, creases, foxing or discoloration caused when a print was exposed to oxidation or acidity, usually from exposure to wood pulp from inferior matting. Some condition issues can be corrected, so it’s worth asking a conservator first.

Contemporary Printmakers I Love

Understanding Yourself Through Art

An astute art collector once told me that whenever he’s in Manhattan, he visits the Whitney Museum so he can sit on the bench in front of their immense Jackson Pollock drip painting. He doesn’t do this because he likes the painting—he doesn’t even understand it. He visits the Pollock, he says, because he doesn’t like or understand it.

Recently, when I asked if the Pollock painting made sense to him yet, he said he thinks he understands it. Maybe. What did he understand, you wonder? I didn’t ask because, really, it doesn’t matter. I knew he wasn’t searching for proof of the painting’s validity; he had read plenty of critical essays on Pollock and the drip paintings to know how and why they were considered pivotal works in the American post-war art movement. And he is astute enough to understand that liking or disliking a work of art is a matter of personal taste.

So, why did he waste time looking at art he didn’t like? That question is exactly what I'm tackling this month.

But first, a disclaimer: Spending time with art that repulses you is not what I’m talking about here. I’m talking about stepping out of your comfort zone and exposing yourself to art you don’t understand. Maybe abstraction bothers you or conceptual installation or performance art. Whatever it is, just keep in mind that most artists are not willfully trying to upset you; they don’t even know you. So, next time you’re confronted with art that makes you angry enough to want to take a tire iron or can of spray paint to it, please just leave.

However, if you stay and allow your mind to plumb the depths of your unease, kudos! You are ready to take your understanding of art (and yourself) to the next level.

1. Think Like an Artist

As collectors, you are instinctively curious. You enjoy learning how and why something came into being. You love adding knowledge to your big brain. But sometimes art causes sharp negative reactions. It’s not always logical but it is always valid. When confronted with art that rubs you the wrong way, take a step back and consider why.

Note: your feelings are entirely yours; no one can make you feel anything. Exploring your reaction to art, i.e., participating in the experience, is what art is all about.

You might be interested to know that lots of artists have the habit of checking out art that bothers them. While it may sound like an unproductive afternoon spent with stuff that doesn’t support your own ideals, artists know something is happening internally when art gets under their skin and that internal disruption can lead to personal artistic breakthroughs.

I have been told by many artists that the act of making art is problem solving. There are a million decisions that go into every piece of art. No matter how realistic a painting might appear, for example, it is still a whole bunch of abstract brushstrokes laid side-by-side creating familiar patterns in the brain of the viewer that then signal recognition.

But when those abstract brushstrokes, no matter how they are configured, stir an emotion in you, the question you need to ask is: what am I picking up on and why?

Here's an interesting bit of science...

Art may ruffle your feathers for reasons beyond subject matter—or lack thereof. If you’re anything like Russian painter Wassily Kandinsky (1866-1944), color may affect you in strange and palpable ways. Kandinsky, a pioneer of abstract painting, had the neurological condition known as synesthesia. For people with synesthesia, the brain reroutes sensory information through other unrelated senses.

Within Kandinsky’s brain, music was assigned various colors. The sound of trumpets registered as red, for example, an old violin was orange. Violet connoted the deep tones of an English horn or a bassoon, light blue appeared with notes from a flute, and a cello shone as dark blue.

Kandinsky began his painting career depicting things more representationally but as he allowed music to play a bigger role in his work, his work became completely abstract, which he called painted symphonies.

Knowing what is rumbling around in an artist’s brain, such as Kandinsky’s, adds depth and character and connection not only to the work but to the artist as a person. Curiosity, I believe, is the key to unlocking this world.

2. Open Your Mind Through Discontent

The play “Art,” by Yasmina Reza centers around a white painting that one of the characters bought for $200,000. Serge, the proud owner, can’t wait to have his two best friends see the painting, but things don’t go as he’d hoped. Yvan is ambivalent and wishy-washy—much like he is in life—and Marc, the engineer, is aghast and feels affronted by his friend’s choice of a totally white canvas. He simply can’t understand why anyone would spend that much money on something that is, in his mind, “shit.”

The painting becomes the fourth character in the play. Its role is to goad the men into confronting deeper issues in their own lives as well as their friendship. Because of a painting, each man’s personal fears and foibles are laid bare. Ultimately, Serge, in utter frustration, hands a felt tip pen to Marc and invites him to draw on the painting if he thinks it’s so awful. (Spoiler alert: Marc does!)

There’s plenty of subtext here that begs the question: how do we deal with people who think differently than we do? Of course, when a friend’s taste in art, books, music, or movies leaves us wondering why someone we thought we knew actually liked that, we probably won’t kick them out of our lives, but something has shifted in the friendship.

While it’s silly to end a friendship over a painting, we do end friendships over personal opinions all the time. Consider the last time you had a constructive conversation with someone whose view on the environment or politics was the opposite of yours. Be honest. Did you both speak calmly and respectfully and, as a result, grow in your knowledge of an issue and your opinion of one another? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

In a recent essay for the New York Times, columnist David Brooks argues that society has become sad, lonely, angry, and mean “in part because so many people have not been taught or don’t bother practicing to enter sympathetically into the minds of their fellow human beings.” He suggests that the decline in people going to museums or galleries, attending classical music concerts, opera, or ballet may be part of the problem. Art, he insists, allows us access into other people’s worlds, which is how we learn empathy toward one another. Without an appreciation for art, he believes, we struggle to get along.

3. Expand Your Mind

Today we love the Impressionists. In the late 1800s, however, the term “impressionism” was coined by critic Louis Leroy to make fun of the 30 painters who had banded together to hold their own exhibitions because the salons in London and Paris refused their work. This isn’t an anomaly in the art world; it continues to happen to this day. But it does shine a light on the difficulties artists face when exploring new forms of expression.

For collectors who have been at it for a while, your concept of what is good art has probably changed and evolved, too. You may even have a few pieces of art relegated to back bedrooms or closets. These things just don’t speak to you any longer; you’ve moved on.

Consider for a minute, why. Was it that you’ve seen much more art and have a broader knowledge of how things are made, and the level of skill required? Do you have a better understanding of creativity and artistry and the bravery that went into a piece of art? Are you no longer challenged by those older works?

Perhaps part of your evolution as a collector came with a desire to be more of an active participant, to feel more engagement with the things surrounding you. Engaging with art may mean it’s challenging you, but it also may mean that it is allowing you to disengage from your day-to-day work and let your brain live in a different, more creative headspace for a while.

Consider This

If art is resonating with you, something is present in your body, your mind, and your emotional makeup that hears its name being called. That’s what’s happening: the art is calling to you.

Sometimes a work of art is calling to you but it’s making you uncomfortable because you don’t understand what’s happening. Take a chance, if you’re up for it, and approach this work as if you’re on a quest for knowledge and understanding of art. But really, the search is for a deeper understanding of yourself.

Talking to Artists

I’ve met many collectors who get tongue-tied when it comes to talking to artists. Most collectors do not want to hurt anyone’s feeling, especially an artist they admire. The question is then, what can they say that won’t get them in trouble?

On the flip-side, because art comes from a personal place of introspection, it can be difficult for some artists to express their work’s deeper meaning verbally. This may be why, when asked to talk about their work, many artists fall into “art speak,” when they tell you all about their medium, creative process, or how they search for beauty or great designs. In other words, they stay on the surface — literally.

If you are a collector who wants to make a genuine connection with the artist whose work has caught your eye, here are some of the politest ways to get past “art speak” and into the heart of an artist’s story.

If you’re an artist, please chime in with your thoughts on how collectors can connect with you.

Genuine Connections

Think of art as an extension of the person who made it, like tangled necklaces, the two cannot be easily separated. Everything from the daily news to books, movies, and random conversations can filter into a person’s art. And then there are the memories from childhood and past relationships, where you live, travel — the sky’s the limit. In other words, a person’s entire life is fodder for art. And how that comes out is part of the language each individual has developed in their chosen medium.

As a collector, you want to know the origin stories of artwork in your collection for several reasons. First, this is the heart and soul of the work. Second, as a human, you’re hardwired for stories, so this is your strongest connection to the work. Third, stories add to the provenance of the work — think Picasso’s Blue Period or Jackson Pollock’s “drip paintings.” When collecting living artist’s work, you want pinnacle pieces. Learning the origin of thought behind each work is the key to getting to this peak.

My Kid Could Have Done That

So, how do you draw out these stories? Let’s start with what not to do. Do not say out loudly in a room filled with artists or any sort: “You call that art?! My kid could have done that.”

If you’ve said this, please never do it again. Your kid didn’t make the art hanging in a gallery, museum, or your friends’ home. When you say this, it reflects poorly on you; you are immediately pegged as someone who has no true interest in art, so engaging in a conversation will be a waste of time. And really, isn’t there enough negative talk in the world these days?

Step one: Keep an Open Mind

Art requires your participation. The level to which you participate — from a passive glance to making a purchase — that’s up to you. The artist can’t make you feel anything. Add to it that the more you understand about art, the more you will respond. Even if you never enjoy a particular art style or form, your knowledge will allow you to bring an educated eye and a curious mind to the experience.

Collectors who are curious and enjoy learning also tend to bring the spirit of open-mindedness to most situations. They slow down and ask themselves why they like or are bothered by something. Knowing that they bring their own baggage to every situation, not just an art experience, allows them to step back and think through what’s stirring up strong emotions — and helps them not buy on impulse or dismiss something important.

Open-mindedness is a skill worth developing. Visit museums and gallery exhibitions and listen to those immediate reactions. Then, ask questions and read up on the work you are seeing. This isn’t about learning to like art you simply don’t like; it’s about <ITL>not letting subjective feelings rule your thought process.

Origin Stories

One of the most common questions people ask artists is: “How long did it take you to make that?” And a common (snarky) artist response is: “My whole life.” Because it did, essentially, take an entire lifetime of experiences to make the art you’re looking at. And the next piece will require all that experience plus this new experience learned from creating the last object. So, it’s not a total brush-off, but it is a way to deflect the question. Why, you may wonder, would an artist want to avoid answering something so straightforward?

Frankly, artists have learned that it’s much easier to give a snappy response to this one because the amount of time is irrelevant. Besides, this is just a conversation starter, much like “What do you do for a living?” But there’s also the part that can bite an artist. If they say, “Oh, this one just flowed out of me in a couple of hours!” Then the client does some quick math and translates that into an hourly rate — because non-artists often charge by the hour — and now the inquisitor is in the position of deciding whether the artist is worth that hourly rate or not.

What Artists Would Rather Talk About

Instead, here are a few examples artists wish collectors would ask instead of “How long did it take you?”

Artist David Michael Slonim would love to answer this question: “What visual input from when you were young do you suspect might be showing up in your work now?”

In fact, he often writes about his response to this question on social media:

Dad’s gone now, but I can still picture him as a young man sprinting back and forth across a field trying to get a colorful box kite airborne. Eventually, the kite lifts, he lets out the string carefully, then comes over and hands the spool to his 8 year old son — so I can fly my kite. That’s fatherhood in a nutshell: Busting your tail to give something of value to your kids.

His painting Flying Machine, he realized after it was finished, came from this memory.

Victoria Eubanks loves this question: “Where were you when you painted that?”

She always remembers where she was when paintings came to her, and she feels like that question leads to bigger conversations. “I might have been sitting with my father while he was in the hospital and drew his shoes because I needed a break from the stress of being there,” Eubanks says.

Kim Lordier finds this an intriguing inquiry: “What’s the biggest challenge you had to overcome to be an artist?”

And Sophy Brown finds the question, “Is what you do cathartic?” to be interesting and complicated. “It’s true that subject and content are determined by an emotional connection. But the word ‘cathartic’ suggests that there is some kind of psychological relief, a cleansing through the expression…”

To know the rest of Sophy’s answer as well as how your favorite artists might respond, you’ll just have to ask.

Do consider your surroundings, however. If you’re at a crowded opening, the artist might be too distracted to get into a deep philosophical discussion, but if they do want to go down that path, you might be surprised by how many others gather around.

Ultimately, this is the stuff you want to know; it’s the information you will repeat when someone asks about the art you own. And the bonus is that you will be forging a deeper connection with the artist while uncovering commonalities that you had no idea existed.

More Great Conversation Starters

Are you stumped when it comes to talking to artists? Perhaps a bit starstruck by your favorites or afraid to sound uninformed when asking questions? We’ve got you covered. Here are some questions to consider before your next artistic encounter…

Did you have a mentor when you started as an artist?

Who inspired you to become an artist?

What surprised you as you worked on that piece?

Where do you see your work going next?

What art books do you recommend?

What question do you wish people would ask you about your work?

Where do your ideas come from?

What’s the key to your growth as an artist?

What advice would you give your younger artist self?

What do you collect?

Please leave your favorite questions below! Thanks for reading.

How to Find Your Artistic Voice

In the art world, grand gestures and schemes may make a splash, but they often die just as quickly. Creating with your true, authentic voice, however, resonates long after you set down your brushes or camera or chisel.

Children learning to speak don’t think about finding their “voice”; it’s already inside them. Children simply want to communicate.

Don’t worry about finding your own voice, you already have one. Focus instead on what you’re wanting to express. Let yourself become genuinely curious–obsessed even–and your voice will take care of itself.

The Ripple Effect of Small, Kind Gestures

One of my favorite movies is “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Every time I watch it, I am reminded that it’s not the grand gesture but the many small things we do and say each and every day that makes a difference. We may not even know we made a difference, but the person on whom those kind words and deeds landed has been forever changed.

Like the opening quotes to this blog. They’re from abstract artist David Michael Slonim. David cracks me up. He can be going through some serious shit and he still finds humor in life. For example, he often tells students who are getting down on themselves and saying things like ‘this is no good,’ or ‘I don’t know why I’m even trying to make art,’ and ‘I’ll never find my own voice,’ that he’s going to charge them a dollar every time they make a disparaging comment about themselves–not because he wants them to stop, he explains, but because he needs the money. Ha. Funny guy.

But that’s not why I want to make sure you get the transcript of my interview with David. It’s because I really want you to have his uplifting message in your mind as you head into the new year.

This interview has been edited for clarity and brevity. To listen to the entire conversation, please click on the link...

ROSE: Hello, David! I remember when I first met you, you were painting landscapes and then, suddenly, something changed….

DAVID: I remember that so very clearly. I had been a landscape painter for 18 years, painting outdoors from life. But I was also very interested in learning what it was about an image that moved a viewer emotionally. I was constantly scouring art books to figure out how an artist would do it. I was looking at Paul Cezanne (1839-1906) and Pablo Picasso (1881-1973) and Marc Chagall (1887-1985).

One of the things I began to do was pay attention to the artists whose work was disturbing to me but also kept attracting me.

ROSE: OK, wait, I just want you to repeat that: you paid attention to work that disturbed you?

The Importance of Discontent

DAVID: I did. But I don’t mean disturbed as in “repulsed.” I mean, I didn’t understand it, but I felt compelled to keep engaging with it. There was something going on that was attractive; the disturbing part was that I didn’t understand it.

I was looking at Cezanne breaking nature into little mosaics of color. Well, that’s not photographic realism. That’s not even representation in the way I learned how to do it in college.

And I was looking at Picasso, right, and he’s breaking nature into different sorts of chunks of parts and pieces. At first that’s disorienting—and I think it is for lots of people—and it took years of thinking about that before I understood what was happening.

It was Cezanne who really unlocked it for me, in combination with reading Robert Henri’s (1865-1929) “The Art Spirit,” and “Composition,” by Arthur Wesley Dow (1857-1922), who was Georgia O’Keeffe’s (1887-1986) mentor. He wrote that book in 1899, so these ideas have been around for at least a 100 years out there in the public.

So here it is. Are you ready for it?

Music for Your Eyes

ROSE: Yes….

DAVID: Abstract art is music for your eyes.

ROSE: Oh, I like that!

DAVID: So, what that means is that there is no game being played on you; this is not a scam. There’s no charlatan activity involved here. What this is is tones arranged in space to please the eye and to move the soul. In that sense it’s the same as music. Music is tones in time to please the ear to move the soul. So, anyone who loves music, loves abstract art, they just don’t know it by that name.

Every time you listen to any piece of music—especially instrumental music—you are listening to an abstract arrangement of tones and it’s moving you emotionally. Abstract painting is doing that same thing but it’s doing it visually. Instead of through the ear, it’s through the eye. It’s an abstract arrangement of tones that move you emotionally.

Painting is an abstract arrangement of tones that moves you emotionally.

David Michael Slonim Tweet

Recognize Your Voice

I learned that by staring at Cezanne for years then staring at nature. I began to be fascinated by how it’s the underlying abstract structure of a painting that moves you whether we’re talking about Rembrandt or Sargent or Cezanne or Rothko. The issue isn’t whether it’s realism or abstraction on the surface; the issue is the arrangement of shapes, colors, values, and textures—what’s the visual “musicianship” behind it.

With a permission slip from Paul Cezanne, I would happily go out in the woods and begin breaking down what I was seeing into textural patterns of color shapes. And I remember on March 19, 2013, I painted one of those from memory in my studio, and I remember looking at that painting and realizing: I understand what this is. I saw a door open for me. And I said right then and there, “I now not only aspire to be an abstract painter, I am one and I know why.”

Listen to Your Voice

ROSE: Part of the reason I wanted you to repeat that comment about looking at work that got under your skin is because I think that is the key to really understanding art but also to understanding yourself.

DAVID: Yes, really well said. Because, if it’s resonating with you, there is something already present in your soul or your spirit or your emotional makeup that hears its name being called. That’s what’s happening: the art is calling to you. And there’s a part of us—and this was true for me—where that made me uncomfortable because I didn’t understand that part of me and I didn’t understand what was happening in the art.

ROSE: There’s a fear, I would think, as an artist, to follow that voice because this is your livelihood. If you take a turn away from what you’re known for, you have to hope everyone comes along with you.

DAVID: For me, I would describe it rather than a sharp turn, it feels like a natural progression. I would describe my realism period as booster rockets that fell away but the trajectory stayed the same. I’m still going to the moon; I just don’t need the booster rockets anymore.

ROSE: I love that. That’s a great analogy.

DAVID: One thing that staring at Picasso and Joan Miro (1893-1983) and Ellsworth Kelly (1923-2015) and Alexander Calder (1898-1976) and others did for me is it demolished any reluctance to be whimsical or playful as a form of high art.

Oh, Be Joyful!

I grew up listening to jazz. I played trombone and was in a jazz band and orchestra. If you think about what jazz music is, there’s a structure of chord progression and rhythm that’s laid down and then the instrumentalists improvise over the top of that. For me, painting is really similar. I create this color situation with the chords then—with this particular painting—I made up my mind to do a jazz solo and it’s going to be one take only. I’m going to paint an improvisational line intuitively and slowly.

When Voice Is Given Room to Speak

DAVID: When a collector is experiencing something with a painting, it’s a good idea to consider what is moving you and firing your imagination. As you sit with the work and answer that question, it becomes more personal to you.

ROSE: It’s interesting to hear you talk about self-interrogation versus trying to wrangle a piece into submission. It sounds like, possibly, you are coming at it with more of an emotional IQ?

DAVID: Yes, I think so. One of the pieces of feedback I received from a collector through a gallery—he owns 20-25 pieces of mine—I heard that he said he deals with numbers all day, he’s a very high level executive. He said, “I love coming home to this work because it opens a whole new part of my brain and whole new emotional space that I don’t get to live in during the day.” That really meant a lot to me.

ROSE: And, of course, art and music have mathematical connections.

Permission to Play

DAVID: Right, but with painting, it’s intuitive so it’s coming from a sub-conscience place for me. Obviously, there’s geometry involved here but the geometry is above my pay grade. I’m just the low level guy who’s playing with the stuff; I don’t actually understand the stuff. What’s interesting to me is that a lot of my collectors are surgeons or mathematicians or doctors. I think it’s because they’re using the mathematical part of their brain all day long and they’re using it in a very technical and sequential way; I think my art helps to free up what’s already there, that’s knocking on the door, saying, “Hey, this part of you is allowed to come out and play too.”

ROSE: So, in a sense, your work is giving them permission to play?

DAVID: I think that may be true. I had a collector who did a lot of business around the world and attended a lot of fundraisers—formal, very proper, very polite—but with me there was a lot of just laughing our heads off. I love that I was one of the few people in his life who got to have that experience with him. I wonder and I hope that my work can be that for people. It has a playful streak; that’s what I aspire to.

The Origins of Authentic Voice

ROSE: For artists and collectors alike, I think, so many things we’ve talked about are vital to consider. Ultimately, viewing art should feel like you’ve met the artist, whether the artist is there or not, which is the artist’s authentic voice coming through.

DAVID: Something that’s been really fun over the years doing this work is that when I sit back and look at it, I think it’s some of the most authentic work I’ve ever done. I’m working with line. I’m working with planes of color, mostly flat, and there’s a sense of whimsy and playfulness to it.

We were talking about being authentic. When I look back at my own history, I realize that my father took me out to fly box kites, which are planes of color with light coming through them, connected to a line connected to love and, in my dad’s case, a very playful personality. And before I could speak, I was given this toy, a Playplax. I was probably 1 ½ or 2 when I started building with the Playplax, which is made of translucent planes of color.

Oh! And then, my mother had a Picasso print in the kitchen and a replica of an Alexander Calder mobile, a Henry Moore (1898-1986) book out in the living room, a VanGogh Sunflower print in the bedroom. So, I grew up with some of the finest examples of modern art in the background of my life.

ROSE: So, this is you….

The Work Is You & You Are the Work

DAVID: Right. I’m not putting on an act. I’m not asking what will sell—I never do that. But it is so helpful to be able to look at this wall behind me and recognize that this is completely honest to who I am whether anybody else enjoys it or not, it doesn’t matter. This is me. This is real. This is my honest presentation of who I am.

I love when my work connects with people because it connected with me first.

I don’t know if people know this about artists but there is this moment in the studio when you’re struggling with something that doesn’t seem to be working. And you’re thinking, am I a fool, should I even have tried this? Should I throw it away and start something new? And then you press through, and this thing clicks to a harmony and it’s like Adam taking his first breath—it’s alive. It’s resonating with you, speaking with you. I sit back every time and think, ‘how did that happen?’ Every time I get to experience that shock of realizing this thing is living and breathing. Then to put it out in the world and have that happen for someone else doubles the gift.

The Gift of the Journey

ROSE: Perhaps too, having enough faith to persevere is a gift we give ourselves. I was talking to a sculptor who said there’s a point in the creation of a sculpture when it’s done, the spirit is in it.

DAVID: Yes. And for me there’s a quiet that comes over me, a sense of peace. And it’s startling and wonderful.

The Ultimate Human Connection

DAVID: That’s what I’m working for, that’s what this is about: dare I say, joy. That’s what I’m sharing, that’s why people collect because they’re getting that sense of peace and joy. Beauty is a powerful thing. Harmony is a powerful thing, and it does something to our souls.

ROSE: I think that’s right. I know it’s right. It’s kind of miraculous that you get to live in that space, creating it, and that you get to give it away. I think when you’re being that truthful and you put it out in the world and let people comment on it, I can see how a lot of artists would not want to do that.

DAVID: For me, there’s always a little bit of that struggle, but because I know why I’m painting what I’m painting, and where it comes from, I know this is actually me. There’s a freedom in that. It’s OK if it only gets three likes…I’m not thrown off by that. If I were looking to the crowd, asking someone to tell me what to do, then, yeah, that would be very disconcerting. Maybe it’s partly my age, I’ve been doing this a long time, and there’s this freedom that comes with loving and respecting the audience enough to give them what’s true about me because I think it’s also true about them.

And I think, when they hear their name called through the art, there’s this gratitude that wells up in the collector. I’ve had people hug me through their tears, as they’re writing the check, because they’ve just been given a piece of themselves back that they didn’t even know they were missing.

That’s what’s so powerful about this: if I can be my authentic self, I’m actually giving a gift to my audience out of respect for them and it’s something they didn’t know to ask for in advance. And that’s part of this whole transaction that fascinates me. I’m so thankful to be part of that weird world where that even happens.

DAVID: I'd like to end with this...

We're all on a journey, so wherever you are on the journey, I want to encourage you to keep going. Learn to trust your responses to art. When a piece of art moves you, when you feel it in your body, know that there's something inside your soul that knows your own name when you hear it.

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Don’t Get Fooled Again

Oh, how I love juicy art forgery stories! Those fabulous tales of deception and greed, peppered with mafioso and Nazis and dubious art world figures always add a sense of adventure to our otherwise sleepy industry. So, when I got word that Kenneth Rendell, one of the foremost authorities on and authenticators of historic documents—and the great spoiler of some of the most audacious forgeries ever—had released a book, I jumped at the chance for an interview.

In his new memoir, Safeguarding History, Trailblazing Adventures Inside the Worlds of Collecting and Forging History, Rendell takes us behind the scenes as he debunks the Hitler diaries (here’s a fascinating article from the New Yorker you might enjoy), the Salamander Mormon letters and murders, the Jack the Ripper Diary hoax, and others, as well as how he meticulously curated renowned private and public libraries across the country, earning him the title, as Stephen Ambrose puts it, ‘the greatest collector in the world’.

I talked with Rendell about his work in the field of historic documents, why he’s so passionate about setting the record straight, and what tips he has for collectors to help them avoid being hoodwinked.

I'm in a world where you have to be very careful about what you're doing. I always have to be vigilant.

As any serious collector of historic works from documents to fine art and antiques can tell you, the market is riddled with forgeries. In the world of collectible objects, the conditions that set the stage for forgers to succeed are numerous. But, when you know what you’re looking for, forgeries often reveal themselves as pretty bad knock-offs. And yet, even when all signs point to fakery, why do seasoned collectors fall prey to swindlers? According to Rendell, it often comes down to human behavior and wishful thinking.

How Badly Do You Want It

“I think the key to it is self-analysis,” Rendell says. He suggests collectors develop a healthy inner skeptic when considering the purchase of historic objects. Start by asking yourself what you want out of the purchase—are you hoping to make money or beat out the competition, for example—and then think about what factors will make you go through with the deal. “That’s where you’re vulnerable,” he says. “That’s where you’re not being careful enough.”

The Hitler diaries and Jack the Ripper diary are excellent examples. The bogus Hitler documents were brought to light by a reporter who wanted to break the story and who had ties with Nazis. The editors at Newsweek, who were about to publish the Hitler diaries, were thrilled they were beating out Time Magazine for the scoop. Similarly, with the Jack the Ripper diary hoax, Time Warner was focused on the prospect of selling hundreds of thousands of copies. “It blinded them” Rendell says. “Jack the Ripper was so wrong.”

Winning Lottery Ticket

As a keen observer, Rendell possesses the uncanny ability to cut through the hype and hone in on the troubling issues that are often painfully obvious. In the case of the Jack the Ripper diary, he offered the British publisher who bought the forged manuscript for a sum that he probably couldn’t have afforded, 25 forensic reason why the manuscript was a fraud. Then Rendell asked to talk to the person who first discovered the manuscript, to which the publisher responded, ‘Oh, he’s dead.’ “The critical person is always dead in these situations,” Rendell says and recalls how the publisher responded. “The publisher said to me, and he said it in a really sad way: ‘You don’t understand, this is my winning lottery ticket in life.’ That’s what he was grasping, his winning lottery ticket. The people doing the fraud contacted the right kind of person to get it into the marketplace; someone who would latch on to it as the greatest thing that could happen.”

Follow the Provenance Trail

Another critical component to authenticating historic works is provenance. Think of provenance as the paper trail of an object. This is where collectors really need to be weary. “I used to say to other dealers, always think about what you’re going to say to the FBI when they sit there and ask you how in the world you think you could have gotten title to this? What are you going to tell them?”

In other words, if it’s too good to be true…ask more questions. Rendell says to come right out and ask dealers how they know the object is genuine. And he recommends only working with people you can take to court if things go sideways.

Provenance, however, is getting trickier because forged documents have been slipped into libraries and collections and, over time, because no one questioned them, they have become accepted. “I just saw a forged Oscar Wilde manuscript—it was atrocious. I could have done a better job. It didn’t look anything like Oscar Wilde,” Rendell recalls of the manuscript that had been placed in a library’s collection in the 1920s. “Nobody really compared writing samples; that manuscript was slipped into the collection before people were intelligently looking at things. How many documents got into libraries, then somebody writes about it and subsequent researchers don’t look at the original material but base their research on what other people wrote.”

Inside the Mind of a Criminal

Rendell does admit that his cautious nature has probably cost him the opportunity to buy a few authentic documents, but he says he prefers to err on the side of caution. “I don’t think I’m overly suspicious but honestly, I think it adds to the enjoyment; you have a much nicer relationship with people if you are really considering them.”

“The other thing,” he adds about the pursuit of collecting is that it’s an intellectual process and an escape from the horrible news that’s going on in the world today. “You go to a museum to look at paintings and it changes your mood. You read books and you feel good, so your guard is really down. These are places in which you don’t ever have to have your guard up.” Besides, most collectors are honest and would never think of defrauding someone. “It occurred to me, in the old days in New York when muggings were such a problem that good people are scared to death in a mugging, they’re the deer caught in the headlights. But the mugger is relaxed, they control the timing—they have an enormous advantage.”

“My whole life has been about the complexities of human nature—good and sometimes bad. Understanding the people on the other side of something is always so important. You need to think like them,” he says. “It doesn’t mean you become them.”

The World's Greatest Collector

Recently, at a dinner party, Rendell was asked to speak about his work. He began by saying, “You know what you learn from reading other people’s mail? Everyone’s teenagers are a pain in the ass.” The room lit up, of course, because most everyone could relate. “Dwight Eisenhower,” he continued, “wrote to his wife almost every other day during the war. He was talking about what’s happening with their son. His letters, they’re very human. It’s quite fantastic, everything is handwritten”

Rendell then told the dinner guests about a letter George Washington wrote to a friend confessing his fear that people had put him on a pedestal, that he didn’t win the war, the soldiers did, and that people were expecting so much of him, he could only fail. “Dwight Eisenhower,” Rendell says, “wrote out on presidential stationary that that is exactly how he felt: ‘everyone credited me with winning the war, which is just unfair. And they expect so much of me as president that I can never fulfill these ideas people have.’ ”

Though the sensational forgeries jump off the pages of his memoir, it is Rendell’s deep reverence and passion to preserve the words and deeds of historic figures that drive him. “My ultimate goal is for people to understand each other as human beings and to understand how much more we have in common. To get involved with my work, you have to be interested in something other than yourself. If more people would be open about their feelings, they would find out they’re not nuts. People would feel a bond. You can have different opinions and not see the other person as a villain. If you read letters of other people in history, you see them as real people.”

When his daughter was young, she asked if he believed in ghosts. “Now this is a question where you’re going to disagree,” Rendell recalls. “But I said, ‘yes, I do.’” Taken aback, his wife admonished him, but he stuck to his guns, explaining that his vast collection of historic documents and manuscripts was indeed filled with ghosts, their words, and deeds, and they spoke to him through time. “All those things are alive, and their spirit is alive today.”

Want More Good Reads, Check Out These Books

I Was Vermeer: The Rise and Fall of the Twentieth Century’s Greatest Art Forger, Frank Wynne, 2006. The tale of Hans van Meegeren the disillusioned Dutch painter who turned to forgery and caught the eye and won the patronage of Nazi leader Hermann Goring.

Provenance: How a Con Man and Forger Rewrote the History of Modern Art, Laney Salsbury. One of the 20^th century’s most audacious frauds, this book reads like a thriller as you follow along with the deception that allowed for hundreds of forged works to find their way into museums and private collections around the world.

Priceless: How I Went Undercover to Rescue the World’s Stolen Treasures, Robert K. Wittmann, founder, FBI Art Crime Team. A wild ride-along with the FBI agent who caught countless art thieves, scammers, and black-market traders and rescued some of history’s greatest treasures.

Caveat Emptor: The Secret Life of an American Art Forger, Ken Perenyi, 2013. Art forger Perenyi tells the story of his 30 year career forging fake paintings that went on to sell at both Christies and Sotheby’s until the FBI brought him down. Perenyi walks you through the steps he took to create near-detection proof work.

Forging History: The Detection of Fake Letters & Documents, Kenneth Rendell, University of Oklahoma Press. The standard reference book to help collectors understand forgery detection and educate themselves on the commonalities most forgeries share.

Please share your favorite art books! I'll pass along your suggestions. Thanks for reading!!

Pricing Art: The Gender Gap

I’ve written about how art is priced in the blog Making Sense of the Price of Art, but the gender gap in pricing is a bit more nuanced. And, yes, it’s still a thing.

Let’s dive in.

The Numbers Don't Lie

According to an article published in Forbes, Aug 2022, titled “The $192 Billion Gender Gap in Art,” of the $196.6 billion spent at art auctions between 2008 and 2019, work produced by women accounted for only $4 billion, or around 2% of the total sales.

At auction, the gap is quite striking. Consider the $450 million paid at auction for Leonardo da Vinci’s “Salvator Mundi” compared to the record for a female artist–less than 10% of that value–$44.4 million for Georgia O’Keeffe’s “Jimson Weed/White Flower No. 1.”

How about sales for living artists? Here Jeff Koons holds the record of $91 million for “Rabbit.” The closest woman: Jenny Saville’s “Propped” went for $12.4 million; that’s 14% of what the Koons went for.

Of course, historically women weren’t allowed to make art as anything beyond a polite distraction, with the exception of such trailblazers as Camile Claudel (1864-1943), Rosa Bonhuer (1822-1899), and Artemisia Gentileschi (1593-1952/53). And for many female artists such as Mary Cassatt (1844-1926), access to subject matter as well as the freedom to have a career outside the home was strictly dictated and often forbidden. Thus the dearth of women artists.

How Women& Their PRices Prices Stack Up, A Snapshot

Forbes analysts also found these fun facts:

Art by women sells for 42% less then men. (See “Gendered Prices” from Oxford Academy.)
Phos One‘s analysis of 18 major museums shows 87% of collections are make and 85% are white.
According to research by Helen Gorrill in “Women Can’t Paint: Gender, the Glass Ceiling and Values in Contemporary Art,” when men sign a work of art, it increases in value; however, when women sign their work, it decreases in value.
Mary Ann Sieghart on BBC Sound in the episode, “Recalculating Art,” uncovers many truths like the research that people can’t tell if something was painted by a man or woman, however, people preferred paintings attributed to a man, whether they were painted by a man, woman or AI. Further, she notes that in Gombrich’s “The Story of Art,” a book used as a textbook for college students, only one female artist is mentioned.
70% of students in art school are women, and yet, in the art world, this is reversed when it comes to validation of an artist: 70% of artists in galleries and, thus, work in collections and awards go to men.

The Pricing Conundrum: Western Auctions

OK, apply all the above to non-blue chip women and it’s more the same. Here’s where it gets personal.

A friend of mine had been asked to take part in a Western themed auction held annually in Wyoming. She created a painting for the auction–a truly wonderful piece that pushed her out of her comfort zone–but when she went to price that painting, she faltered.

Was she, she wondered, undervaluing herself and her work once again?

There are layers to this pricing conundrum.

First and foremost, auctions are not usually kind to living artists, man or woman. Here’s why.

When art goes into an auction, the auction house starts bidding well below retail, often half. The thinking is that a good auctioneer can whip the crowd into a frenzy, pitting bidders against each other. If the auctioneer can get several people to dig in their heels, game on. The key is “several” bidders have to want the art. Oh, and at least two interested bidders need to show up. That means the weather needs to cooperate or their internet needs to be working or they have to remember the auction is happening and they can’t get sick or have any kind of emergency that calls them away. Lots of ifs….

Let’s say all that happens, the artist is still put in the crappy position of seeing their work open at 50% of retail, because retail pricing doesn’t encourage competition since buyers can, auction houses insist, buy art anywhere at retail, so what’s the fun in that?

For artists, it’s only fun when their work goes for a price over retail. Otherwise, auctions are purely an anxiety-ridden experience that does nothing more than shave precious years off the artist’s life.

The Rules Apply

For some reason, the Western US market for Realism treats art sales like cattle at a live stock auction. Auctions are the antithesis of high-brow East Coast sales where people dress in Dior and talk in hushed tones while sipping champagne. No, Western Art auctions are ruckus affairs straight out of a wild west show. Instead of cowboys getting trampled, however, we stand back and watch our artists get thrown.

Personally, I don’t understand it and have avoided working on auctions at all costs. But when it’s part of the milieu, what can you do but play along?

My friend knows all this and still she asked me what I thought might happen if she raised her prices for the upcoming auction, the one where she’d plan to submit that killer new work. treats

The thing is, she wasn’t thinking of just upping her prices; she was thinking of doubling them to align her retail with that of the men in the auction.

Keeping an Open Mind

I listened carefully as my friend laid out her reasoning, but I knew this was a bad idea.

In a nutshell, she agued the following:

1. She’d been painting as long as many of the artists in the show, thought not as long as most.

2. Her prices were, compared to her peers, half that of the men.

3. She always sold well at this particular auction.

4. She would be featured that year in a pre-auction collector get-together, so she’d be getting a little more attention on her work.

5. She’d heard whispers that some artists increased their prices for auctions and major shows, so why was she the only one following the rules?

But double?

“I started thinking,” she said, “men were inflating their prices for the auction. So I went through past show catalogues and looked at prices, it looked like that was the case. And I thought, ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ And they’re getting it, the work is selling at those prices.”

Then she went to gallery websites and saw they actually hadn’t inflated their prices for the auction; that the men were indeed getting higher prices than the women.

“The veil was lifted; I felt this huge gap,” she confided. “There are 16 women and 86 men in that auction. I spent a little time going back to see where women’s work was priced and I do think, overall, we do price at a lower threshold, despite having similar credentials.”

In this sense, if she doubled her price for the auction, she’d still be well within the range of the other works for sale.

Pricing: A Double Edged Sword

My advice:

Do not double your price for this one painting in this one event.

Why:

Collectors do their homework. They will look up your prices–just like my artist friend did when comparing her work to her peers. They will see you put an unreasonable price on that one painting and will pass.

But if it’s a great painting, isn’t it worth more?

Nope. Not when you’re a living artist who is still actively making art. I’ve stated this before, but it bears repeating: Artists are poor judges of their work. They feel like they accomplished something, and they probably did, but in the grand scheme of things, the accomplishment may be relatively minor. Or it may be monumental but collectors rarely see or know this has happened. What collectors see is that an artist has raised their prices too high, too quickly. Collectors may stick with an artist, calculating the increased value in the work they currently own, but they often won’t buy more. In fact, the collectors who watch the market may be considering selling that work and trading up for something else.

The Race Is Won By the Sure & Steady

Despite the fact that several artists did pad their prices, she hung with the majority who kept to their retail across the board. She did take a small price increase, but planned to do so anyway–she takes a 5-10% increase every January.

“You have to look at this through a bigger lens,” she said, of her decision. Once her price was determined, the bigger issue was then, where to start the reserve, which artists were given the opportunity to increase.

“What will be the lasting impression,” she wondered, when thinking through the ramifications of changing the reserve, “from a collector’s experience, if they see your work go for half the retail? But consider being the artist whose painting goes for $3,000 over. That leaves the collector watching and thinking, ‘this isn’t an artist who has shot the moon; I should get in there and buy her work.'”

The director of the auction, in a preliminary conversation leading up the event, mentioned that she thought her price increase was smart, and that they were getting a lot of good feedback on her work. Yet, she was still feeling unnerved.

“I was feeling gender gap issues and what the numbers seemed to be doing in my head,” she said. “After our conversation, it helped me think about how to position myself in a good way.”

She went on to express her frustrations with the whole Western market and auction system.

“Big picture, there’s something about the auction; it’s a nerve-wracking experience,” she said. “I feel a lot more “good old boy’s club” at these traditional shows. I painted to a scene that, for me, feels more masculine. For the first time, I depicted an historic “comment” on the western world. I love the painting but every time I see it it feels like I painted one of the boys’ paintings as a woman. I even questioned that if they didn’t know it was me–a woman–how would it sell?”

Though she believes these are merely her own insecurities, she recalled being at a show and talking to a group of women. “One of the gals was looking through the roster and said, ‘Oh, my god! Where are the women?'”

Back to Square One

As women’s voices grow stronger and they take on work and subject matter that is vital and compelling, the question of parity remains. I asked her why she believed men in the Western art/Realism market command higher prices?

“A man’s stance on the West is the cowboy because that’s what men did. A bunch of women on a cattle drive, that didn’t exist. A woman’s experience is more of place and home. Yes, there are modern cowgirls but the glamorous roles were male,” she said, and added, “That’s one of the reasons why I paint the landscape; there is a sense of place that holds many stories and doesn’t differentiate between gender.”

Maybe the bigger question is: why do women feel the need to compete with this subject matter in the first place? Maybe this is part of the gender-gap in pricing; we’ve come to believe the stereotypes and women don’t fit in them neatly. In fact, women don’t fit the stereotype of artist as professional and so are treated as if they are working at a nice hobby. But when a man enters into that world it’s like, ‘Oh, what are you doing?’ His work and choice of career lands differently.

And yet the vicious circle spins: The majority of art we see is by men; it’s familiar; we studied it and were taught it’s importance and value. If collectors don’t understand the worth of a woman’s work–because the market doesn’t support that at sales and auctions–how can women ever break through?

“The cowboy and Indians, horses, tipis, white men painting Native Americans,” she said, “really bothers me. These are depictions of things that happened in the 1880s. But they still get gobbled up.”

Post Auction Blues

I heard from my friend in a text she sent from the road as she was headed home from the auction weekend. It did not go well. Her painting went for under the reserve; she was devastated. In the weeks since, my friend looked back a bit more wistfully. “I’m proud to be one of the female voices; it’s really important that we are in there. If we all bail, that doesn’t help us. I am part of that movement, that presence. We need that counter-voice.”

As for the sale, she also heard from the organizers, who were roundly disappointed in the sale, that no one did well. Perhaps, I mused, it’s time they rethink their structure and motivation, maybe start listening to the artists?

The numbers went like this:

103 paintings and sculpture

16 women and 87 men

20% of the art went for asking or above

43% sold for 75% of asking or lower

12% were bought-in (unsold because they didn’t meet reserve)

The day after the auction there is a quick draw. My friend didn’t participate this year, but related the story of what happened in a previous year.

Artists set up in a crowded plaza to paint while spectators mill about asking questions and making comments on the work. After the allotted time runs out, the artists set down their brushes and their paintings are judged, someone wins a prize, then the artists are told to line up and parade their work, when called, before the audience who gets to, once again, bid.

“I fucking killed it,” she said of her on-the-spot painting. “I represented myself very strongly.” The guy who won the Quick Draw, she told me, did a small sketch painting. “Something about the way the auctioneer worked the crowd didn’t sit well with me. He put his arm around that young guy and they were laughing and joking; he was the favorite, I guess. It just felt that way. It wasn’t cool.”

Please feel free to share my blog with anyone who would benefit from it. And if you have a topic you’d like me to explore, please leave a comment below. Thanks for reading! If you haven’t already subscribed, please do so HERE.

What Inspires An Artist’s Work?

Humans are hardwired for stories. Stories came before written words. Stories, passed down through time, have kept us out of harm’s way, helped raise our children, and formed communities and cultures.

As an artist, you spend your days telling stories in paint or clay or photographs or bronze. Because art it, at it’s core, stories.

These stories are what collectors want to hear and learn. I’ve heard many artists say, “My art stands on its own; I shouldn’t have to explain it.” To which, I say: “Good luck with that.”

Artists, please, for the love of god, understand that there is a gap between your work and your audience. Yes, collectors could take art classes and learn the amazing techniques you’ve just wowed them with, but they don’t want to. What they want is to live with art and to feel connected to the art they collect. Technique is not that connection. Stories are the connection.

This is why I want you to tell your stories in a blog. The stories are not always exciting or earth-shattering; they often are simply the idea or feeling or emotion that was passing through while you worked.

Tell the Story, Connect the Dots

Creating a blog does something else that is quite remarkable. It acts like your personal magazine filled with ads focused on you.

This is the best marketing you have at your disposal. And it forms the Artist’s Marketing Trifecta: Blog + Newsletter + Social Media.

Each of these things done alone helps, but when done together, they’re art marketing magic.

What's the difference?

Blog:

Lives on your website

Creates great SEO even while you sleep

The perfect reason for collectors to return to your website

Newsletter:

Individual email, sent and gone

Doesn’t live on your site

Announces current happenings and, if done right, should send people back to your website

Social media:

Lives on someone else’s platform

Proprietary

Should be used to announce new blog, which drives people to your website

Let's make it easy

I am so dedicated to getting you to create blogs and effective newsletters as a way to market your art online that I’m teaching Blogging with Pictures every other month. I developed this workshop to make it easy. We use your art and tap into the stuff you know like the back of your hand.

I give you templates and go over all the basics. Then we make blogs and post them to your website.

Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy.

Artist Bloggers Show and Tell

Blogs come in all shapes and sizes. There are lots of analytics about what works and the best length of a blog, but the reality is that any blog written on a topic you know well is a great online marketing for your art.

Still feeling a bit dubious? Check out these blogs from artists who have taken my workshops…

In this blog, Jan R. Carson talks about her work but does so by telling a story of how one piece came into being after watching a paper wasp build her nest. It’s a fascinating blog that let’s us into her process and educates us with her knowledge of insects.

Queen Paper Wasp Encounters

My interactions with insects have become a dynamic influence on my artistic process. Paper wasps love to build their nests on the eaves outside my textile art studio in northern Colorado. Each spring I use the handle of a metal rake to scrape off the nests before they get going. The key is to remove the nest when the queen is out foraging, which is usually in the strongest heat of the day. This means I spend some time watching the queen build. This also means I start developing a bond with her. After all, she did pick my house. To me, that feels like some kind of compliment.

READ THE BLOG

Pati Stajcar decided to answer a frequently asked question: how do you get all this heavy sculpture to an art exhibit? In her blog she takes us behind the scenes as she and her husband travel to the Easton Waterfowl Festival.

Travel Blog: Easton Waterfowl Festival, Easton, Maryland

July 21, 2023

The sounds of semi trucks and car doors invade my sleep. I have a wildlife art show in three days. My body is stiff as I carefully stretch to ease the pain. I can’t see even though my eyes are open it is unnaturally dark. Oh yeah, I have my hat down over my eyes to shut out the glare from the lights in the parking lot. The fog of sleep is lifting as the sun rises. This is day two on the road. Have sculpture, will travel. My husband Dave and I are sleeping in our van at a rest stop. Kansas or Missouri? Put the coffee on, things will come into focus.

READ THE BLOG

Here’s one by Suzanne Storer, a ceramic artist. Suzanne’s work is incredibly unique. Her blog sheds light on her subjects–homeless men and women–and gives us valuable insights into their lives, Suzanne’s process and her fervent desire to make sure these people are seen.

HE WAS TRYING HARD TO STAY HEALTHY.

THEY KICKED HIM OUT OF AN AA MEETING

BECAUSE HE BROUGHT IN HIS BACKPACK.

HE HAD NOWHERE SAFE TO PUT IT.

READ THE BLOG

OK, one more. Cody Aljets is a sculptor who literally traded his fire fighter’s helmet for a welder’s helmet. Why? Because his days were numbered…

The thing I didn’t write was: I want to do this before I die of cancer.

The problem was, I was a ticking time bomb.

It’s October, 2021 and I’m sitting in my Fire Officer One class, distracted with the uncertainties that lay ahead. So many things had transpired in the past years.

My wife Brieonna and I started building a home while living on our land in an RV with our son Cullem, who was 3 at the time.

I have been with Crested Butte Fire Protection District since 2013, working full time since 2019. Covid hit everyone’s world hard, but started here in November 2019.

In April of 2020, I was diagnosed with stage 4 colorectal cancer and given less than 10% chance of surviving. Nine months later and 70 pounds lighter, I headed back to work.

READ THE BLOG

Let's Do This

Please consider joining me for a Blogging with Pictures workshop. I want to show you how easy and effective this approach is for marketing your art online.

And, once you’ve taken a workshop, you can come to any of my virtual office hours on Zoom for help with writing, editing and layout for SEO.

Hope to see you soon!

Here’s a link: WORKSHOPS.

As always, leave a comment with questions and feel free to book a call with me to learn more. Go to my CONTACT page and scroll to appointments.

Author: Rose Fredrick

Next Month: I'll break this down for artists.

Documentation

Separating the Wheat from the Chaff

Cleaning House

Resales

Gifts

Donations

Do you have questions or need help with your art collection? Please send me an email: rose@rosefredrick.com.

A Tax On Pants

Sure You Can Be An Artist and Have Kids

The Mommy Problem

Keeping a Foot in the Door

Don't Mind the Belly

Postpartum--It's Real, Y'all

The Guilt Spiral

Loosing Yourself

Rediscovering Yourself

It's All In How You Look at It

An Artist's Journey

Inspired by History

Surround Yourself with Art

Transitions

Whimsy

Affordability and Accessibility

Printmaking 101

More Isn't Always Better

Competing Against Yourself

Become a Savvy Print Collector

How to Find Hidden Gems in the Art Market

Contemporary Printmakers I Love

So, why did he waste time looking at art he didn’t like? That question is exactly what I'm tackling this month.

1. Think Like an Artist

Here's an interesting bit of science...

2. Open Your Mind Through Discontent

3. Expand Your Mind

Consider This

Genuine Connections

My Kid Could Have Done That

Step one: Keep an Open Mind

Origin Stories

What Artists Would Rather Talk About

More Great Conversation Starters

Please leave your favorite questions below! Thanks for reading.

The Ripple Effect of Small, Kind Gestures

This interview has been edited for clarity and brevity. To listen to the entire conversation, please click on the link...

The Importance of Discontent

Music for Your Eyes

Recognize Your Voice

Listen to Your Voice

Oh, Be Joyful!

When Voice Is Given Room to Speak

Permission to Play

The Origins of Authentic Voice

The Work Is You & You Are the Work

The Gift of the Journey

The Ultimate Human Connection

DAVID: I'd like to end with this...

Want more conversations with artists? Check out our series of talks here...

Check out these blogs packed with helpful conversations and insights for artists.

I'm in a world where you have to be very careful about what you're doing. I always have to be vigilant.

How Badly Do You Want It

Winning Lottery Ticket

Follow the Provenance Trail

Inside the Mind of a Criminal

The World's Greatest Collector

Want More Good Reads, Check Out These Books

Please share your favorite art books! I'll pass along your suggestions. Thanks for reading!!

The Numbers Don't Lie

How Women& Their PRices Prices Stack Up, A Snapshot

The Pricing Conundrum: Western Auctions

The Rules Apply

Keeping an Open Mind

Pricing: A Double Edged Sword

The Race Is Won By the Sure & Steady

Back to Square One

Post Auction Blues

Tell the Story, Connect the Dots

What's the difference?

Let's make it easy