Studio Mojo: The Potential Power of a Home Studio

Meet Nancee Jean Busse

My friend, the wonderful artist Nancee Jean Busse, dug into the pros and cons of establishing a home studio. I love Nancee’s wry sense of humor and candor. In Studio Mojo: the Potential for Power in a Home Studio, Nancee addresses some of the practical needs–more space and ways to organize–along with the mental side of carving out solitude.

For more about Nancee, click here.

Studio Mojo: the potential for power in your home studio

By Nancee Jean Busse

I’ve been either an illustrator or a painter for almost 50 years. During those decades I’ve created art in wildly varying spaces, most of which were problematic. I worked in an office for some of those years, but when my son was born in 1984 I decided it would be a swell idea to work from home; a very small, very humble home.

So let’s have a little chit-chat about some of the home-studio issues that came up over the years for me and how I solved (or attempted to solve) them. Here’s a list of studio problems and how to solve them.

Issue: I don’t have a spare room for a studio.

Yes, that sucks. For years I painted at the dining room table. Whenever the cat was unhappy he would jump up on the table and vomit on what I was working on. I was also fair game for every family member to unload their problems on. That was fun. If you have to work in your home’s family space, get a compact, folding table easel and work at the kitchen/dining room table. Store your art supplies in plastic tubs. In order to keep from driving yourself mad with clutter, put that stuff away when you’re not actively painting. Your sense of space and privacy will be greatly compromised, but I found headphones to be helpful…and ignoring the sound of breaking crockery.

Issue: I can use the spare bedroom, but it’s tiny!

Not ideal, but a step up from wiping someone’s dinner off of your work! Minimize everything and keep your creative sanctuary as uncluttered as you possibly can. One easel, good lighting, a cabinet with drawers or shelves for paint, and storage for supplies that you don’t use daily are all you really need.

If you have the space, a bookshelf for your reference materials, instructional books, and any other print material that inspires you to jump into your creative endeavors with both feet.

Issue: I don’t feel the sense of privacy I need.

To a great degree, this is inner work. Requesting alone time and setting boundaries is, for some people, one of life’s greatest challenges. My completely dysfunctional style was to be kind and polite with every interruption until I reached my limit of tolerance and then became a screeching bitch. I hope you are better at this than I was! From a practical perspective, having a door that closes is helpful. Letting others know when you’re unavailable is another helpful tactic, but I realize that even mentioning the fact that you’re “unavailable” is offensive to some people. This whole “I need to be alone” thing is icky tricky and I’ve been helped along its path by reading books on setting boundaries and co-dependency issues.

Issue: I have a studio, but it’s a cluttered mess.

Clutter impedes creativity. If your beautiful paintings are piled in with a bunch of clutter it will diminish them in your eyes and the eyes of others. Marie Kondo the hell out of your studio and give yourself room to breathe and think. Get rid of old, ugly paintings, dry paint tubes, broken or useless brushes, old magazines, etc. Be ruthless. Try to avoid letting family members use your studio as a place to store their excess possessions. If there’s anything in your creative space that depresses you or makes you feel anxious, get it out of there.

Issue: Well crap, my studio is full of unsold paintings.

Hoo-boy, that one totally sucks. There are solutions, but none as good as actually selling the work. First, take a look at your work with a critical eye. If the painting is just so-so, take it out of the frame and store it that way. If it’s really an embarrassment (I have some of those), gesso over it and breathe a sigh of relief that no one will ever see it. If you can find a local restaurant, doctor’s office, or business who would like some art on loan, then you can place them where they will have visibility. Document the agreement and get a receipt for your pieces. Set a specific time frame for your art to be displayed. If all else fails, you can start foisting them off on relatives in the form of gifts. They’ll either be thrilled or appalled, but either way they’ll probably smile and be nice about it.

Issue: I can’t feel creative when I know how much I need to do around the house.

I’m so familiar with this one. Remember the old Peggy Lee song, where she sang that she could bring home the bacon and fry it up in the pan, then wash up 44 pairs of socks and be ready to boogie by nine? Well, I ain’t that broad, and you probably aren’t either.

Make a quiet and solemn agreement with yourself to be in your studio at a certain time each day. If you’re going through a time in your life when chaos reigns and it’s all you can do to get through the day, then I believe your Muse will not only understand, but will wait patiently and lovingly in the wings for the chance to be with you again at the easel.

Issue: I get bummed when I go to my studio and can’t think of what to paint.

Have a comfortable chair in your studio. Make a cup of tea, put your feet up, and know that it happens to every artist. Flip through some art magazines or art books. Watch a YouTube painting demo. Light a candle. Play some music that has creative substance, nothing that is as familiar as an old pair of shoes. This “time out” is a gestational period. Have total confidence that your creative juices will flow again soon, because they will. You can’t stop them, even if you tried.

Issue: There are so many artists who are better than I am. Why would I need or deserve an art studio when I’m just mediocre?

First of all, don’t judge yourself. There are plenty of people out there who will be happy to do that for you.

Know that the cocktail of creativity, desire, time, repetition, and passion is a powerful one. When you have your own dedicated space, rituals, and consistent work habits, you WILL grow as an artist and your work will improve. When I look back on some of the paintings and illustrations I did 20 years ago, I cringe.

I would also suggest that you find some art books, magazines, and references that inspire you. Absorb them. Watch YouTube tutorials, artists’ biographies, and art history videos. There’s bucketloads of wonderful, inspiring content on YouTube and other sources.

You don’t have to muster up a bunch of self-esteem that isn’t there yet, just trust the process and watch your progress over time for affirmation of your growth.

My studio has become an extension of myself. It holds my favorite toys (art supplies), the representations of hours and hours of time, care, devotion, frustration, victories, and losses. Along with the usual furnishings, my studio has an old sofa, a small espresso machine, an electric teakettle, and a jar of chocolate chips. I say good morning when I enter, and tell all my favorite things goodnight when I leave. My studio is a comforting constant in my life. No matter what is happening outside my studio, when I’m there I only have one job to do: CREATE!

Let Nancee and others know about your favorite studio tips, tricks, and stories. We all appreciate the quest for a place to add beauty to the world. Add your brilliant advice in the comments section.

And to see Nancee’s work and read more of her blog posts, visit https://www.nanceejean.com.

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Do you have an idea for a guest blog? Send me an email: rose@rosefredrick.com.

Building Creative Minds

In “The Long Lasting Benefits of Childhood Creativity,” published in Psychology Today, November 2021, Victoria Prowse, PhD looks at research from the National Child Development Study (NCDS) that has followed nearly every child born in the UK the first week of March 1958.

Though the study was established to learn more about infant mortality, it was extended after a few years to look at issues in education. Of the many amazing things this study has uncovered, Prowse takes a deeper look at the link between creativity in children at age 7, as noted by their teachers, and their achievements later in life.

After controlling for economic background, parenting styles, and the like, Prowse says, “Those who tested as more creative children earn more and reach higher levels of education, and tend to work in better-quality jobs that require experience.”

Yes, my friends, you read that right...

Every child is an artist, the problem is staying an artist when you grow up. -Picasso

Most artists I know enjoy sparking creativity in children. It’s an honor, really, to pass on the creative spirit. And while working with other people’s kids is not in my wheelhouse, I so enjoyed teaching my boys to draw, paint and write, and loved joining them at play in their imaginary worlds.

But time marches on. This fall they’re off to college, which is, I find, bittersweet. I’m thrilled they are about to fly away, off on their own adventures and I feel confident, (fairly confident, anyway), that I’ve given them the tools to do so, in particular, tools that will help them see the world through a creative lens. And yet, the thought of not being able to sit around the dinner table talking about things of great importance or of little consequence, that does sting, just a bit.

Just a Hobby?

And so, with colleges selected, orientations lined up, and financial aid packages turned in, I keep reminding them of their creative penchants–one in writing, the other in photography–and have suggested that they take courses in these fields.

To my chagrin, neither is pursuing anything in the arts, not even as a minor.

I don’t know how this happened.

In fact, whenever I bring up the possibility of taking an art class even as an elective, they shrug and respond:

“Mom, that’s a hobby not a career.”

and

“You can’t make money doing that.”

But why is art a hobby? And, what’s more, how is it that even my children, who have grown up surrounded by art, who have met successful artists, and have been encouraged and praised for their artistic ability–why do they still see art as a lesser calling?

The World needs creative minds

Play Video about Temple Grandin Ted Talk

In her TedX DU talk from May 2011, Temple Grandin, expressed the need for creative/visual thinkers. Grandin is autistic and has, throughout her life, had to deal with considerable obstacles. Check out this video for her insights into how her own unique brain works.

Despite her disabilities, Grandin holds a PhD from Colorado State University and is renown in the cattle industry for revolutionizing the way animals are treated, which she was able to do because of the way her brain works.

A creative visual thinker, she realized early on that she could see solutions to problems that pattern thinkers (engineering/math-based minds) couldn’t. Grandin insists that different kinds of minds have to work together in order to see all sides of a problem.

One of the issues we face today, she believes, is the specialization of educational paths and the lack of creative training. In the linked video, she talks about the nuclear power plant disaster that occurred after a tsunami hit Japan. The brilliant engineers who designed the plant didn’t consider safe guards should a tsunami strike. A creative/visual mind, she believes, would have foreseen such an occurrence and planned for it.

If we're all born creative, how do we lose it?

I’m a big fan of Brene Brown, the social scientist who specializes in vulnerability and shame research. I highly recommend her talks and books, in particular, the audio seminar, “The Power of Vulnerability.”

Part of her research delves into the qualities of “whole-hearted” people. She describes these people as possessing the ability to embrace life to the fullest. They are healthier than most because they have learned how to shake off life’s struggles, disappointments and fears like water off a duck’s back.

One of the key characteristics that every whole-hearted person has and actively pursues as a form of expression is–you guessed it–creativity.

Brown, who has the most delightful self-deprecating sense of humor, talked about how frustrating this discovery was for her personally. She said that when friends would invite her to join them in some artistic activity, her response was an emphatic: “No thanks. You,” she would say, “can do your A-R-T but I have a J-O-B.”

Both Sides of the Coin

In her research, Brown discovered something fascinating about people who eschew creativity. They could go back to the exact day in their lives–most often in middle school–when a teacher ridiculed their attempt at art.

Shaming a child at this formative stage had, in every case, the devastating effect of shutting off the spigot of creativity.

I don’t mean to get down on teachers; it’s a tough job and they could use more support. And, sure, the negative stuff always seems to hang around in our psyche somewhere, even when we’ve also been exposed to teachers who have inspired greatness.

For me, inspiration came from Mr. Snow, my fifth grade English teacher, whose tough critiques of my writing pushed me to be better. My memory of Mr. Snow was that he treated me like a writer. Mr. Snow believed in me.

Art Finds You

I still hold out hope that my boys will take an art course or two in college and continue to flex their creative muscle, even if they consider it a hobby.

Thinking globally, however, if creativity in kids is, as the UK study suggests, an important factor for success later in life, shouldn’t we all be doing more to support access to the arts for kids?

In her April 2020 TEDx talk, Jane Werner, the director of the Pittsburg Children’s Museum, explained that children are constantly questioning their model of the world. Encouraging experimentation in kids is paramount and includes developing spaces with great design. Kids innately love design, she said, which is why they often enjoy the box their toy came in more than the toy. Joy, she added, also needs to be woven throughout kids’ experiences.

Practical ways to Inspire Creativity

Victoria Prowse suggests adults can inspire creativity by encouraging independent thinking in several ways. Try asking questions with no right or wrong answer, for example. And, give kids challenges that can’t be readily solved using the logical steps they’ve already mastered. Most importantly, support children when they are faced with resistance to their creative ideas. Not everything will be great, but recognizing originality should be encourage. The goal is to support the never ending flow of creativity.

Here are some easy ways to inspire.

Keep acrylic paint, crayons, brushes, paper, canvas, clay–anything tactile–on hand and available for kids to get into.
Less talk, more action. Skip the excessive instruction and, instead, let kids dive in and get dirty.
Jump in with them. Demonstrate the pleasure in play and experimentation through the act of creating.
Don’t be critical of kids OR of your own attempts; there doesn’t have to be a right or wrong way.
Recognize and praise individuality.
Before you offer help, encourage kids to experiment and discover on their own. The lego car or painting of a dog may not turn out anything like the diagram or photo–who cares? Art isn’t necessarily the end result; it’s the journey.
Let kids have messy spaces. This can be tough for folks who hate clutter, but for kids, it’s their sanctuary, a place where their imagination blossoms.

BONUS POINTS for adults who let kids dress themselves; this is one way we can foster self-expression and confidence from an early age.

Remember, kids are always watching grown ups; your actions and words communicate more than you know, so channel your inner Incurable Optimist, roll up your sleeves and get to play.

And, if you need help reconnecting with your own inner art child, the marketing coaching I do starts there. Reach out if you want to learn more, rosefredrick.com/contact/. I’ve got some great workshops coming up that will help. Please visit my Workshops page.

Please share your experiences and best tips for fostering creativity in young minds.

Tilting at Windmills

As one of the judges for the 2022 Breckenridge International Snow Sculpture Competition, I had the opportunity to ask a bunch of artists one of my favorite questions: Why?

In this case, WHY create art out of snow, under these conditions, knowing it’s gonna melt–that it’s probably melting as you work?! Talk about a bunch of incurable optimists….

A Container of Essence

In the art world, we’re all about collecting and preserving things that are important testaments to our life and times. And other cool shit. This ideal gets challenged hard when presented with objects that weren’t preserved properly or couldn’t be preserved–frescos, old photos, film, paintings on unstable substrates, stuff like that–or with art that was never meant to be collected in the usual way.

Sand mandalas created by Buddhist monks come to mind. In this case, the “art” is not the end result but the process that brings forth “an internal awakening to the desire to let go of attachments.” The act of wiping away the mandala, therefore, is part of the art because it completes the “letting go” process.

But, geez, there’s nothing left and hardly anyone got to see it! (And by “anyone,” I mean me.)

Earthworks and land art, in a way, are the creation of mandalas on a monumental scale. The “canvas” is nature which, for a time, allows the artist to create a transformative experience and bring attention to important issues, such as the environment. These works of art are transitory but, for the time they are around, we get to see the familiar through a different lens. Land art isn’t, in my mind, so much about letting go, however, as it is about realizing what we unwittingly let go of when we stopped caring, or weren’t paying attention.

Here’s a wonderful article in Artland Magazine, about pioneering earthwork artists.

: Agnes Denes, Wheatfield-A Confrontation, 1982, Manhattan

: Robert Smithson, Spiral Jetty, 1970, Rozel Point, Utah

: Nancy Holt, Sun Tunnels, 1973-1976, Great Basin Desert, Utah

: Christo and Jeanne-Claude, Surrounded Islands, 1980-1983, Biscayne Bay, Florida

: Andy Goldsworthy, Sycamore roots surrounded by sycamore leaves,

: Michael Heizer, City, 1972-2020, Nevada

So, you may be wondering, what kind of zen fools make art like that? Excellent question. Honestly, I don’t know. I do have a guess as to Why, though.

A Place Where Art, Nature & Booze Collide

I had the great good fortune of being asked to help judge the 2022 Breckenridge International Snow Sculpture Championships along with Alex Kendall and Tina Rossi of Breckenridge Gallery and sculptor Dwight Davidson.

I must admit, this task made me nervous. I do a fair amount of judging and jurying of art exhibits, but snow sculpture–monumental snow sculpture–was a first.

Turns out judging a new medium was the least of my concerns. I hadn’t fully accounted for the conditions. Obviously, it’s gotta be cold to sculpt snow, but this means judging happens, basically, in a meat locker. (Thus the booze, I’m thinking.)

No Pansy-ass Power Tools Allowed

The day I arrived, sculptor teams of four had already put in three grueling days carving with hand tools (power tools are strictly prohibited), on 12′ x 10′ x 10′ packed blocks of snow. That night, while I was tucked into a warm bed, many teams were working until dawn to complete their sculpture by 9:00AM when judging was scheduled to begin.

Yup, snow sculptors are some hearty folk. I’d go so far as to say that if snow sculpting were an Olympic sport, these artists would be the biathletes–you know, the crazy cross country skiers who stop every so often to shoot at, I don’t know, slower skiers? Snowboarders? (Seriously, who does that sport?)

Now that I think of it, snow sculptors would totally do that sport. All this to say, snow sculptors are tough as nails. And zen as hell.

A Quixotic Journey

Founders of the Breckenridge Snow Sculpting Championships, Rob Neyland and Ron Shelton, have competed with their own team all over the world for the last 40 years and have a bunch gold, silver, and bronze awards to prove their chops.

Their understanding of the art form and how these competitions unravel was vital knowledge for us judges.

In a nutshell: teams spitball concepts, someone is then tasked with the duty of creating a clay maquette (a miniature sculpture of the idea), the team applies to competitions, and, if juried in, they put themselves through four intensely exhausting days of carving under pressure, in extreme conditions. Fun, huh?

Here’s a pic of Rob Neyland and team’s maquette for “String Theory.”

Teams are not just competing against each other’s concept and sculpting feats, but they are also working against the elements. A bright sunny day could weaken a sculpture to the point of collapse and utter ruin. Nights that don’t adequately freeze also spell danger because the snow doesn’t have a chance to freeze and begin its transformation into its more stable crystal-like form (think of snow as very, very slow running water).

Here’s the completed sculpture. Note to man standing to the left to get a sense of scale.

And then there’s the rather dubious blocks of snow these sculptors get to carve. For example, the block provided by the Milwaukee Zoo, Rob told me, was replete with camel dung and the block in Moscow’s Gorky Park was laced with cigarette butts and beer cans.

But like the weather, funky blocks of snow are part of the challenge and the thing that ensures everyone starts on a level playing field.

FYI: Breck snow is some of the best in the world, naturally.

Here’s a pic of Team Breck’s gold-winning sculpture, “Frozen Moment,” at the Milwaukee Zoo competition. Note the lovely camel dung patina.

Cross Your Fingers

The morning of judging, Yours Truly–bright-eyed and bushy tailed (well, sober anyway)–arrived at 8:00AM, with my fellow judges to get busy sussing out the winners. Holy moly, what a transformation! The biggest change for most sculptures was that all supporting pillars of snow had been removed (check out before and after pics below).

I can only imagine how nerve-wracking that must have been, taking off the supports and hoping you got the weight ratios right. Apparently, this requires a slow and methodical approach where snow is gradually whittled down to a silver dollar-sized connection. Then, a few deep breaths and Hail Marys later, the final connection is severed about an hour before judging begins.

We judges were told that, if something collapsed into a pile of rubble before judging got under way, we could still consider that sculpture based on original concept and what we’d seen the night before. Thankfully, nothing went down in flames.

Transformative, Indeed

The thing that struck me about this whole event was that, once the sculptors put down their tools and stepped back, what remained of a 25-ton block of packed snow looked a lot like marble. There were even striations running though some works and large ice crystals that looked like chert.

Like stone, these sculptures also carried a sense of the memory of the hand that worked it, of the body that had to understand the need to go slowly, to feel and listen for the warning signs of a deep, internal fissure that might let go at the wrong moment.

There was also a sense of relief, a long exhale: the engineering worked. The temperature fluctuations were just right so that the snow became a different thing, a more solid form. The magic transformation that these sculptors listen for had happened: the dull thunking sound of hand tool against a freshly packed block of snow had taken on the singing quality of wine glasses meeting in a celebratory toast.

The Futility of Preservation

And so I asked the question of many sculptors over the days I was in Breckenridge: Why do something that can’t possibly last? Rob Neyland’s response is my favorite: “The notion of permanence is an illusion.”

Art created from snow sticks around for only a handful of days. You had to be there to make a memory, which is the only thing that remains of this art. All of which begs the question: What is art? Is it the final product or is it the effort, the performance, the motion of the body in rhythm with some flicker of an idea?

The men and women who compete in these events are artists, engineers, stone workers, restoration contractors, and other similar professions. They come for many reasons. Teams are tight-knit and have leaned over the years to move as one, in tune with each other and the sounds of the snow.

They also have a mindset grounded in humor that may stem from an understanding that all their planning and hard work could, if just one thing is off in the slightest, crumble into a heap moments before the competition ends. Which may be why they are also such soulful artists. I love what Team Germany wrote about their piece, “Float” (edited): “The subject lies in the geometric creation of order and maximum reduction to attain ‘esthetic essence’. It’s about balance and transformation. The goal of art is to develop objects for spiritual use, much as man designs objects for material use.”

How Do You Hold a Moonbeam in Your Hand?

Rob Neyland explained one of his team’s more esoteric works, titled “Water Song,” as capturing water for the briefest of moments and suspending it against the sky. He said, “We cast our fleeting form upon it but our vision is short-lived; it soon melts and resumes its journey to the sea.”

And so, as soon as the artists have set down their tools, the sculptures have already started their retreat back to ground. On the final day the exhibit is open to the public, there is a ceremonial bonfire lit within each work, hastening its journey back to the sea. The next morning, the site returns to a bustling parking lot.

I guess it’s a lot like life. No matter how hard we try to hold on, try to preserve beauty, beauty resists, beauty stays in motion. Memory, thankfully, lingers.

Maybe art is, as one sculptor put it, like a gourmet meal with friends; long after the food is gone, the joy of being together, rejoicing in the moment, stays in some permanent place inside your heart.

Wanna learn more about the Breckenridge International Snow Sculpture Championship and see who won? Here’s a link to the 2022 Guide: Click Here.

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Please Pursue Some Other Career in Life

How I discovered I was an artist

By Carm Fogt, guest blogger

Sitting in a warm summer meadow, next to a creek in Yosemite, all I can think is, what the hell did I agree to? On my lap is sketchpad. In front of me is the most gorgeous waterfall I have ever seen. Over my shoulder, my sister-in-law is gently coaxing me in her kind and patient voice saying, “Just sketch the waterfall.”

Oh my god, I think, this can’t be happening. My palms begin to sweat. I know I will never be able to draw that waterfall.

I’ve known this since grade school. I have no ability to draw or, for that matter, do anything artistic. The first realization came when I was in first grade and confronted with a mimeographed bear and a box of crayons. My exuberance couldn’t be contained inside the lines. The kids around me–the beloved rule followers–laughed at my frenetic coloring. Clearly, I was no artist.

And, if that wasn’t enough to keep me away from crayons, Elmer’s glue and construction paper for good, the TV Guide arrived weekly with that tempting ad of a little cartoon animal and the teaser: “If you can draw Winky, we’ll hook you up with art supplies and free art lessons!” I was in high school by this time, the crayon fiasco behind me, and so thought I’d give art another go. I traced the little animal, sent it in and…failed. The powers-that-be sent a short, cutting reply that read, “Please pursue some other career in life. Thank you for your entry.”

Jumping In – and I Don’t Mean the Creek

Back in the meadow, reminded of past failures, I begin to rethink the decision I made earlier in the day. It was either a hike up the 4-mile trail with my husband and his brother or sit in the valley with my Yosemite artist-in-residence sister-in-law, Janis, while she taught her daily watercolor workshop. Hike and sweat or sit and chill by the creek. It was a no brainer, right?

How is it then that a sketchpad and pencil can send me right back to the horror of being made fun of in elementary school? All I can think is, will anyone notice if I sneak out? I glance at my watch hoping it’s almost time for lunch.

But Janis is a persistent champion of art and, for some reason, she thinks I can draw Yosemite Falls. I had confessed my insecurities to her before we started; thankfully she didn’t laugh. Instead, she suggested that when I noticed something in my drawing that was out of whack, I should simply erase that part and fix it. She said that my eye would tell me what to do.

My eye? What? Now it was me trying not to laugh at her. Seriously, erasers are allowed? No way. You mean that people who can draw–real artists–use erasers?!

Incredulously, I start. I draw and erase and draw some more until I make something that looks like the waterfall. But something else begins to take hold. Suddenly, I’m living in the moment; I’m a part of the creative flow. Years of doubt, years of believing what others told me are erased like a badly placed line.

That Was It

Over the next couple hours, I lose my anxiety over putting down a mark. Just as Janis said, it wasn’t permanent. I have unlimited do-overs. My hand relaxes and does what my eyes tell it to. I am completely engrossed.

The sun sinks low in the west, mosquitoes start to buzz around me, and yet I just don’t want to leave, I don’t want the magic feeling to end.

Back in the cabin, I search for something to draw, light upon my well-worn sneakers and start drawing them. Soon I’m drawing just about everything in the cabin.

Thus began my journey into art. I drew that waterfall. I drew Half Dome. I drew chairs, shoes, people (well, almost people). It was a miracle. I could draw and I loved doing it!

How could this be? I couldn’t do it before. Why now? Why here? All those years wasted, believing something that wasn’t true. I had always thought it was strange that my mom could draw, so could my nephew, but the rest of the family, it seemed, were just missing the art gene. Or so I thought.

If I Could Turn Back Time

How strange that just a few dings on my young ego were all it took to steer me away from ever trying art again. Why did this happen so easily and so firmly? Thankfully, albeit, years later in life, all it took was a little encouragement from a trusted instructor to turn it around.

And it wasn’t just encouragement and kind words; Janis gave me permission to fail.

I wonder, would the world even have art if artists didn’t know they had permission to make mistakes and erase them, start over, let go of what didn’t work and keep searching until they found the right path?

What Janis shook loose in me started a journey that took me to Asia to study with master brush painters. I don’t know exactly why their work captured my imagination, but that first trip, the artists I met, the instructors and the creative atmosphere brought me to a place that I never would have found had there not been a warm meadow and a kind-hearted instructor to coax it out of me.

Lifting My Brush with Confidence

I can’t turn back time, of course, but I can look to the future. I can give children the encouragement they need to pursue their innate love of creativity. And I can keep pursuing this career.

Maybe that’s what caught my imagination when I began learning Chinese brush painting: a quick brush with something negative could turn into a lifelong false belief just as easily as a quick brush with something positive might turn into a lifelong pursuit.

To see more of Carm Fogt’s work, please visit her website, https://www.carmfogt.net.

Interested in being a guest blogger?

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Standing Next to Myself, with Questions

I’ve had, for years, the strangest surrealist moments sparked by catching a glimpse of myself in a mirror or reflection in a shop window. It can be startling, this dissociative, out-of-body experience, wherein the image before me does not correlate with the image in my mind’s eye.

Plainly put: I don’t know what I look like.

It’s as if I’ve been blocked out, like Rene Magritte’s (1898-1967) figure behind the apple in “Son of Man,” and only know my face as the apple. Then, on occasion and for reasons unbeknownst to me, the apple disappears, revealing a face I hadn’t expected.

Magritte’s explanation of this painting may shed some light:

“Everything we see hides another thing. We always want to see what is hidden by what we see. There is an interest in that which is hidden and which the visible does not show us. This interest can take the form of a quite intense feeling, a sort of conflict, one might say, between the visible that is hidden and the visible that is present.”

When Art Imitates Life

Studies indicate that both men and women spend nearly an hour a day looking at themselves in a mirror. I’ve never timed myself but suspect I’m not all that different. So why, I’ve often wondered, is my reality so skewed from my internal knowing?

From the website, ReneMagritte.org, here’s an interesting bit of insight into the artist’s train of thought:

“…what is concealed is more important than what is open to view: this was true both of his own fears and of his manner of depicting the mysterious. [His paintings were] not so much to hide as to achieve an effect of alienation.”

Right. So, according to Magritte, I’m actually being startled by “the visible that is hidden”?

Dang. Those surrealists were deep.

Alienation

During WWII, Magritte lived in German-occupied Belgium, apart from his fellow surrealists who remained in Paris. Feeling alienated and abandoned, Magritte supported himself by painting fake van Goghs, Picassos, Cezannes, and others.

I wonder about this choice, to be a forger as means of survival. Was it simply an obvious way of making money? Or was it part of Magritte’s journey deeper into his own vision? Would his own post-war works have been as poignant had he not forged paintings in the manner of these artists? Did the act of creating forgeries help him understand something essential about each person he emulated, thereby unearthing elements of his own personality?

Or maybe he just kicked ass mimicking others and didn’t want to starve to death.

Oh! OK, fun fact: Magritte got so good at forgeries that he was able to create fake bank notes during the occupation, which he and his family lived on. And, apparently, the forgery biz was so lucrative that Magritte’s brother, Paul, took over when Rene went back to making an honest living. Who knew?

The war undoubtedly affected Magritte, but not his form of expression. Surrealism was the visual dialogue introduced to him in Paris by Andre Breton, the founder of the movement, years before the war, and the style Magritte rarely if ever strayed from. Magritte insisted that his work was meant to push viewers to question their sense of reality and become hypersensitive to the world around them.

I would add that his paintings force the viewer to become hypersensitive to the world within, as well.

Hidden in Plain Sight

As straightforward as Magritte’s comments about each work are, there are still layers to peel back.

Like the shrouded figures. Some suggest that these stem from memories of seeing his drowned mother, who had committed suicide, pulled from the river near their home, her dress covering her face, like a shroud. Magritte was 13 when he witnessed this.

I’m not a scholar on Magritte but I do wonder how much of his work, if any, is about something other than his past and this loss.

Learning to See

Viewing art is not a passive act. The viewer may be standing quietly, absorbing images, but inside neurons are firing, electrical impulses are kicking in, surging through the body, in particular when memories are triggered, reminding the viewer of something personal. Here’s an interesting article about all the amazing things happening in the body when viewing art: Art Enhances Brain Function and Well-being.

For me, Magritte’s work triggers an internal recognition, a jolt from a kindred spirit in pursuit of the real within the obscured or shrouded, a connection to the floating parts of ourselves, light signals from the transfigured imagination.

Baggage Is Part of the Experience

I’ve lived with this sense of not knowing what I look like or, worse, believing that I’m sitting in an important meeting, not as the middle-aged professional curator I am, but as a pudgy child with stringy hair and bad skin.

I see, in my head, the frumpy, naive girl my mother always told me I was. (Still, to this day, given the opportunity, she never misses the chance to land a blow with an abusive jab.)

For much of my life, the surprise was looking in a mirror and not seeing that girl.

This personal dogma is what I’ve bought to the mirror and carried throughout my life. When told anything counter to this belief, I rejected it out of hand, certain that these flatterers were idiots and scammers.

And then, for some reason, the world shifted during Covid; disassembled “me” began to pull together.

The True Gift of Art

I tossed out the word, “dissociative,” not to be hyperbolic but to express this weirdly surreal aspect of my nature, this not knowing my own image in a mirror. It’s a strange thing to believe what others say about you to the point of losing yourself, and yet I know so many people experience this. It’s how we lose our way in this life.

Art, artists, and therapy have helped nudge me toward a rethinking of my beliefs, so that the most tender spots in my psyche can be examined and healed.

And, as strange as it may sound, when I work with artists on marketing, we always start by excavating their “why.”

On the surface, this is because I can’t help a person market what they themselves cannot recognize. Yes, every artist can talk about materials and technique, but that’s not what collectors are buying. Collectors are buying an idea. They are buying a piece of the artist.

It’s an amazing gift to be present with creative people as they take on the task of self-interrogation. The process can be messy and emotional and confounding (much as my own self-innterogation has been), but always the journey back to center–back to the reason one became an artist in the first place–is such a glorious awakening.

Freeing the Artist Within

I have come to believe, thanks to many candid conversations with artists, that the act of making art, in its purest sense, is self-interrogation. If the artist is being true to his or her nature, every painting, photograph, or sculpture is a self-portrait. Sometimes these self-portraits are so revealing they are terrifying. And yet, the artist persists.

Art is also a kind of panacea, a prescription for a drug that pulls one closer to his or her core being. No artist can predict who will take what message or cue from a work of art; that’s not the point of it, really.

The point is to expose the artist’s self, and through that act, the viewer can finally set down her baggage, look in the mirror and see the person who was there all along.

If you’d like to continue this conversation, please leave a comment below. And feel free to share my blog with friends.

If you are interested in looking into marketing for artists, please reach out and contact me to discuss further.

Making a Case for Contemporary Western Art

In the summer of 1996, I was hired to curate a small, regional show in Denver, at the National Western Stock Show. During the Stock Show and Rodeo. In January.

I had never been to either the fledgling Coors Western Art Exhibit & Sale or the Stock Show, but the idea of an art exhibit in such an off-beat, unexpected venue struck me as a unique and exciting challenge.

Obvious hurdles aside, (a blizzard shutting down the city on opening night, for starters), I enjoyed puzzling out the curatorial questions that came with this show, such as, how do I get successful artists to participate in an exhibit held at a stock show and rodeo? How is Western art defined? Is there room to broaden the conversation within that definition? Could I invite artists who didn’t create traditional fare but were technically “western” artists because they lived and worked in the West?

Could I, I wondered, blur the lines between traditional and contemporary art?

What’s Scarier Than Naked Women?

Back in the early days, the Coors Show was flying under the radar. I took this opportunity to try out my theories about pushing boundaries with artists whose work didn’t fall squarely within the stricture of “Western.” It helped that I had few guidelines to follow beyond finding living artists whose work reflected the Western way of life. We were a fine art show that included photography but not crafts such as pottery. Oh, and no nudes; strictly PG.

Taking on an unknown show at an unproven venue meant that I had little or no shot at getting the big names in traditional Western art. Yes, I tried getting them, but they were busy or didn’t return my call. I couldn’t blame them. The Autry had the Masters of the American West, and the Cowboy Hall was killing it with the Prix de West. Great exhibits that showcased the best in traditional Western art. The tiny Coors Show simply could not compete.

I rang up old friends, explained my idea of opening up the conversation about the West and the art that’s being made here, and was able to get Len Chmiel, Skip Whitcomb, George Carlson, Steve Kestrel, and others to come on board. They lent their good names and reputations to help me jumpstart the show. Lots of artists who saw those names on the roster gave us a second look. Still not the traditional artist, though. But I was OK with this. I had other ideas in mind.

Two Roads Diverge

In the art world, when you toss out the word “contemporary,” people hear things like “abstract,” “challenging,” “confrontational,” and “hard to understand.” Say “Western” and slap “art” onto it, however, and people see illustrative works that tell stories, ala Charlie Russell and Fredric Remington. Western is definable; you know it when you see it. Contemporary, well, that’s out there in the wilderness making stuff up and getting all emotional about it.

Despite the rift between philosophies—traditional vs. contemporary—finding a singular path for the Coors Show was top on my list. I wanted artists who were the best at what they did, who took on subject matter with masterful skill and conviction. I wanted artists who were unafraid to be authentic, even vulnerable.

The other thing I really wanted to build was a show that gave voice to our great artists who didn’t fit neatly into either traditional or contemporary venues. I wanted to show Daniel Sprick and Dean Mitchell alongside William Matthews and Barbara Van Cleve.

More importantly, I saw a niche in the market no one was tapping into: a contemporary-realist focused exhibit about the West. The only catch was I couldn’t use the word “contemporary.” Not at first, anyway.

How to Offend a Curator

I look at the art of curation much like throwing interesting dinner parties where disparate guests discover they have a lot in common. Or things devolve into fisticuffs. Either way, I’m happy. The idea of curation, in my mind, is to create opportunities for conversations that get people talking. Even better, opportunities to show my audience their familiar surroundings in a new way. Putting contemporary art alongside traditional work, well that, my friend, is a heck of a dinner party!

I will admit, my open arms approach has ruffled a few feathers. I get it; art is personal, but the extent to which some folks have gotten upset about art, at times, has surprised even me.

One of my favorite stories happened the year I hung Theresa Elliot’s hyper-realistic cattle paintings (think the Mona Lisa, if she were a cow), across from Ted Waddell (think Motherwell meets cattle). An old rancher came in, found a volunteer to let her know he was there because he felt he needed to come see the art show each year. She graciously welcomed him and let him know she could help if he needed anything. Not too many steps into the gallery and he was confronted with Theresa and Ted. He stood there a long while then went back to the volunteer and made her join him between the works. He pointed to Theresa’s paintings and said, “These paintings are incredible.” Then, turning to Ted’s work, he said, “But these! These are a colossal waste of paint!”

The volunteer was afraid to tell me this story, but when she did, I hugged her. This is what curators live for: eliciting a response, evoking emotion. That rancher really looked at the art and had a reaction. Western art got under his skin and made him feel something!

When was I offended? That happened when a local art critic whose opinion I valued (and still do) wrote something to the effect of, “the show is filled with bucolic paintings.” Bucolic! Here again the volunteers who happily taped the review in the breakroom at the gallery, were stunned that I’d taken offense. Bucolic. She might as well have said I lulled patrons to sleep with my vanilla curation.

After that review, I redoubled my efforts to bring interesting and thought-provoking work to my audience. Not to offend, I really don’t want to offend anyone, but to present ideas and a unique lens with which to view the familiar.

Crossing the Line

The amazing thing about having a show in a non-traditional setting like the National Western, is that nearly 40,000 visitors from a diverse cross-section of our western population stop by. Because our audience is made up of people who live and breathe the western way of life, I believe we owe them authenticity. Traditional or contemporary—these things are stylistic choices. Authenticity is a core principle. The very nature of being an artist is to take on subject matter with masterful skill and conviction. But also, to be unafraid to be authentic, even vulnerable.

Many Coors Show artists were born and raised in a traditional western home. Don Coen, for example, grew up in Lamar, CO on a working ranch that, until he turned 12, had no running water or electricity. His only complaint was that he had to ride a horse to school—all his friends had bikes. But Don, like others in the show, puts the exploration of what it truly means to live in the West first. He knows why he’s creating this work: it’s intrinsic to who he is and decidedly not what he thinks the market wants.

Another tenet of my curation: if we’re going to show work about Native Americans it needs to be created by Native American artists. In a conversation with Denver Art Museum assistant curator of Native American Art, Dakota Hoska, on the triggering effect of traditional Western art that depicts Indigenous people in historic settings, she said, “Romanticized art has the effect of flattening the Native American experience. It’s reductive. They want to paint our culture but only the part before someone tried to destroy us. Our people were here 13,000 to 50,000 years before white people showed up; we never got to see how our society would have ended up.”

And, as Donna Chrisjohn, co-chair of the Denver American Indian Commission, said of Fredric Remington’s stereotypical portraits of American Indians, “it leaves us frozen in time and largely contributes to our invisibility today.”

These days, I ask why. Why is an artist doing this work? Why now? Why are they the ones to tell the story? As curator for the Coors Show, I believe it’s my responsibility to present contemporary artists of all walks of life and allow them to hold the stage and tell their story. I am consistently buoyed by the support of collectors, especially younger collectors, who seek out contemporary, authentic voices.

Looking to the future, I would love to see more open mindedness and space for alternative—yes, contemporary—voices to be heard. I truly believe, for Western artists, this is the only way our genre will be recognized in the larger arena and ultimately, stay relevant for the next 100 years.

How to buy and sell art at auction

If you’re a collector, chances are you’ve considered selling off a painting or two at auction to free up some space or make a little cash, naturally, to buy more art. Undoubtedly, along the way, you’ve discovered that it’s way more fun to buy than sell.

This time around, I take a deep dive into the world of auctions, bringing you some insider knowledge about how things work, what leverage, if any, you might have, and how to strategically buy and sell in what has become, according to the Wall Street Journal, one of the “hottest markets on earth.”

The Bane of Artists Everywhere

Just to put things into perspective…most collectors don’t realize that auctions are nerve-wracking as hell for artists. I personally avoid adding them to any selling show I work on because I have no desire to put artists in a situation where the work will be undersold and therefore compromised.

I have said this before but it bears repeating: discounting art erodes the artist’s market value. The collector buying at a discount feels they have gotten a good deal, but what they’ve really done is establish that the artist’s work is not worth the stated price.

While work by deceased artists–especially those rare pieces that hit it big–make auctions look like a boon for artists’ careers, the reality is that, for living artists, it’s the place collectors have discovered they can buy on the cheap.

OK, I am now stepping off my soapbox.

The following is an article that will run in Western Art & Architecture, winter 2021/2022. I interviewed collector Doug Erion to get his best tips and tricks, as well as Jennifer Vorbach, former auctioneer and International Director of Christie’s Post War and Contemporary art department, for a little insider intel.

NOTE: I specifically wanted to talk to an auction expert who no longer worked for an auction house. My hope was to get an unvarnished look at the inner workings, which Jennifer provided. To learn more about Jennifer Vorbach, check out her website: JenniferVorbach.com.

Why Auction Results Matter

Did you know that, when establishing valuations for art for most appraisals, auction records play a very big role–a bigger role than I personally think they should (not that anyone’s asking). Appraisals for insurance coverage, a.k.a., replacement cost, are based on retail sales figures. However, for estate, resale, and donation appraisals, valuation is almost solely determined based on auction and previous recorded sales. The difference between retail price and auction results can be astoundingly different.

If you’re thinking this is no big deal, consider that collectors look at those auction records to determine whether your retail prices are appropriate, and thus, whether they should buy your work or not.

And those auction records? They live forever online.

So, how can artists get auctions to support their pricing structure and not hurt valuation by letting work sell below retail?

Unfortunately, I don’t have a good answer. For Blue Chip artists, galleries and/or collectors with a dog in the fight, i.e., a financial investment in an artist’s career, attend auctions, bid up the work, and buy, if necessary. Honestly, I’ve often wondered why galleries don’t do more of this with prominent artists in their sable. Sure it’s pricey, but in the long run it would bolster their artists’ careers.

The Sell-side: Auction vs. Gallery

Auctions are, by art world standards, transparent. Art is put up for sale. It is photographed, condition reported, vetted, and analyzed for value based on myriad details ranging from the artist’s importance to the work’s place within the artist’s oeuvre. By law, the reserve cannot be higher than the low estimate. Sales are done in a public forum, now made global by the internet. Generally, both buyer and seller pay a premium to the auction house.

Gallery sales, on the other hand, are opaque, private transactions. There is a set price for the art, usually decided upon by the artist with his dealer’s input. However, should there be any haggling and deal-making, which can happen along the way to the final transaction, that’s kept on the down-low, primarily to keep the integrity of the artist’s pricing structure intact.

Risk and Reward

For sellers, working with a gallery is often considered less risky. Both collector and dealer agree on the resale price and the commission rate, which can be anywhere from 10-40%. And, while some works of art might have gone up dramatically over the years, most work won’t appreciate to the degree that the collector sees much of a profit after commissions are paid and might even take a loss.

By contrast, auction houses set prices in a range, starting at what can be a terrifyingly low estimate—a number that makes lots of resellers back away. The strategy is two-fold, according to Jennifer Vorbach, former auctioneer and International Director of Post-War and Contemporary art for Christie’s and now a private consultant. “The auction wants to make it competitive, to get as many bidders as possible,” she said. “And it tends to work. Lower starting estimates also allow the auction house to gather and use statistics like, 50% of our lots exceeded their mid-estimates, and 50% sold above the estimate. The auction house then use those statistics competitively.”

Can the seller set the reserve, you wonder? The answer is yes. And no. If a work is of high value and desirable, the seller can negotiate a higher minimum, as well as lower or no premium payment to the auction on the sale, and even receive prime placement in the sale’s line-up (earlier is better, to get bidders while they’re fresh, and the excitement is high). “Everything is negotiable,” Jennifer said, “but if the auction house is not keen on the art, they won’t give you an attractive estimate or even take the work.”

Should you shop work around to several houses to get the best deal? According to Jennifer, if you have a good relationship with one auction, it’s best to deal with the house you know. If you do decide to shop around, she warns, be prepared for competing houses to whisper disparaging things about your art, especially high-profile pieces, something she has seen happen. An auction might cast doubts to steer buyers away from a rival house. “It’s very competitive,” she said.

Perhaps the biggest benefit auction houses can offer over individual galleries is their immense mailing lists and knowledge of buyers. Auctions further create excitement and anticipation for upcoming sales by sending out gorgeous catalogues and posting them online. Plus, the news stories generated from record-breaking sales help add to the fervor.

Fickle Fashion of the Art Market

No matter where you chose to resell art, gallery or auction, you should bone-up on the market before making a decision. Because, while you may think the worst-case scenario is that your art doesn’t sell, the reality is that you may have just “burned” your art.

Auction results are reported publicly, and those reports, as I mentioned earlier, last forever. Anyone can look them up and see how sales went. What they can’t see is why things didn’t sell, or were “bought in.” And so, for years to come, there will be a shadow of doubt hovering over work that didn’t sell, so much so, that should you try to sell the work again, the estimate could be listed lower than your first attempt.

Art is also subject to fashion trends. Jennifer noted how Helen Frankenthaler who, after a major show of her work at the Museum of Modern Art, in New York, suddenly lost her edge. “There was so much of her work in one place,” Jennifer explained, “the works canceled each other out. But, as the art world revolves, other painters of her generation and previously neglected artists—often women and artists of color—have had the spotlight turned on them. Now her work is very much back in demand.”

Blurring the Boundaries: Guarantees and Private Treaty Sales

Over the last two decades, auction houses have crowded into gallery territory in two major ways: private treaty sales and guaranteed sales. Though neither is a brand-new concept, the prevalence has caused a shift in galleries as they respond to the competition. Basically, private treaty sales are done directly between seller and buyer without ever going to auction. The auction has a tremendous advantage over galleries because they have a deep list of collectors to call on, and they know not only who won works by the same artist, but they know the under-bidders. Like galleries, these sales are much less transparent, and they are not reported.

Guarantees are another way auction houses compete with fellow houses but also with galleries by taking out the risk in the sale. Here, the auction guarantees the selling price. If the work of art goes for less than the guaranteed price, the seller still makes his amount. And, if it goes for above the guarantee, the seller not only makes his number, but gets a portion of the upside, as does the grantor. Buyers can see if a work has a guarantee; it will be listed in the catalogue, albeit, in very, very fine print.

Fun and Games: Buying at Auction

OK, seriously, auctions are great entertainment. They have a certain air of a casino attached to them: some art goes big, some craps out. So, what’s the best strategy for getting what you want?

According to collector and auction denizen, Doug Erion, the key is research, research, and more research.

Because of his dogged approach, Doug knows where a lot of work is, which has made it possible for him to swoop in and grab pieces others may not have realized were coming up for sale. Case in point was a Helen Frankenthaler print, one of which resides in the Tate Modern collection. “The Tate has a nice long video about how that print was built,” he said. “Frankenthaler uses many layers; it doesn’t look like it. The video shows how she did this one particular piece. Would I have bought the piece otherwise? Probably, it’s spectacular. But seeing that video and knowing the Tate owns one, pushed it up in my mind.”

It’s also important to note that Doug’s attitude toward auctions informs his strategy. “I go to auctions because of availability,” he said, “not for the lowest price.”

For expensive works, he often calls the auction house and requests a condition report. With prints, which he’s been predominately collecting at auction these days, he’s concerned with foxing or discoloration of the paper. So, if the print is framed and damage not readily apparent, he asks that the frame be removed to confirm the condition. Yup, you can actually do that.

If a piece is not expensive, he will put in a conservative bid for the amount he is willing to pay up to. “If the bidding goes past, no problem,” he says. By doing this, he keeps from getting too invested in the outcome, and so won’t overspend in the heat of competition.

If it’s something he really wants, he will determine the amount he’s willing to pay over and above the high estimate. Sometimes he mans the bidding process, but usually he prefers to have a trusted advisor bid for him, again, with the intention of not going too far over his budgeted amount, unless the situation warrants.

The Bottom Line

If you’re new to auctions or find them frustrating, consider hiring someone like Jennifer Vorbach to help. Often, an expert who knows her way around the auction scene can work magic, open doors, and even find things you haven’t had any luck tracking down on your own. At a minimum, understand that reselling work is not as easy as buying so do your homework, ask questions, and learn how individual auctions work (terms vary from house to house). Most importantly, set realistic expectations.

For more information about buying and selling at galleries, check out these blogs.

Embrace Change Like An Artist

Over the course of curating and installing the 2022 Coors Western Art Exhibit & Sale, I noticed something quite remarkable. The entire show from paintings to sculpture, photographs, and prints, has an overwhelming sense of calm.

But why? Truly, of my 26 years curating this show, why is this year so much different than any other?

I mean, it’s not like the world has gotten safer and we’ve beat the pandemic, cured cancer, and handed out cute puppies to all. Certainly, artists have suffered through this weird, stressful series of dramatic cultural changes just like everyone else.

If anything, the pandemic hit the art market especially hard–and we’re already one of the most fickle and flat-out unstable places to work as it is. Galleries and museums closed their doors overnight, shows were postponed indefinitely, and workshops canceled, which meant artists were suddenly stranded, cut-off from patrons and collectors.

And yet, the work that these artists in the Coors Show produced over the last year–the work I had just watched my installers hang–is inspired, hopeful, and stunningly harmonious.

I have a theory

Whether you like change or prefer the status quo, I think it’s fair to say that the changes thrust upon us all thanks to COVID have stretched the limits of even the most amenable among us.

I suspect, however, that for artists, once the initial sense of terror settled down, a long, slow sigh of relief rose to the surface.

Suddenly, artists everywhere were summarily relieved of deadlines. One day it’s the grind of constant nagging stress, the next, there’s room to step back, to think, to play.

Don’t get me wrong. Every artist I talked to has struggled with COVID and isolation. Despite the common depiction of the artist as loner, most artists will tell you that they heavily rely on gatherings of their peers to paint and draw together, and critique each others’ work over bottles of wine. In other words, inspiration is often found in social interaction; art is very much a team sport.

And, so, standing amid so many truly authentic and subtle works of art, I had to wonder:

Are artists uniquely capable of adapting to change more so than others?

The Psychology of Change

Times of upheaval–great depression, wars, a pandemic–create interesting opportunities to observe evolution. Humans are in the petrie dish, so to speak. The question of the hour is: how quickly can we change and adapt?

Or not.

For some, this disruption in the status quo has been cause for panic, even anger, and the need to dig one’s heels in while pushing back with great force.

But why is change so hard for some while others, albeit not thrilled, seem to roll with it?

According to a 2012 article in the SAGE Journal titled “An Analysis of Resistance to Change Exposed in Individuals’ Thoughts and Behaviors,” by Lena M. Forsell and Jan A. Astrom, “all psychological resistance is built on a fear of change where the outcome could result in a worse situation.”

Everyone experiences resistance to change to some degree, but most of us think things through and deal with it. However, research shows that the ensuing fear of change can often be traced back to “the attitudes and behaviors of the [person’s] parents or other adults from their childhood.”

Yep, that’s right. Go ahead and blame your parents for this one.

That’s science, my friends.

Hoping to Sprout Wings

Though I’m in the camp of folks who get peevish with the status quo, I’m not the most confident of women, by a long shot. I do admire it in others, probably because I recognize that it doesn’t come easily for me. I bring this up because I don’t think an abundance of confidence is the key ingredient to an artist’s ability to adapt to major societal changes, such as a pandemic, and not just because I don’t have it.

It’s a strange kind of push-pull, in my mind, to love change, even the change that feels like you’re walking off a cliff, hoping to sprout wings, and yet struggle to ask for help along the way. Asking for help always feels like admitting failure. That I’m a fraud, an imposter. I’ve written about the imposter syndrome and the fear of failure in my blog post, On Voice, because a lot of us in the art world suffer from an overactive inner critic.

Either way–too much or too little confidence–my guess is that we can toss confidence out the window as a factor in my theory as to why artists seem to have weathered the pandemic better than others.

A Little Fear Goes A Long Way

Art is, by its very nature, abstract and ephemeral. Not all minds can hang in that space for long. But for esoteric, searching thinkers, this is home. Change in this space is ever present and, if not always readily embraced, it is, generally, quietly accepted.

Accidents lead to innovations that are frequently lauded among peers. That giddy feeling of being on to something profound–or stepping off the precipice into the abyss–can be an incredibly exhilarating space.

If the nearly 400 harmonious works of art in the 2022 Coors Show are evidence of anything at all, I think it’s that art thrives when the mind is free of deadlines and the demands of the market–something that happened overnight when COVID struck.

There was also no time for self-doubt; artists had to keep making art because it’s what they do and who they are.

An artist must trust that art makes the world better because it gives meaning to, well, everything. As unstable as a life in the arts may be, it very well may be the safest place for the wild minds that strive and survive in spite of societal upheaval.

Embrace Change Like an Artist: PART TWO

I recently curated one of the most impactful shows I’ve ever worked on. Mental Health Through the Eyes of Artists ran this fall at the PACE Center, Parker, Colorado.

While COVID has been a global trauma, the artists in this show struggle with internal trauma, physical pain and disabilities that left many contemplating ending it all.

Art became the eye of the storm.

This show came about thanks to Idaho artist Scott Switzer whose recent body of work tells the story of a friend’s schizophrenic son who was killed by a police officer. Ethan, 24 at the time, was shot in the back while running from a homeless camp. He had committed no crime, was shirtless and shoeless, and had no drugs in his body. He was in the midsts of a psychotic break.

Ethan’s death hit home for Scott, who also has a son with schizophrenia. And Scott, he deals with his own mental health issues.

Just as asking for and accepting help has been difficult for me, this show brought to light just how difficult it is for some people to talk about mental health. Yeah, I’m including myself here.

But why?

Isn’t this reluctance part of the reason we have so many people struggling and isolating themselves when they need help the most? Hell, isn’t this why I’ve stayed stuck in bad situations, growing more and more angry with myself for my inability to get unstuck?

Scott’s work and willingness to speak openly about his son and his own challenges sent me down an incredible path. I knew this was an important topic and that art was the perfect vehicle with which to start the conversation.

And, because I wanted to include Colorado artists, I reached out to the Denver Veterans Association. Wow. I had no idea that I would get to know so many truly brilliant artists whose work brings to light such honest, open, and vulnerable emotion.

Many of these artists are dealing with PTSD, depression, anxiety, schizophrenia, and constant physical pain.

More than one artist told me he had held a .45 to his head, thinking of ending it all. Their stories of finding community through the Veteran’s Arts Council and how creating art allowed them to face some truly astounding challenges gave me unforgettable and precious insight into the resilience of the human spirit, and the unique ability for the act of creating art to heal.

A Man with a Vision is Never Truly Blind

Jim Stevens was one of those veterans who thought of ending it all. A Long Range Patrol Leader in the Army during the Vietnam war, Jim was shot in the head while on a combat mission. Though he recovered, the bullet left fragments in his brain that gave him severe migraines, which he still endures to this day.

When he returned home, he took a job as a professor at the University of Colorado and resumed his art practice, something he had done his entire life, starting as a kid when his grandmother taught him to paint.

In 1993, that all changed when a migraine caused a bullet fragment to move and trigger a stroke that, in 30 minutes time, took his eyesight.

“I found myself divorced and the blind single parent of two preteen daughters,” Jim told me. “I lost my job and all confidence in my art.”

At that point, Jim sank into anger and depression.

“I was so angry that I destroyed my motorcycle with a crowbar and trashed my unfinished art pieces with a baseball bat and ripped up most of my notes, drafts, and records,” he said. “It took many years to accept being blind.”

Through it all, his daughters kept asking him to make art. Finally, in 2000, Jim went back into the studio.

Heading the Call for Help

Legally blind, Jim sees the world through pin-pricks of vision. He told me that, when in front of me, he could see one of my eyes but to see my nose, he had to move his eyes to focus on that. Everything else was an empty void.

Obviously, his initial attempts back trying to make art were slow and frustrating. His initial attempts were rough, but he soon discovered that the more he created, the more he felt he could accomplish. “I kept working and relearning the craft, learning how to do my art without the eyesight an artist so desperately needs.”

With patience, he was able to remastered the skills he’d learned before the war and his injury.

Then this happened. From the backyard, one warm summer afternoon, he heard the pained cry for help from his six-year-old grandson. While practicing his casting, the line from the boy’s toy fishing pole had gotten stuck in a birds nest. As Jim stood in the backyard, hands full of tangled fishing line, he thought, “Yeah, right, the old blind guy’s gonna fix this.” But then a cloud moved over head and blocked the sun. Through his pin-pricks of vision, it created the illusion that the monofilament line was rippling in his hands.

“I couldn’t get that image out of head,” he recalled. “I kept thinking, how could I create something out of this material?”

Soon Jim began experimenting with monofilament, trying to recreate that sensation, but how? After much experimentation, he realized he had to lay out the fishing line on a grid. From there he started painting on the individual stands of monofilament which he then stacked in separate layers, one on top the other. Together the disparate layers filled in the missing notes and created a complete image.

With the aid of special lenses, Jim has been able to create art that not only communicates his inner vision but also, in a way, allows people to get a glimpse of the world through his eyes.

“I paint each layer with a slightly different shade, so that paint pulls your eye through,” he explained. “It takes about two month to paint one work of art because each layer has a complete painting on the monofilament.”

Jim has, in this work, brought us into his mind’s eye, which is decidedly not blind. “With these monofilament paintings, I’m literally painting one strand at a time, straight ahead. The abstract linear paintings, those portraits are hundreds of individual lines.”

Between the lines, there is nothing. Just like his vision, it is empty. “The way I paint reflects the way I see the world. I can see your eye. I can see that one strand. But for me there’s nothing on either side. I have to move my eyes to see where that is. When I look at one spot, it’s just empty.”

Jim’s work continues to evolve despite his physical challenges. His latest portraits are painted on a clear acrylic panel that he floats over an abstract painting on komatex panel. “The portrait is painted without shading,” he said. “The abstract painting creates all the shading in the portrait.”

What's Your Motto?

I could stop there, with Jim’s art and his incredible spirit, but I’m sure you already guessed that Jim has impacted lives beyond art. In 2015, he and his fellow creative veterans banded together to create the Veteran’s Arts Council (VAC) at VFW Post 1, in Denver. The program gives veterans a place to gather and create art and show their work. Jim insists on bringing vets into the mainstream with the Arts Council, as well, by holding first Friday openings and finding new venues to showcase the art of his fellow soldiers. The VAC even pulls in non-veteran artists to participate as well. And, naturally, Jim has been asked to help start VAC programs across the country.

For the opening of the PACE Center exhibit, we had a panel discussion, Bringing Light and Love to Mental Health. Scott Switzer and Jim Stevens were among the panelists who spoke openly and frankly about mental health and healing through art. Many artists from the show were in the audience and contributed to the conversation that emphasized the importance of talking about mental health as a way to lessen the stigma surrounding the topic.

One of my favorite moments in the conversation was when Jim explained his approach to working with veterans who are struggling to see a good way around their problems.

“I tell them to focus on one line for life,” he explained. By this he means, find your motto, keep it simple, reflect on it daily to stay focused. Don’t try to solve all your problems in a day; that simply won’t happen.

Upon hearing this, Scott said, “I think my motto is: I know there’s a god and it ain’t me.”

Amen to that.

Here’s Jim’s motto and mine.

“A man with a vision is never truly blind.” -Jim Stevens

“Ask for help; there is grace in vulnerability.” -Rose Fredrick

To learn more about Jim Stevens and how he creates, check out this video.

Thanks for reading! Please share your motto below.

Laying Down the Law

In the art world, a lot of business is done on a handshake. Take consigning art to a dealer. Often there’s no actual consignment contract, just the good ol’ handshake.

What could possibly go wrong?

OK, let’s be honest. If and when presented with a contract, how many of you give it more than the cursory skim before signing?

Well, guess what? It's Your Lucky Day! Read on for some...

I work with a collector who happens to be a corporate lawyer. He’s hired me to help him rationalize his sprawling collection of paintings and prints by historic Colorado artists, and sell off what no longer supports the newly defined parameters. Kind of fun, actually, figuring out what stays and why and what goes and how and where to sell the items that don’t complete the story.

After three decades in the biz, I walked into this gig feeling confident in my knowledge of sales and consignment.

In actuality, it turns out that I–along with most of my peers–could use a brushing up on our legal rights and how to protect ourselves.

And so, in the spirit of helping artists and collectors avoid a little pain and suffering, I present to you:

The Consignment Loophole

In the process of moving a rather important and expensive painting through a dealer, my client–the guy who writes contracts for a living–set me straight on the law.

In a nutshell:

1. You do indeed hold title when consigning work to a dealer, with or without a consignment contract.

2. A consignment agreement is an important instrument that lays out the terms of consignment and is enforceable by law…most of the time.

3. Bankruptcy trumps consignment agreement.

4. You can’t squeeze blood from a turnip.

A truly terrifying case study

Stuff happens. The gallery gets hit with a lot of expenses during a slow month so they use funds from sales to keep afloat. They have every intention of catching up next month. But then a natural disaster hits or a viral infection rips through the entire world (just like Stephen King predicted in The Stand…but I digress), and business grinds to a halt.

Or you get sucked into a Ponzi scheme of epic proportions.

Thank goodness, dear Consignor, you have a contract and are, after all, the owner of your art, right? All you gotta do is just drive on down to the gallery and get your work back.

Uh, yeah, good luck with that.

Possession is nine/tenths of the law

Do you recall the 2007 Salander-O’Reilly Gallery bankruptcy? Here’s the Reader’s Digest version of what happened to one collector who got caught in the middle.

Dr. Ronald Fuhrer, on behalf of the Kraken Foundation, consigned a painting, Sandro Botticelli’s Madonna and Child, to Salander-O’Reilly Gallery. Kraken was guaranteed a minimum payout of $8.5 million when the painting sold.
Unbeknownst to Kraken, Lawrence Salander was about to be hauled off to jail by the Feds “in the midst of accusations of unpaid debts and fraud, including numerous instances of diverting the proceeds of works sold by the gallery, and the facts which came to light and eventually resulted in a criminal conviction of Mr. Salander.”
Fuhrer, on behalf of the foundation, had signed a consignment contract with Salander BUT did not file a UCC-1 financing statement protecting their interest in the artwork. (More about this later.)
Under the Consignment Contract with Salander, Fuhrer requested the return of the painting once the consignment period expired, but Salander did not comply.
Fuhrer went to court to sue for the return of the painting owned by Kraken Foundation AND…
Lost!

Learning the Hard Way

WHY: Bankruptcy court trumps a consignment contract. Fuhrer was denied the return of the painting, because it was deemed part of the sale that would be used to pay off Salander’s creditors.

THE LESSON: Had Fuhrer submitted a UCC-1 financing statement, which would have told the world he had an interest in the personal property of the debtor–in this case, Salander–he would have been first in line to get the Madonna and Child back.

UPDATE: After seven years and $2 million in legal fees, Fuhrer finally got the Botticelli back. Here’s a link to that story in artnet News: click here.

We Don't Need No Stinking Badges

OK, so now you know: in Bankruptcy, the law works to make third parties whole. But, artists, there’s some good news for you. Recently, laws have been put in place, state-by-state, to protect artists. Check with your state. Here’s Colorado’s law: Article 15-Consignment of Works of Fine Art.

COLLECTORS…

Sorry, but you don’t get the same consideration as artists under the law. That’s why you should file a UCC-1 financing statement. You also really, really, really need to know and trust any dealers you’re working with and have a good contract for all consignments.

I’ll give you details about what to include in a good consignment agreement right after one more scary story.

(It is almost Halloween, after all.)

The law protects the third party

I recently heard of a situation where a collector of rare, hand-made shotguns consigned one of his guns to a reputable dealer. When the seller learned his shotgun had sold and contacted the dealer to be paid, the dealer said he was very sorry but he had fallen on hard times and couldn’t pay up. He said he would try his best to make the consignor whole but….

The owner of the shotgun then said, “OK, just give me back my shotgun.” To which, both dealer and buyer said, “Nope.”

The seller has no legal recourse here. A “bonafide” purchaser bought in “good faith.” Title was transferred to the new buyer. The dealer could be sued, yes, but now we’re talking legal fees and small claims court. The shotgun is gone; the money spent.

Good luck squeezing blood from that turnip.

Elements of a Good Consignment Contract

ARTISTS: Check your state’s laws to see what protections are in place already. Here’s that link to Colorado’s statute: Consignment of Fine Art.

Financials: terms of sale, terms of payment (how long before you get paid), sales percentage splits, length of contract.
Advertising and promotions: what’s the split of costs, if any, between artist and gallery/dealer. What kinds of promotions will the gallery do and what are the expectations on the artist?
Discounts: do you, the artist, allow discounts, and, if so, how much is allowed? Do you need to approve all discounts offered to clients by the dealer or will you allow them to decide up to a certain amount?
Insurance: at what point does the gallery take over insuring the art, and make sure it’s insured in transit, when, for example, the dealer sends things out on approval.
Exclusivity: what amount of territory does your dealer have exclusive rights over. What happens if work sells within that territory, say at a fundraising event in the same city as your gallery? Does the dealer want to restrict you from selling work out of your studio or will you need to give them a cut of the sale?
Framing: is the expectation that all work be framed or can some work come in unframed? If the gallery frames the work, what are the expectations of splitting the costs or the gallery recouping cost upon sale or return to artist?
Need a contract? Consider reaching out to Colorado Attorneys for the Arts (CAFTA), a pro bono legal referral service connecting artists, performers, cultural organizations and creative business to volunteer attorneys. CAFTA also offers educational presentations, webinars and resources. Click here: CAFTA

Additional thoughts for Collectors

COLLECTORS: File a UCC-1 financing statement, which is a legal notice filed by creditors in an effort to publicly declare their right to seize assets of debtors who default on loans. Here’s a link to the form: UCC-1.

Include elements above and add:

That you maintain a “purchase money security interest and first priority lien in and against the Artworks to secure the payment of the purchase price.”
Agree on purchase price or percentage of commission for the sale. Consider whether you want a specific amount–the dealer will then add to that price the amount he needs to make on the sale. Or you can agree on a percentage that the dealer will make regardless of the selling price.
Who pays taxes on the sale–the dealer should but I’ve seen contracts that indicate that the consignor is/may be responsible. Best to spell that out.
Shipping and handling–decide who pays and how the work will be handled when out of your control.
Expenses associated with the sale of the art. Sometimes with resales there are condition issues that have to be addressed with a conservator. Determine who pays for what and make sure you are notified of the issues and what needs to be done BEFORE the work is done. Reframing, condition reports, and appraisals are other cost that might crop up; think about how these should be handled and make sure you are notified before anything is done.

The Bottom Line

It doesn’t matter how airtight your contract is if you can’t trust the person with whom you’re doing business. So, do your homework and ask around before entering into any agreement.

And remember, the art world is very, very small.

To know about new blog posts, please subscribe to The Incurable Optimist (that’s me). And please feel free to share my blog with friends and on social media!

Downsizing: reimagining life as a Helen Frankenthaler painting

Living in a Helen Frankenthaler painting

I recently downsized from a house of more than 4,000 sq. ft. into a cozy 1,600 sq. ft. place. I am, by nature, utilitarian, and a minimalist, so this move was in many ways a return to a sort of balance I had once possessed. The idea of contracting my life back into a smaller living space felt like, essentially, moving out of a frenetic Jackson Pollock drip painting into a strong and intentionally spare Helen Frankenthaler. Or so I thought.To my chagrin, moving house clearly and painfully demonstrated that I was no Frankenthaler. In fact, when it came to clutter, I had surpassed Pollock.

In my defense, the slow slide from utilitarian toward hoarder took place over the last 20 years and two kids. And, fine, I’ll admit that I may have a little first edition book and art addiction, which I will get to…but I also may have a problem throwing away, well, anything—notecards, photos, holiday decorations, memorabilia, threadbare clothes, shoes. So much for minimalism.

Swedish Death Cleaning

When I first heard the term “Swedish Death Cleaning,” I must admit I was morbidly intrigued. According to the articles I read, the idea is to get rid of as much stuff as you can, so your loved ones don’t feel the burden of having to decide whether that cheese grater meant something to you or not. And it turns out there are lots of other benefits, namely that living with less clutter quiets the mind, helps one destress and realize a sense of calm. Seriously, there are great article and studies about this—here’s one from Psychology Today, if you’re interested.

Sparking Joy versus Avoiding Reality

Downsizing has been an exercise in patience. I’ve never read Marie Kondo’s books or seen her cable tv show, but people have filled me in on her philosophy, which I always thought was a bit silly. Until now.

I found, as I packed to move, that some things felt heavy in an oppressive sort of way, as if they required more from me than they should. Was I, I wondered, keeping things out of obligation? And yet, even as my rational brain said to let go, I just couldn’t ditch a single book, pencil, or spatula. The job of pairing down to move became so ponderous that I finally gave up and threw everything into boxes for the movers to schlep to my new place, thinking I could deal with it later.

The afternoon the movers dropped off the last box, I remember watching the sun sink low in the sky, and warm afternoon light bathing stacks of boxes and books piles everywhere. Instead of the feeling a sense of renewal, I felt exhausted and overwhelmed. Nothing sparked joy.

Call the Girls

For some reason, in the weeks after the move, I kind of shut down each time I tried to unpack. I couldn’t make a decision. I hadn’t even hung a single painting from my beloved art collection. What was wrong with me? I was literally walking around boxes and stacks of books trying to find my electric toothbrush, a can opener, and dish towels.

Finally, I did what any rational woman would: I located the martini shaker and called the girls. They came without question and adhered to my one request: be honest. Boy, were they. Suddenly, seeing my things through their eyes, I was able to detach—not from my art collection, of course—but everything else was on the chopping block, and chop we did.

After they left, I held a yard sale and whatever didn’t sell was hauled off to Goodwill. At last I could pull my car into the garage.

OK, full disclosure: I can park in the garage if I carefully pull in between a tower of boxes on one side and an antique desk on the other. (Don’t judge. I’d like to see you do it.)

So, yeah, I need to do more death cleaning, but I am getting closer to a Frankenthaler every day and it does feel good.

A Cup of Righteous Indignation, Anyone?

Despite the fact that I am still in the process of cleaning out the closets and taking stuff to Goodwill, I actually went to an estate sale that promised art, antiques, and rare books–truly, the only thing better would have been puppies.

I wasn’t actually going to buy anything. Just looking, you know, for a friend. OK, maybe I’d get something, but only if I saw a great piece of art that had been totally underpriced.

I pulled up and parked by the private tennis court, and followed the signs down a shady footpath toward the back of a sprawling ranch home. Very promising. But as I turned the corner of the house, I nearly crashed into a row of tables piled high with random mismatched household items—crock pot, coffee mugs, cheese graters, French press, utensils, and assorted tchotchkes.

I’ve come to realize over the years that my brain doesn’t work well amid clutter. I have a hard time focusing, so much so that I often turn and exit this kind of chaos. But as I stood there, all deer-in-the-headlights, the strangest thing caught my eye. Leaning against a stack of dented pots was a small, framed photo of a young girl in her First Communion dress and veil, hands pressed together, just below her chin, eyes focused on some distant light shining from above.

Geez! Who would toss a personal family photo on a pile of household crap? Didn’t a single relative claim it? Or at least have the courtesy of pretending to understand that the dearly departed kept that picture all these years because it had some sentimental value?

Of course, on the heels of this bit of condescension was a sucker punch of reality:

Was I so sure my own family knew or even cared about the things I’d collected all these years?

Driving away from that estate sale—yes, I did manage to make my way through the house, and, no, I didn’t buy a thing—I thought that someone really should have done some death cleaning.

And then, sucker punch number two:

Who the hell was I to judge?

Wow, my BS detector was set on high alert that day.

What haunts me

The lonely First Communion photo still kind of makes me sad; it should have been claimed. And it scares me because I doubt my own friends and family would understand much less try to suss out the value of any of this stuff that still surrounds me.

What I'm doing about it

In 2009, I had compiled a concise listing along with photographs of my art collection, which I then had appraised. It’s recommended to have your collection appraised every three to five years. Whoops.

In my line of work, I have been asked to do many appraisals, so taking care of my own documentation shouldn’t be an issue, right? (It’s true: the cobbler’s children have no shoes.)

I’m guessing one or two of my readers need to do this, along with a little Swedish death cleaning. So, here we go.

Over the years, I’ve developed a system that I’m going to share this with you so you can make sure you’re taking care of business, too. I keep track of my records online, in an Airtable. If you’re not familiar with Airtable, you really need to check it out. It’s a free, open source site that has tables for just about anything you can think of. It’s basically Excel on speed. Here’s a link to my art collection layout: Rose’s Art Collection Base.

Here's what you need to record

Artwork title. Don’t make this up—check the back of 2-D work or the underside of a sculpture. If no title exists, call it “untitled” or “title unknown” and give it a small description such as “portrait of young girl in communion dress tossed on table at estate sale.”
Size of the image and outer size of the frame, height by width. For sculpture, add depth. Note: art dimensions are always listed in this order–height by width; you confuse us when you reverse things.
Medium–oil, pastel, watercolor, bronze, etc. And, list the specifics of the substrate, if you know it, such as “oil on linen,” or “c-print mounted on card.” If you’re not sure, call an artist; they will know immediately what you’ve got.
Year the artwork was created. If you don’t know exactly, list the approximate date and toss the word “circa” after to denote that you’re pretty sure it was done close to this year.
What you paid. If you have the invoice and are uploading things in a spreadsheet, consider taking a scan or photo of your sales materials, and adding them to the digital file.
Where you got the artwork. This establishes a lovely trail that we in the biz thoroughly enjoy. It’s called “provenance.” Long after the artist has passed, the provenance really comes into play, establishing the importance of the work and, thereby, it’s value. If a work of art you own has been shown in a museum or major exhibition, make sure you keep record of that and leave the museum tag, if one was placed on the back of the work, exactly where it is. (As an aside if a museum wants to borrow something, for goodness sakes, say yes! This supports the artist and your collection.)
Frame on painting or base of sculpture. Add details such as 18k gold leaf water gilded or walnut base with name plate.
Glass or plexi, museum grade, UV, etc.
Note any dings or mars to the frame or artwork surface, as well as discoloration or creases to works on paper.
Note what dealers are selling the artists work. I like to add this for the family, so they know where to call if they decide to sell off things at some point. It’s much easier to work with dealers who are familiar with the artist and have a ready contact list of buyers. They will charge for the sales but in most cases it’s worth it.

Tips and Tricks for photographing art

You don’t need to take print worthy pictures for your records. In fact, I use my iPhone for recording my collection as well as when I’m working on an appraisal.

The main things you need photos of are the front and back of paintings, if sculptural, get pics from 3-4 angles, take a closeup of the signature, and if the frame is really special, get a couple closeups of corners or compo designs.

Here’s a favorite trick I’ve learned when taking pictures of paintings under glass: lay the work flat on the ground, close the blinds and shut off overhead lights, then shoot down. You may have to move your body a bit until you find the best spot with the least reflection–sometimes I stand on a chair–but the smart phone camera auto adjusts for low light.

Don’t forget to take a photo of the back of 2-D work, if there’s any writing or show and gallery stickers on the back. This helps established the provenance of the work.

Do You Need an Appraisal?

There are several reasons you might need or want to get an appraisal.

Replacement cost for insurance: the cost to replace a work of art if it is stolen or lost in a fire, for example. That cost is determined by looking at current market values, i.e. what it will cost to replace the work. It’s pretty straight forward. Your insurance company does cover things like your home and clothes and tv, but they generally don’t cover art unless you supply them with a clear list and an appraisal. Check with your agent.

Donation of art: most institutions won’t accept art donations without an appraisal, and the person making the donation will need the appraisal in order to get a tax write-off.

Division of property: lawyers may request these to accurately divvy up property in a divorce, for example.

Estate appraisal: required by the IRS, these appraisals must done by a certified appraiser.

What to look for in an appraiser and what to expect:

In many states, appraisers of art do not have to be licensed to do replacement valuations for insurance. They do, however, need to have substantial market knowledge, which is why you can often find gallerists and curators doing these kinds of appraisals. Check the laws of your state before selecting an appraiser for insurance valuations.
Look for an appraiser with specific knowledge in the work you need valued. Personally, I stick to a narrow scope, focusing on art I am already familiar with. I do not, for example, appraise rugs or jewelry; I refer that out to someone who works with those things.
The appraiser should not sell art for the client. This is a conflict of interest. If you want someone to sell your collection, you want an art adviser not an appraiser. The adviser should tell you the current market values, where they got those values, and give you an idea of what they think they can net for you. Sign a contract with the adviser before embarking on the sale of any art.
Appraisers will give you a letter of intent that explains how they work and how they charge–usually an hourly rate.
There are national and international associations that list appraisers. You can also ask a gallery you frequently work with or your insurance agent to refer you to an appraiser they use.

Feel free to reach out if you have any questions: Contact Rose.

Author: Rose Fredrick

Meet Nancee Jean Busse

Studio Mojo: the potential for power in your home studio

Issue: I don’t have a spare room for a studio.

Issue: I can use the spare bedroom, but it’s tiny!

Issue: I don’t feel the sense of privacy I need.

Issue: I have a studio, but it’s a cluttered mess.

Issue: Well crap, my studio is full of unsold paintings.

Issue: I can’t feel creative when I know how much I need to do around the house.

Issue: I get bummed when I go to my studio and can’t think of what to paint.

Issue: There are so many artists who are better than I am. Why would I need or deserve an art studio when I’m just mediocre?

Yes, my friends, you read that right...

Every child is an artist, the problem is staying an artist when you grow up. -Picasso

Just a Hobby?

The World needs creative minds

If we're all born creative, how do we lose it?

Both Sides of the Coin

Art Finds You

Practical ways to Inspire Creativity

Please share your experiences and best tips for fostering creativity in young minds.

A Container of Essence

A Place Where Art, Nature & Booze Collide

No Pansy-ass Power Tools Allowed

A Quixotic Journey

Cross Your Fingers

Transformative, Indeed

The Futility of Preservation

How Do You Hold a Moonbeam in Your Hand?

How I discovered I was an artist

Jumping In – and I Don’t Mean the Creek

That Was It

If I Could Turn Back Time

Lifting My Brush with Confidence

To see more of Carm Fogt’s work, please visit her website, https://www.carmfogt.net.

When Art Imitates Life

Alienation

Hidden in Plain Sight

Learning to See

Baggage Is Part of the Experience

The True Gift of Art

Freeing the Artist Within

What’s Scarier Than Naked Women?

Two Roads Diverge

How to Offend a Curator

Crossing the Line

The Bane of Artists Everywhere

Why Auction Results Matter

The Sell-side: Auction vs. Gallery

Risk and Reward

Fickle Fashion of the Art Market

Blurring the Boundaries: Guarantees and Private Treaty Sales

Fun and Games: Buying at Auction

The Bottom Line

For more information about buying and selling at galleries, check out these blogs.

I have a theory

The Psychology of Change

Hoping to Sprout Wings

A Little Fear Goes A Long Way

Embrace Change Like an Artist: PART TWO

A Man with a Vision is Never Truly Blind

Heading the Call for Help

What's Your Motto?

To learn more about Jim Stevens and how he creates, check out this video.

Thanks for reading! Please share your motto below.

Well, guess what? It's Your Lucky Day! Read on for some...

The Consignment Loophole

A truly terrifying case study

Possession is nine/tenths of the law

Learning the Hard Way

We Don't Need No Stinking Badges

The law protects the third party

Elements of a Good Consignment Contract

Additional thoughts for Collectors

The Bottom Line

To know about new blog posts, please subscribe to The Incurable Optimist (that’s me). And please feel free to share my blog with friends and on social media!

Living in a Helen Frankenthaler painting

Swedish Death Cleaning

Sparking Joy versus Avoiding Reality

Call the Girls

A Cup of Righteous Indignation, Anyone?