How to Protect Art: Illuminating Thoughts on Lighting

How to Protect Your Art from Light Damage

Have you ever wandered into a gallery, stood a little too long in front of a painting only to be whisked into the “private gallery” where you were offered a comfy seat and an adult beverage?

Soon the painting you were admiring is brought in and set on a rail against a white wall. Then the show begins.

Your sales person stands behind you, fingertips resting on a dimmer switch, which is being slowly–oh so slowly–lowered until only the faintest light remains. As your eyes adjust, you feel the pull of some otherworldly spiritual glow emanating from within the painting.

You hold your breath. What’s happening? Is the painting…ALIVE?!

Eh, well, actually, the warm hued colors the artist glazed in areas–that’s alive. Alive-ish. OK, not alive, just reflecting the soft, warm light of the dimming bulbs.

Sorry, did I ruin it for you?

Honestly, good on you if you believe it’s alive; you’re not jaded. In fact, go ahead and skip down to the lighting tips and tricks part. Or skip all of this and just install dimmer switches because, whether you own art or not, dimmer switches are magic. Basically, fairy dust. Everything looks better under the influence of a good working dimmer switch. Especially crow’s feet. Just saying.

Sunlight : an obsession

Since the beginning of time, artist studios have been designed around steady north-facing cave entrances and, later, windows in order to harness the most constant natural light source. (OK, don’t quote me on the cave thing. I mean, it makes sense and all but, by most accounts, our earliest ancestors were busy trying not to get eaten by dinosaurs and so didn’t make gallery shows a priority. Weird, I know.)

And, it’s not only artists who obsess over lighting. We curators can spend days, sometimes weeks, adjusting and tweaking fixtures and bulbs to achieve the best possible look and feel for a show.

But as important as light is to the creation and enjoyment of art, it can also physically damage and destroy the objects we love. So, to help you all properly light, protect, and preserve your collections, I gathered the experts and came up with the following tips, tricks, and strategies to not only show off your art but keep it intact for years to come.

Notes from the insiders: TIPS AND TRICKS

Gallerist, Linda Cook, of David Cook Galleries in Denver, works with historic art and textiles. I asked Linda what she most frequently sees as the biggest lighting issues in collectors’ homes.

“The main thing I see are ceiling fixtures mounted too close to the walls,” she said. “When you do that, the light casts a shadow on the art usually from the frame. In a space that has a nine-foot ceiling, I typically suggest having the fixtures three feet from the wall. If you are limited by the width of the ceiling, place fixtures to the side so you can angle the lights at the art.”

When it comes to fixtures, Linda suggests finding the least obtrusive ones with dimmer switches. She also suggests over-doing the lighting. “I have yet to see any house with too much lighting for art. It’s easier to remove bulbs or use lower wattage bulbs than try to add more fixtures after the fact. And having more options will allow you to overlay the light.”

Overlaying light is key to bringing out the nuances of any work of art, but as Linda suggests, it requires more fixtures. The idea is to spotlight or pop an aspect of a painting and then add a flood light or two to illuminate the entire work. “The goal,” she said, “is to light the art so it appears to float on the wall.”

Creating the day you want

You may not be able to get that idiot in the ’74 Pinto doing 45 mph in the left lane of the interstate to move out of your ever-loving way, but you can create the perfectly lit day you want to live under. I know, sounds like some TwilightZone malarky, but it’s true.

Today’s LED lights come in an overwhelming spectrum of colors, tones, and intensities and are the key to brightening your mood and making your art look incredible. To figure out what bulbs are best, I checked in with landscape artist Len Chmiel. Len is renowned for translating his small on-the-spot paintings created outdoors, in natural light, into gorgeous, poetically subtle statements on a grand scale in the studio.

I’ve been to Len’s studio a few times and always loved the huge north-facing window; the light was warm and calming. Recalling the light in Len’s studio, got me wondering if the light a picture was created by–whether outside or in the studio–makes a difference when determining the best lighting in a collector’s home. And, if so, what kind of lights should the collector consider for the optimal effect?

“I believe paintings do show better in natural light,” Len said, but added that, even though he has a huge north light window in his studio, these days he paints under artificial lights.

“I’ve covered the window up in favor of 5,000-degree kelvin florescent lights and one 4500-degree LED flood light,” he said.

Wait—what? Florescent lights in an artist’s studio? Blasphemy!!

“Natural light varies throughout the day and makes the painting look different with each variation,” Len told me. “In the days before artificial light, north light was the most reliably consistent. Not anymore. Took me years of thinking about that—this is the fourth iteration of my studio lighting and the most successful once I realized I needed to cover the north light window.”

OK, fine, I get: artists can now create the exact replication of the sun they need to work day or night. Essentially, they can make their own highway with not one single solitary poky Pinto to slow them down.

But, if that’s the case, what’s the key to buying the right bulbs for showing off your art?

“With artificial lights, a CRI (color rendering index) in the high nineties is very important,” Len said. “Very high quality (and expensive) LEDs are best, after that high quality fluorescents that are—you guessed it—expensive. Whatever degree kelvin you pick, the higher the temperature and CRI the better. Fiber optic lighting is the very best but that’s still not generally available and it’s pricey, last I checked.”

For more about Len, check out his book, An Authentic Nature, that I published for him in 2011.

Sun damage prevention

It’s true: the sun is hard on your skin but even harder on works of art. The mediums that tend to suffer the most from sun damage are works on paper—prints, photographs, and watercolors—while oils, acrylics on canvas, and pastels hold up much better to natural light.

According to master printmaker, Leon Loughridge, dyes used in older works are the most susceptible to rapid fading. “Japanese prints pre-1867 were printed with organic dyes,” he explained, “and should never be hung in bright light or under fluorescent lighting.”

By the 1890’s, printmakers had switched over to pigment-based inks and most contemporary prints are light stable because of better quality pigments, but Leon warns collectors that there are products in use that are not lightfast. “When in doubt, the safest thing to do is hang color prints in low light under UV glazing.”

As an aside, another thing to consider when buying works on paper is what kind of paper was used in the process. Wood pulp-based paper will yellow over time as the wood naturally deteriorates. Cotton fiber paper is much more stable and can withstand fluctuations in temperature and humidity. I’ll return to prints in a future blog; it’s one of my favorite art forms to collect. To learn more about Leon, check out this video.

And then there are photographs

“Photos and watercolors,” said Denver Art Museum curator of photography, Eric Paddock, “are susceptible to fading and color shifting when they get too much light. They never recover from that.”

In museums lighting specs are more restrictive than most people want at home, mainly because houses have windows and museum galleries don’t.

“As a general rule,“ Eric said, “19th century photographs and color work require lower light levels than black and white pictures. We aim for three to five foot-candles for 19th century prints and 20th century photos on printing-out paper, such as those by Eugene Atget or Linda Connor.”

For color prints, Eric said, they get between five to eight foot-candles. “We’ll go a bit higher—up to nine, rarely 10—for black and white prints, provided they are in good condition and don’t exhibit any staining or oxidation. Cyanotype and color Polaroids of all types get only three foot-candles, and we don’t exhibit them for more than six to eight weeks before we rotate them out and replace them with other artworks.”

Hanging Out Under the Sun

Basically, Leon said, sunlight whether direct or indirect is never a good thing for any works on paper not only because of fading but because light will heat the interior of the frame environment, creating issues that are not healthy for paper.

“Natural light,” echoed Linda, “is the most damaging to art, especially watercolors and aniline dyed textiles. Collectors should protect their art with UV or Museum glass or Museum Plexi.” And she noted, “if your home has a lot of solar gain, consider adding UV protective film on all windows.”

Whether you simply want to enjoy art on your wall or are seriously collecting as an investment, Eric advises that you take care with the lighting and display. “One good way to do that,” he suggested, “is to collect more pictures than you can have on display at one time and change them seasonally or as the mood strikes. It can be nice, for example, to see landscape pictures that are spacious and full of light during the darkness of wintertime. The other thing is that we don’t really look at our art every day; it fades into the background eventually. That’s a good time to switch things out to get a fresh view of things.”

Lighting Dos and Don'ts

If collecting more art isn’t possible, here are some tips that will help you care for the work you have (while you figure out how to buy more art, obviously):

Avoid direct sunlight
Avoid bright indirect light from windows
Keep away from sources of heat and humidity
The kitchen’s a lousy place for photographs
So is the bathroom
Rotate art seasonally
Use UV absorbing acrylic instead of glass. It works because it contains a dye that fades over time, so it’s a good idea to replace the acrylic every two years. Or splurge and get Optium acrylic, which stays effective longer and eliminates glare/reflections.

For photographs and other work under glass, Eric also suggests:

Mat the photos in 4-ply (or thicker) museum board. Avoid “buffered” mat board, which can damage albumen, POP, color, and cyanotype prints. Use something like Coroplast for backing, not cardboard.
Storage: if a collector has enough photos to allow for rotations, it’s best to store photos in a cool, dry, and very dark place when they aren’t on display. Store the prints in their mats, in an acid-free storage box, with neutral interleaving paper inside the mat to protect the print from abrasion. Stand empty frames on a shelf or hang them on shelf brackets when not in use. If the sizes of the mats and frames are consistent—or at least not all over the place—you can rotate pictures into the same frames.

Handy charts for choosing the right bulbs

Bottom line: Buy more art, people! It's the best way to protect your investment.

In Memoriam: Bob Ragland, My Favorite Non-Starving Artist

Bob Ragland was one of the first artists I met when I moved to Denver in the early 90s. I had just started working for Carol Siple, in her gallery on Market and 17th, and was spending every free moment trying to learn about the artists she carried–Daniel Sprick, Dean Mitchel, Mark English, Joellyn Duesberry, Michael Bergt, and, oh my god, just so many others. It felt like I was cramming for an exam on a class I’d skipped until the night before the final.

So, when this crazy guy walked in wearing a dark green vest and a large, obviously handmade pin that read “NON-STARVING ARTIST,” I saw him as a distraction I really didn’t have time for at that moment. And, truth be told, he was kind of pushy with all the questions about marketing and press releases and postcards….

But I quickly got the feeling he was genuine, that he truly wanted to help me succeed–that he wanted the gallery to succeed. Before I knew it, I was involved in an energetic conversation that got my mind swimming with ideas.

Over the years, I came to enjoy Bob’s calls, letters, and enthusiastic messages of encouragement.

The thing is, Bob was like that for everyone. He had a big heart and lots of ideas, free for anyone willing to listen.

Sometime over the weekend of April 10, maybe even the 9th, Bob Ragland shuffled off this mortal coil. I think he might have appreciated that way of putting it, his death, because, if anything, he would have made a great character in one of Shakespeare’s plays, the eccentric who went out into the world each day heralding the news that art and artists mattered.

The last time I heard from Bob, he’d messaged me to ask how the Coors Show went. He never missed the show and always tracked me down or called me to gather intel on the market. I missed Bob this year; we were totally online because of Covid, so, right on time…

I got the following message:

Letters from Bob

I’ve talked to many artists about something called the “imposter syndrome,” where you feel like a total fraud and question yourself, question your ability, question your why. I am among those who often fight this feeling. Hearing from Bob, an artist who’d met me at the very start of my career as a curator, always bolstered my spirits, more than I ever told him.

Before the ubiquitous internet and Facebook and texting, Bob sent snail mail filled with his ideas for artists. He practiced the basic tenets that he preached. And, of course, you always knew it was a letter from Bob before you even opened it.

Bob used any paper around him to write letters, which he generously decorated with pictures and words accented with brilliant crayon colors. This letter from January 2017 was written on a copy of an article by Rodney Ripps. I like the following line and think it was something Bob believed deeply:

“Who you are as an artist rubs off on your work; I would always prefer to do art that welcomes life rather than resists it.”

QUESTIONS FOR ARTISTS by Bob Ragland

January 2009, I received a thick envelope with, among numerous photocopies and his letter, a list of questions to ask artists. Here’s an excerpt.

Why do you do the work that you do?
What is your workday like?
How do you schedule art making around your regular daily chores?
Who’s your best support?
What books and magazines do you read?
What do you do to get over creative blocks, if you have them?
How do you handle rejection?
Are you able to save any money from your art sales?
Do you go to other artists exhibitions?
What is one of your best art stories?
Have you ever had a patron or sponsor
How are your business skills as an artist?

And, of course, always remember that Real Artists:

Do outreach by some USPS.

They PR Shows and Events they are in.

They do it ALL YEAR-EVERY YEAR.

Goodbye, my friend. We lost a great champion in you.

Bob Ragland, 1938-2021

David Griffin: The Artist-Curator Relationship

Over the years, curating the Coors Show and other exhibitions, my sense of this job has evolved in many ways except one: A curator is not an art director.

In other words, I do not tell artists what or how to create. If I wanted to make art, I would. But I don’t because it’s flippin’ hard to do.

I do like Hans-Ulrich Obrist’s notion of a modern curator, though:

“I see a curator as a catalyst, generator and motivator — a sparring partner, accompanying the artist while they build a show, and a bridge builder, creating a bridge to the public.”

Meet David Griffin, 2022 Coors Show Featured Artist

Because so many people ask about my job–often believing it’s one long series of cocktail parties punctuated by studio visits where we talk art theory and drink cocktails until the wee hours (not far from the truth, actually)–I thought I’d share a conversation not unlike others I often have with artists. This call with David Griffin was to discuss what he was planning for the next Coors Show.

My first concern was making sure he wasn’t trying to “psych-out” our audience. i.e., creating paintings he thought people would like vs. painting that were authentically of his “voice.”

To which David replied:

“Over thinking this thing is exactly where I was headed. Complicating it, adding all these underlying meanings, which I don’t even know the answer to so how could I expect someone else to know the answer? I have to continue to remind myself–because this is like the Super Bowl to me–I have to treat it like it’s just another game.”

I knew it. Once I assuaged David’s pre-game jitters, we began talking about his journey from illustrator to fine artist.

ROSE: When you started with the show, you were painting cowboys. And you had been an illustrator. But your work has evolved so much; I haven’t seen you paint a cowboy in five, six years.

DAVID: Something happened. Maybe it was a step at a time but there was–I’m going to use the word liberty–maybe it was permission, but liberty to do what I wanted to do not what I thought people expect me to do. You were encouraging for all of us to do what we feel. And that started a whole other conversation of digging deeper into why I was doing what I was doing in the first place. If I was going to understand how to talk to people, I needed to understand what was going on in my head about these paintings.

R: How did you do that?

D: Well, I don’t know. That’s what’s been amazing about this journey. I felt like these newest paintings just happened. And it’s not that easy, you don’t see the struggle. You don’t see the battle, the blood, and sweat. But, I think, I connected to creation, to nature, in a way that I was already probably connected and just didn’t know it.

I was listening to an interview with Andrew Wyeth the other day. He was talking about why he did what he did, the impetus of his work, and he said, a lot of it comes from memory. So, that kind of affirmed what I was already thinking.

Now, I wouldn’t have taken a risk if I hadn’t already felt comfortable bringing it in the show. I could step out of something that was comfortable and into something that was maybe a little uncomfortable and think, well, I know Rose is going to tell me what she thinks and that’s what I really wanted to know.

R: When you made the switch from illustration, I think that had to be a conscious decision, right? Tell me about that because when you first started with the show, you were painting “fine illustration.” And now you have completely switched. But it was gradual.

D: I agree. When illustrators switch to fine art it is a real departure financially because you would get a job from Sports Illustrated and get ten-grand for a cover, five-grand minimum.

All of the sudden, you go to a gallery and start asking ten-grand for a painting right off the bat and collectors are thinking, wait a minute, I don’t know who you are.

My transition was a little less dramatic than that. I’d been to Europe and I’d started to paint some things, figuratives, and Tony Altermann came into my studio and said, ‘you know I can sell these paintings.’

So, he took three or four and sold them. That helped me make up my mind because I was trying to support my family at the time. My break was pretty clean. One day I was doing illustration, the next I was painting. It was that cut-and-dried.

I think the fact was, this was what I wanted to do all along. I got tired of being somebody’s hands. Deadlines and working all night. An art director would just send me a script and I’d have to turn it out. It’s a factory. I wanted more time to spend on painting.

R: And then Tony Altermann walked into your studio and gave you the opportunity to do your own thing–

D: Well, I did a lot of portraits for them, things I didn’t really care to do but it was a way to make a living. I stayed with him for a long time then one day he called and said, “you need to do something new. You can come and get these paintings.”

R: Wait, what happened?

D: I can’t remember, there was a financial turn down, I think, but there were times when the relationship was a little testy before that. Anyway, I walked down the alley to the gallery and got my paintings and didn’t talk to him again for a long time. That was a “rip the band-aid off” moment; I didn’t have anyone who was representing me then.

I was really in the salt mines. Then I got connected with Bill Bufford. He was bigger than life, he told you what to say and what to do. I’d pull up to the gallery and he’d be talking loud enough so you could hear him in the parking lot.

But, all those moments when I thought I was wandering in the desert, three kids at home, and then something would happen. Like getting a call from you about the Coors Show. I was in shock. I look back on landmarks and that was a huge landmark. I had given up illustration long before, of course, but that was a step that put me on a different path because, always before, gallery people had told me what to do.

R: That’s what I’m wondering about because, essentially, you traded an illustration rep for a different kind of illustration rep–the gallerist who dictated what you were to paint, right?

D: Yeah. I remember going to lunch with Tony, and he’d get a napkin on the table from where we were having lunch. I never had to ask him what he wanted me to do. Basically, it was: ‘Here’s the script and I’m going to give you the outline, metaphorically, David, and I’m going to tell you what to do.’ Bill wasn’t quite that dramatic about it but he’d still say, ‘David, you need to do more of this, this is what we can sell, and I don’t want to surprise my clients and spend a lot of time explaining what you’re doing.’

So, you’re right. I was a private, showing up, saluting, doing the paintings. When you came along, I kind of wanted you to tell me what to do.

R: Usually the first thing I tell artists when they come to the show is that I hired you to do what you do. I don’t paint for a very specific reason. I won’t tell you what to paint but I will tell you what I don’t think we can sell. But other than that, I’m never going to tell you what to do.

D: That was part of our first conversation and it was a little disconcerting from the standpoint of, “you mean I’ve got to come up with the ideas? You’re not going to tell me what to do?” I may have, in fact, asked you on more than one occasion, will this be OK? Because I was so uncomfortable. I’d been living in my head with something that I’d always been told: This is what you have to do to be successful. And then I find out, no, that’s not true. There’s another way to do this and a better way, a much more liberating way, creatively inspiring way to do this.

Not having anyone directing me, telling me what to do–believe it or not, Rose, that’s hard.

I look back on that now, and it was kind of a crutch and one of those things that was holding me back. I would take paintings to the gallery and they would say, “yeah, this one is working but take these back and give us more of these.” I was in the marketplace and selling but without complete freedom.

To be honest with you, when you’re given the freedom to do your own thing, it exposes your weaknesses. I could draw, I could paint, I knew color, but now I had to come up with my own ideas, and had to ask myself if I was up for the task. So, it did expose weaknesses. But they needed to be exposed. I needed to look at my weaknesses and my failures if I was going to do anything.

R: Freedom is, to an extent, scary. But if you trade one set of handcuffs–the art director for the overbearing art dealer telling you what to paint–what kind of life is that?

D: But you’re not growing. Think of all the people who had to have this conversation with themselves and their families about walking away from steady revenue. And I don’t regret Bufford or those guys telling me what to do; that was part of my training. But some of these artists painting western illustrations now have collectors calling and saying, ‘What are you working on?’ and ‘You better sell it so we don’t lose money on our investment.’ It’s hard enough coming up with the ideas and painting without having that pressure.

R: We were talking about that transition in your work, and I was saying on the phone to you, I think this work was a leap even from last year’s work. How did you make this leap?

D: I started to depend on a different part of me for the creative making. This year was the first time it was 100% me, not being influenced, either way, good or bad, by someone else. I think it had something to do with me having more confidence in my own intuition. I wanted the paintings to leave the studio because I was happy with them on my own terms, not because I thought somebody was going to like them.

R: How scary is it to create work that’s 100% you?

D: In my own experience, it’s real scary. But you’ve nurtured the ground I’m going into to the point where I’m able to grow my own voice. I hear that a lot, but I do think there is something to the point where you say, “this is what I like hearing coming out of my own voice,” metaphorically, and to have people respond. But it is scary because you just don’t know. We all want people to like us. The extension of that is, if people like my work, they like me. That’s dangerous and that’s scary because you’ve exposed yourself even more.

I’m sure artists have told you, at the Coors Show, “I feel like I’m standing there without any clothes on and I’m trying to tell you what’s important to me. And if you don’t like that, is it because you don’t like me?” That’s a bad way to put value on things. But risk and reward. The reward is bigger.

R: You were talking about deeper meaning, especially in landscape–

D: I’ve been reading the philosopher, Roger Scruton, and his conversations about how we live with beauty in the world we live in today, how we live with beautiful writing, beautiful film, beautiful paintings, and that in itself is how you describe beauty.

And I’d read Andrew Wyeth and Makoto Fujimura who talk about the theology of making and beauty. I would equate some of that to my thinking deeper about a painting. Now I sit and look at a painting longer, and wonder what does this say to me or do I need to start over? But it all comes back to: what’s beautiful and can I use that as a threshold?

R: Several years ago, a PhD candidate in music reached out to you saying she would like to compose music for your painting, “Weathered Moon,” and would it be OK if she did so. You sent her the painting, and when she’d finished her thesis, she returned the painting along with a recording of the music created and composed for quartet (oboe, cello, bass, and violin). Tell me about that experience.

D: That was the first time I thought there was more to my paintings, that someone would get more out of my paintings, something more than a visual experience. Her thesis, it’s all these sounds you might hear when you’re out painting plein air, little discordant sounds that might be bugs over here, or the wind blowing through trees. And there’s a melody to it that was hard to find at first.

She was drawing sound out of a two dimensional painting. That was when I started focusing on landscape paintings.

R: We all worry about what others will think about our work. But, if we stop worrying and just let the work go out in the world, someone might just come along and create a symphony around it.

D: Yes. And, the collaborative effect is amazing. I do like collaboration. I think there is a value in that. You’re adding to the beauty; it’s a more beautiful orchestra.

R: Speaking of collaboration, after all these years moving from illustrator to another kind of illustrator but for galleries, to creating work for the Coors Show, do you still consider this stage a collaboration?

D: I would call it a collaboration. You have created an atmosphere that an artist can walk in and be part of. You’ve got people who love art. You’ve got people who are certainly well educated, they are well read, they understand what beauty is, they understand the value of that. And you have this show where you afford people the space to have conversations. I think every bit of it is collaborative.

You know, every year I walk around the show and tell my wife, “She painted the wall just for me. My paintings went on that wall perfectly. I know she did that just for me. I’m the only one she’s done this for, I’m sure of it.” Then I go walking around and see you’ve done this for everybody.

I’ve heard you talk about the joy of uncrating the paintings, taking them out, putting them on the wall, figuring how they go together, how they look when you come in or go out of the gallery, what the color is, the spacing, getting the lights all perfect. I don’t know what a job description of a curator is but I can’t imagine it’s more than what you do.

So the collaboration–you give me confidence because you’re confident and because as you describe, you’re an eternal optimist. People gravitate to who they want to be around. So, I do think the collaboration goes beyond that night.

R: On a personal note, with your Coors Show paintings this year, you tapped into a memory of mine, unwittingly. It was that painting, Thunderstruck. From the moment I saw it, my mind drifted back in time to my childhood, watching a storm roll in, feeling the air change and become charged with electricity, and that scent of petrichor.

D: Memories are strong. They might be the biggest impetus for a painting. I’m not going to dismiss those memories in my work. I’m going to hone in and make that the foundation. You’ve just given me more than you think you have. One day I’m really going to be able to tell you how grateful I am for all of this. You have single handedly been the most important part of my painting life.

R: I hope you know you make me look pretty darn good.

D: We’re gonna keep talking. But right now., I’m going out to take a walk and digest all this.

Recorded Zoom interview with the 2022 Coors Show Featured Artist, David Griffin, on February 9, 2021, has been edited it for clarity and brevity.

If you are interested in delving deeper, here’s a talk with Makoto Fujimura, on art and faith. Recorded on January 11, 2021, he talks about dealing with trauma and tragedy, and the connection to healing fractures through art.

Rose’s Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Raisin Cookies

1 cup butter, softened
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1 1/2 cups flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp salt
3 cups quick rolled oats
1 cup raisins
1 bag high quality milk chocolate chips

Heat oven 350 degrees.

Beat the bejeez out of the butter and sugars until nice and creamy.

Drop in the eggs (sans shells), vanilla, baking soda, and salt and continue beating.

Slowly add flour–don’t over mix it–then add the oats.

Gently stir in raisins and chocolate chips.

Drop dough onto ungreased cookie sheet.

Bake 10-12 minutes, depending on size of cookie. Cool on wire rack and store in airtight container.

Tips from an Irresponsible Baker

Tip 1: I always undercook these because: 1. I have an iron-clad stomach; 2. I am a risk-taker, of course; and. 3. I prefer soft, melty cookies that don’t fall apart.

Tip 2: Store them in the freezer because who doesn’t love visiting their dentist? Mine has a field day fixing my cracked teeth. (Kidding, he doesn’t outwardly show glee over my teeth so I’m not really sure that’s a thing.)

Tip 3: Because I lied about having an iron-clad stomach, and can NOT deal with gluten, I substitute gluten-free rice flour, 1-to-1, for regular flour.

Tip 4: Do you have picky eaters who don’t like raisins? Add more raisins…more cookies for you. You’re welcome.

Who Gets to Tell the Story: The Ethics of Art

In the age of “fake news” and “alternative facts,” more and more, I find myself contemplating the notion, who gets to tell the story. Because, whether we’re talking literature, painting, sculpture, photography, or any other form of art, the artist is telling a story; he or she is recording that moment in time and communicating a version of events. And I don’t mean documenting. I mean, the finished work shares some inner truth of the artist’s life, if it’s truly art.

I recently ran across The New Yorker staff writer, Louis Menand‘s 2018 article, “Literary Hoaxes and the Ethics of Authorship,” and was struck by how much of what he was discussing had parallels in the art world. In particular, his suggestion that there is an “autobiographical pact” between writer and reader. He explained:

“This is the tacit understanding that the person whose name is on the cover is identical to the narrator, the “I,” of the text. [I]f the name on the cover seriously misleads us about the identity of the author, we can feel we have been taken in.”

Interestingly, Menand went on to say that “the distinction between fact and fiction, although it may appear fundamental, is a fairly recent development in the history of writing, only two or three centuries old. Along with that distinction came the practice of putting the author’s name on a book, and along with both of those came the ideology of authenticity—the belief that literary expression must be genuine and original.”

When it comes to breaking the “pact,” James Frey‘s 2003 book, “A Million Little Pieces,” popped into my to mind immediately. Released as a memoir about recovering from alcohol and drug addiction, it was later revealed that parts were fabricated.

People, Oprah was pissed! She had included him in her book club!! She loved his publication…until she learned she’d been duped. Yikes! Frey soon felt the wrath of Oprah. She publicly shamed him on her show for betraying her. She has since apologized to him, but, honestly, there’s a lot of gray area here; I’m not really sure whose side I’m on. (Not that anyone is asking.)

“A Million Little Pieces” was made into a movie by director Sam Taylor-Jackson who said that the controversy “didn’t affect my experience of the book. I enjoyed the creative spirit in which he wrote it.”

(For Frey’s side of the story, check out the video short posted here and let me know what you think about his take on it.)

But I digress.

Drawing the Authenticity line: Cultural Appropriation

OK, so, Frey exaggerated a bit. Maybe a lot. But he was still writing a story that was his, for the most part: white guy with substance abuse issues who did some jail time then straightened out his shit.

What he didn’t do was appropriate another culture for dramatic effect or to sell books. Menand mentions several famous literary hoaxers, including Cyril Henry Hoskin, a British plumber, who wrote “The Third Eye,” which was published as the autobiography of a Tibetan monk named Lobsang Rampa. And, of course, Asa Carter, the former KKK member and speechwriter for George Wallace who, using the pseudonym Forrest Carter, wrote “The Education of Little Tree,” a memoir of a young Cherokee orphan. Not only was that book a best seller and praised by critics, but it was sold in reservation gift stores and taught at high schools and colleges.

Pretendians

I first heard the word “Prentendians”–people so enamored with Native American culture they claim it as their own–from a Native American woman with whom I was discussing a sticky situation I’d gotten into when curating an exhibition of contemporary works by Indigenous artists. In my enthusiasm to create a show I’d been contemplating for years, I neglected to thoroughly vet each artist and, inadvertently, invited a “Pretendian.”

Yes, I’m only human. Everyone makes mistakes, but this one really shook me deeply. I had an Oprah moment: I felt betrayed. Duped. I was angry and embarrassed, but even worse, my lack of awareness betrayed the authentic artists I had set out to honor.

Why are we so eager to accept fakers?

Looking back, I realize I never questioned the “Pretendian” artist’s heritage. I loved the work, believed what I’d read, and called it good.

Menand suggests the reason we readily believe fake claims of cultural identity might be that “Intercultural hoaxes are aimed at [people] who are curious about worlds they have little contact with, and who are therefore easily duped.”

Guilty as charged. Lesson learned. I won’t let it happen again.

Identity Theft: reducing culture to a cliche

There is yet another kind of appropriation that happens all the time in the Western art genre: white artists whose oeuvre is depicting romanticized images of Indigenous people.

In Western art, this type of cultural appropriation has been widely accepted. It is, I believe, the reason representational art of the western states has long been marginalized in the eyes of the art world.

Dakota Hoska, assistant curator of Native American Art at the Denver Art Museum, has been a gentle but firm voice on the topic of cultural appropriation of this kind. She is quick to say she doesn’t speak for all Indigenous people, but she personally finds it to be a kind of identity theft.

“It’s reductive,” she said. “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, worse still, she went on to say, “Romanticized art has the effect of flattening the Native American experience. By romanticizing Indigenous past, we forget about the Indigenous people who lived in each moment in time. This romanticizes an image of an idealized Native person and discounts or devalues the real Indigenous experience at every moment in time.”

"Writing is a weak medium. It has to rely on readers bringing a lot of preconceptions to the encounter, which is why it is so easily exploited."

In the above quote, Menand is referring to literary hoaxes, but art, in many ways, relies on patrons bringing their imaginations to the table, as well.

I’m not saying nostalgic depictions of Native life (that are not even close to how Indigenous people live today) are hoaxes. Well, not exactly. What I am saying is that they do a disservice to Indigenous people by whitewashing a horrific era in our country’s history.

Hoska suggests that perhaps artists who create images of Native people in romanticized scenes are actually searching for meaning in their own life; they want to find connection and think it can be found in an idealized remaking of the past.

But, at the end of the day, it’s still taking someone else’s identity, and, in the process, marginalizing their story. “These artists don’t understand our culture. And, they can’t help but interpret it through their own experience,” she said, and added, “Why don’t they paint what life was like for white people back then? Really, I would like to know why they don’t do that.”

In a video short I’ve included here, Hoska talks with Donna Chrisjohn, co-chair of the Denver American Indian Commission, to share the lens through which many Native American thinkers view Fredric Remington’s stereotypical portrayals of Native people that, as Chrisjohn puts it, “leaves us frozen in time and largely contributes to our invisibility today.”

Sharing responsibility, affecting change

Hoska does see contemporary Indigenous artists making headway, receiving more critical reviews and representation in the market and in museums. “Maybe at one time we needed help telling our story, but now we don’t need Edward Curtis,” she said. “It’s really important that we tell our own story now.”

In her curatorial work, Hoska looks for parody as a way to bring non-Native people into the conversation and facilitate an integrated understanding history and culture with art exhibitions that elucidate through authentic, contemporary images of Indigenous people.

In my work as curator for the Coors Show, I believe it is 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.

As for artists, I agree with Hoska when she expressed her belief that their role in society is to seek truth and, as they do so, to continually reflect on the question, “Why do I need to do this work?”

And, more importantly, to ask themselves: Am I making the world a better place?

For more conversations on this topic, check out blog interviews with Sonya Kelliher-Combs, Norman Akers, Jaune Quick-to-See Smith, Linley Logan, Anna Hoover, Steven Yazzie, Cara Romero, Deigo Romero, Joe Feddersen, Corky Clairmont, andNeal Ambrose Smith.

How Personal is Your Collection?

I think some people are born collectors. As Gertrude Stein put it, “You can either buy clothes or buy pictures.”

Amen to that.

For me, it all started with a Ron Hicks painting I saw in his studio. This was some 25 years ago. I think I paid a whopping $500 for it.

At the time, I was living on beans and rice, getting around in a beater car but walking mostly. I didn’t have a cell phone or cable TV (yes, it was heaven). And, yeah, five hundred bucks was a lot of dough.

I never regret buying art

I didn’t know Ron well at the time, but knew he was going to be great. Everything about him told me this: his fearless approach to painting, his desire to show the world not what he thought they wanted to see (i.e. what would sell), but what he wanted people to see, and see in a uniquely beautiful way.

When people come to my house, they always pull up short in front of this painting and ask about it. I have a few friends whom I keep a close eye on when they stop by lest they sneak out with my Hicks–you know who you are.

How do you know if someone’s going to be great? Actually, can you imagine how wealthy I’d be if I could figure that out?! So, short answer: no, I don’t think you can. But maybe there’s a sense of determination in that artist’s voice. Maybe there’s something that makes you think, this person will do anything to keep making art. When Ron created the barbershop painting, he was working a 9-5 job with PrimeStar and painting through the night. I’d never met anyone like him, so dedicated to his vision and voice. Amazing.

Hearing the artist's voice

David Grossmann approached me at the Coors Show about ten years ago, asking if I’d take a look at his work. I thought he was in high school and got a kick out of his determination (there it is again). I gave him my email and asked him to send me jpgs. When he finally emailed and I opened the files, I can honestly say my jaw hit the floor. Not only were the images beautifully executed, but there was something about each and every one that carried his painfully shy whisper of a voice.

Artists struggle over voice, sometimes their whole career. And here was this young visionary, fresh out of art school, who put it all down in tiny, layered brushstrokes. I bought a painting on the spot, as soon as I saw his work in person. Then I picked up the phone and called a handful of gallerists I knew and told them to grab David while they still could.

It's not about the money

Quang Ho and I go way back, almost 30 years. Back then, Quang was working as an illustrator trying to transition into fine art and raising his younger siblings after his mother died (a story for another blog, for sure). We dated for a while until we finally realized we were better as friends.

But I digress.

The story behind Her Guardian, is this. Quang had adopted a dog a few months before he and I met.

The big old shepherd-husky mix called Duke had come from California. When Duke’s owner, an elderly woman Quang had grown to love and respect, died, Quang wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her dog and so he drove Duke to his home in Colorado to live out his days.

Now, Quang wasn’t a dog person at the time. Couple this with the peculiar shepherd trait of dedicating themselves to one person and the fact that I was and am, through-and-through, a dog person and, well, it’s probably not hard to imagine that Duke bonded with me. When Quang and I split a couple years later, Duke jumped in my car and never looked back. He was my guardian for many years, tirelessly watching over me until the day he died.

This painting, this little watercolor Quang did of Duke, is priceless.

The reality, however, is that if my collection went to auction tomorrow, Her Guardian would surely be “bought in,” passed over, left for the dust bin. No one would want it. And yet, every single day, this painting touches my heart and soul as it did the first time I saw it. (Thank you Quang for giving it to me on that day Duke and I drove off.) It hangs in the hallway between my boys’ rooms, Duke’s spirit, now, their guardian, too.

Unexpected connections reveal ourselves to us

There is a term in writing, “ekphrastic,” which refers to “a poem of vivid description of a scene or, more commonly, a work of art. Through the imaginative act of narrating and reflecting on the “action” of a painting or sculpture, the poet may amplify and expand its meaning.” (Poetry Foundation)

Sharron Evans’ painting Awake is an ekphrastic poem.

Sharron is one of those artists whose work I responded to on such a deep level years before ever meeting her. When I finally did meet Sharron I was, honestly, a bit twitterpated. We became fast friends and at some point I mentioned a short story I had just finished. She asked to read it.

I don’t often share my fiction work; it’s purely something I do for my own entertainment–well, maybe it’s more than that–but I don’t share it lightly. (This must be how artists feel about sending their work out to the public, I think.)

Over that short story, Sharron and I emailed and talked for hours about the parallels between painting and writing and the will to create and so many other things. Then, that winter as my team was uncrating work for the Coors Show, they opened a box and pulled out a painting titled, Awake, by Sharron Evans. It quite literally took my breath away. When my Advisory Committee for the Coors Show heard the story, they bought the painting for me. Having this painting in my home is an honor like no other.

It's all personal

I suppose this is my long-winded way of saying that an artist has no idea what their work will mean to the collector. The collector, in turn, may never get to tell the artist what the work means to them. Because, really, even given the chance, words would probably fall short or feel too awkward to say aloud.

And maybe it doesn’t matter.

But, for those of you whose work resides in my home, I want you to know that you live in my heart; your work is more than paint or bronze or clay or paper. It breathes. It endures. It’s our connection. And somehow it’s also a separate, private conversation that is, at the same time, entirely universal.

Buy What You Love or…Try This Approach Instead

I have to admit, I’m not a fan of the old art collecting adage, “Buy what you love.”

It’s a little too capricious for me. I mean, really, how do you know what you love? Have you consider absolutely everything that the art world has to offer? Besides that, how do you know what you love is any good? Or worth the asking price? Or will hold its value?

When it comes to making an art purchase, I put three basic rules ahead of buying what I love:

Get to know the artist
Buy the original
Walk away

Once I figure out this stuff, buying what I love just happens naturally. Here’s how I do it.

Understanding Art & Creator Are Inextricable

As a curator, I get to call artists all the time and dive into deep, esoteric conversations that involve learning about their recent work, where it’s headed, how sales are going, what they’re struggling with, stuff like that.

Not your normal day? I get it. You can, of course, learn a lot online; that’s how I usually start. When I dive into a search, I am looking for specific things, which I’ll go over next, but I should also tell you, I rarely base curatorial decisions–for a show or my own collection–on this alone.

Listening for Intention: Influences

Full disclosure, I don’t care if an artist graduated from art school, and you shouldn’t either. When I’m Googling artist websites and reading through their “About” page and CV, what I want to know is who they studied with, either in art school, workshops, mentorships, or private classes. (I’ve met a couple self-proclaimed autodidacts, but I’m pretty sure even they had influences.) The thing about training versus an art degree is simply this: I’m looking to understand influences on the artist, whether one seminal comment by a master triggered a turning point, or a geology professor instilled an awe of evolutionary forces at play in the land, which then led to the pursuit of an artist’s singular vision of man’s place in the cosmos. It’s all good. It’s all relevant. And it all plays into the unique aspects separating a good craftsman from a true artist.

Commitment

I probably weigh artist websites, CVs and “About” page text differently than most. I’m reading between the lines, looking for direction, trajectory, a level of professionalism.

Ultimately, I’m looking to see if the artist is in it for the long haul. And it is a long haul. Making it as an artist is tough and unforgiving and filled with rejection. Does the artist I’m looking into have what it takes to keep going–mainly because they can’t fathom any other life–or are they going to quit when things get tough? And things will get tough.

Authenticity

This is a tough one to uncover and, frankly, it’s not something a newcomer to the art world will intrinsically know. After 30 years, I have seen a lot of art and a lot of copy-cats. I’ve called a few out on it and firmly advise collectors to avoid the inauthentic.

I can’t stress this enough: creating original art is extremely difficult. It takes a level of training and perseverance that most people are unwilling to give. For me, to feel comfortable when adding an artist to a show–essentially saying I’ve vetted this artist for you, Collector–the artist needs to have his or her own voice. (I talk about this in my blog “On Voice.”)

There’s nothing new under the sun, this is true. But an artist who is responding to current issues, whether external or internal, and using his or her own voice to do so, is at least trying to add something important to the conversation. Consider how Jazz musicians have riffed off the work of Beethoven, who’s sonatas were based on a structure that he manipulated and ultimately transformed so radically that he changed the course of music. (Check out this wonderful article from the Harvard Gazette about Beethoven’s wide ranging influence.)

Developing Your Eye

I’ve come to believe that collecting art–or probably anything, for that matter–is a bit of an addiction. At least it is for me.

When I first started collecting, I didn’t have two nickels to rub together, but still I knew I wanted to own original art. I was working at a gallery and met so many artists who were gracious and answered all my crazy questions.

I hit the street fairs (the Art Students League Summer Art Market in Denver is a favorite). And I bought directly from artists when they, too, were starting out.

Over the years, working in galleries, going to openings, lectures, and artist studios and just listening to the conversations, arguments and critiques they gave each other taught me to really “hear” an artist’s voice, literally and metaphorically.

I still do all these things to this day. In fact, I would say that buying art on a non-existent budget taught me how to find promising emerging artists. It’s become my niche in art curation.

Some of the artists I collected early in their careers include Ron Hicks, who was working days at PrimeStar and painting at night, David Grossmann and Maeve Eichelberger, two artists whose work I bought when they were fresh out of art school. I can’t afford their work these days, but, yes, that means my purchases have gone up in value…not that I would sell anything I’ve own.

What I’m getting at is, you may think you can’t afford original art but you can. You just have to know where to look. And, do a little homework when you do spot an interesting artist. Besides art fairs, most every city has a selection of co-op galleries that feature up-and-coming artists, and even established galleries carry emerging artists they believe are promising. Works on paper–hand-pulled prints, that is (not giclees, more on this in my next blog)–are usually very affordable, too. Also, watch for pop-up shows–you’ll learn about them if you start following artists you like on social media–that feature work from relatively unknown artists.

The Key to Buying Unknown or Emerging Artists?

Educate yourself and develop your eye. There are lots of people out in the art world who would love to help from curators to gallerists and even artists. Just know that if you work with a consultant, you will have to pay them but consider it an investment in your collecting education (think of the money you’ll save by not buying art you regret and that doesn’t hold its value).

When Taking a Step Back Is Critical

I feel a little funny advising this because I am in the art sales business but, well, it’s truly what I do. I rarely impulse buy anything.

In the art biz, our secret opening night formula is:

crowds + booze + artists + red dots = killer sale

Crowds create the atmosphere and buzz. Booze, well, you know all about booze and impulse decisions. Artists, oh, yes, artists are just so much fun, even the grumpy ones! And those red dots… As soon as they start popping up on wall tags, it’s like firing the starting gun, may the best man win!

Why I Walk Away

I’m around art all the time, in and out of studios, talking to artists and seeing the latest painting, hot off the easel. I can always step back and think on things for a few days before deciding.

For those who don’t have that kind of access, here’s what I’m suggesting you do. Go to previews. Take your time. Walk through the gallery in a clockwise fashion then go back through counter-clockwise. If you go with a friend or significant other, separate and walk in opposite directions, snap pics on your phone of the things you like so you can compare notes later. Find the curator, director or go with an artist whose opinion you trust, and ask lots of questions.

Then walk away. Sleep on it. If you wake in the morning thinking of a work of art–in my case, I will be obsessing about it–then you should get it. If you do this, you can avoid some of the pressure-cooker psychology of opening night and bid or buy with certainty.

I would love to know your process for collecting. Artists who read my blog, please chime in on how you’ve help collectors purchase art, too–I know many of you have!

NOTE: As I wrote in the last blog, Art Buying Etiquette 101, do NOT ask to buy directly from the artist, if you saw the work at a show or gallery. You are putting the artist in a terrible spot and jeopardizing their career. If you call the artist directly, don’t lie about where you saw their art; this is very unprofessional and makes artists uneasy and untrusting of you. In most cases, you’re not going to save money going to them directly anyway. Work with the gallery or show. If you want a discount, discuss with the dealer. Leave the artist out of it.

Art Buying Etiquette 101

Miss Manners: What to tell artist friends, besides ‘That’s pretty!’

The Washington Post, January 10, 2021

“It’s not hard to please artists–or any other creative people–with compliments. Any enthusiastic generality will do. And while you are not there as an art critic, Miss Manners has a kind remark even if you really hate the work: “You must be so proud.”

Um, wait…what?!

OK, Miss Manners, step aside. Here’s some actual etiquette for talking to and working with artists.

You’re welcome.

GALLERIES: Respect the relationship.

RULE: If you found something you like at a gallery or show or through an independent art dealer, that is where you need to conduct your business.

WHY: When collectors circumvent the gallery–usually because they think they can get a deal by cutting out the middleman–what they are really doing is putting the artist’s business at risk.

Yes, this actually damages the artists career–the art community is small.”

-Billyo O’Donnell (“Morning Light Over Leadville,” oil, 9×12 inches )

Faithless artists are usually dropped from the gallery as soon as this behavior is discovered. Losing this relationship can ultimately ruin an artist’s career because they lose the stability and benefits of having someone represent them and explain their work and pricing system.

“Over the last few years,” Billyo added, “there have been many artists leaving galleries and going out on their own to sell their artwork. I have learned that there is a direct relationship to having a long-standing association with a respected gallery and being able to maintain solid prices for your work.”

ETIQUETTE: Work with the dealer, be transparent, and ask lots of questions; it’s their job to educate you and help guide you through the process. And, if meeting the aritst is important to you and, in my opinion, should be part of your final decision, have the dealer facilitate.

Think of it this way, when you try to cut the gallery out of their rightful commission it’s like asking your doctor if you can avoid paying the hospital by going to his house and having him perform surgery there, at a discount.”
-Carm Fogt (“Altered Enso,” Chinese ink and mixed media, 24×24 inches)

EXHIBITIONS: If you saw the work of art at a show but the show’s over and the work didn’t sell, who gets the commission if you buy it?

RULE: People can argue this point, but in my mind, if you saw something you were interested in but didn’t buy at the show venue, it’s still considered–for a reasonable amount of time after the close of the show–proper to either run the sale through the exhibition or have the artist forward on the commission to the show.

WHY: Artists need shows and shows need reliable artists. It’s a great relationship when it’s working in harmony. Collectors help keep the harmony by understanding and supporting this important business relationship.

ETIQUETTE: Juried and invitational shows do have an actual end date, so, realistically, if it has been a month or so or if the work of art has since been sent to a gallery, the gallery would then take the commission, not the show. Often national exhibitions are established to support a cause; consider supporting the cause no matter when you finally decide to make the purchase of a work you found at the show.

Collectors need to be reminded of the expenses incurred when putting together an exhibition, whether by a non-profit for a cause or a private gallery.”

-Billyo O’Donnell (“Below Mount Lemon, Tucson, AZ,” 12×16 inches)

DISCOUNTS: when is it OK to ask for or expect a discount?

RULE: Discounts are for devoted clients who work with a dealer fairly exclusively and buy considerable amounts of art from that dealer or buy numerous works at one time.

WHY: In the days before discounting art became ubiquitous, dealers used this as a perk for their best collectors. Commonly, 10% was, and still is, the amount which would be split between the gallery and the artist, with each side absorbing 5%.

The biggest problem with discounts, if done frequently, is that they devalue the artist’s work across the board, meaning everyone who purchased work without a discount has, in essence, overpaid.

I remember a collector who commissioned me to do a painting,” recalled Dan Young, long time Coors Show artist. “It was back when I was starting out and really needed the money. I did the painting but then the guy asked for a discount. I wouldn’t do it. I walked away. Twice. Finally, he agreed to the price and bought it, but the whole thing left a bad taste in my mouth.”

-Dan Young (“The Snow Moon Rises,” oil, 12×12 inches)

ETIQUETTE: Before asking for a discount, collectors should understand how prices are determined.

Often, painting prices are calculated by the square inch, e.g. a 16×20 is 320 sq in, at $10 per, the painting will be priced at $3,200. Pricing editioned work can be determined by edition size, how complicated the work is–how many plates for a hand-pulled print or how large for a bronze–and importance or relevance, especially with photography. THEN, pricing structure is predicated on artist’s longevity, the stability of their prices, and what the market will bear.

How long has the artist been working professionally?
How do they price their work?
What national exhibitions have they been invited to and participated in?
What kinds of publicity have they garnered–magazine editorials, awards, honors, inclusion in major collections?

I don’t raise my prices every year,” Dan said. “I may bump them 10%, if I do. Sometimes I only raise them 5%, depending on the market. Artist have to know their market and raise prices in a smart way; collectors want the value of their paintings to go up.”
-Dan Young (“Last Hurrah,” oil, 12×10 inches)

“People who truly connect and value my work,” Carm added, “rarely ask for a discount.”

COMMISSIONS: no art directing allowed.

RULE: The aritst is not an extension of you.

WHY: Commissioning an artist doesn’t give you free rein to dictate anything beyond the size, medium, and subject matter you are interested in acquiring. When starting the commission process, always keep in mind that the artist doesn’t live in your head and you do not do the work that he or she does for a living.

I’ve realized over the years,” said California landscape aritst Kim Lordier, “that trying to get inside someone’s head to understand what they are feeling is very difficult.

Now my process for a commission is to create that balance of sharing ideas then allowing for first right of refusal. If I’m presenting the collector with a piece that I am proud of, it will be worthy of one of my galleries. That has only happened once, that a collector didn’t want the commission. But, then they came back six months later wanting to buy the painting and it had already sold.”

-Kim Lordier (“Intricately Interwove,” pastel, 36×24 inches)

ROSE’S DOS AND DON’TS FOR COMMISSIONING WORKS OF ART

Let go of any preconceived concepts and allow the artist to create.
Once you agree on a concept, price, and timeline for completion, sign a contract.
You can ask for updates throughout the process but that’s it–no surprise studio visits, no emailing color suggestions or photos of your dog that you’d like the aritst to slip in.
Many artists won’t take commissions, so don’t expect everyone to jump at the chance. (Nearly every artist I know has a horror story about a client who decided, mid-process, to dictate changes and treat the artist like a servant. The end result: either the client was fired or the finished work was rushed just to get rid of the client.)
Consider using a dealer or consultant to manage the process; they can work through issues that arise and can keep the project on target.
Expect to pay 50% down before the artist gets started. Enter this relationship knowing you won’t get this money back if you don’t like the finished work.
Do NOT ask an artist to replicate a work of art that already exists, especially a work of art by a different artist! Original art, whether commissioned or not, is just that: original and unique.

My two-cents: If you’re really wanting a specific vision, consider taking art lessons. Who knows, maybe there’s an artist in you struggling to get out!

STUDIO VISITS: a time honored tradition.

RULE: Never show up unannounced. Always confirm your appointment. Do not assume you can buy anything out of the studio and that you can get the work you see at “wholesale.”

WHY: Studios are sacred spaces. They are personal and creative, but also professional places of business. So, plan for an amazing behind-the-scenes opportunity by researching the artist before you go. You’ll have a base of knowledge so you can jump right in.

I rarely invite collectors to my studio,” said Lordier. “Sometimes it feels like people are rummaging through my lingerie drawer. I feel judged, feel compelled to make excuses for why this or that is at a certain stage, even though that is not the visitor’s intent.”

-Kim Lordier (“Goodnight Sea, Goodnight Tree,” pastel, 12.5×18 inches)

ETIQUETTE: Keep judgements to yourself. Art in a studio will be in various stages of completion. The artist has a vision, whether he or she is struggling through a work, trying something new, or trying to make something work that, so far, has been fighting them all the way. Generally, artists will not have this work out for you to see, so don’t rummage around the studio.

Ask questions. Seriously, if you don’t know something, ask. If the artist uses a term or refers to some aspect of the work that you’ve never heard about, have them explain.

Tell the artist what you like and what interests you about the work. This is a great way to find out more about technique and what inspired it. Alternately, if there is a work you don’t care for, you could ask about it–without judgement–so you can learn why the artist believes it is successful.

Visiting artist studios is one of the best parts of my job as a curator; I always look at it as a privilege. If you’re invited to an artist’s studio, plan for at least an hour, do your homework, and don’t be afraid to ask questions–just keep it professional.

Still have questions? Send them my way. Chances are other collectors are wondering the same thing.

[Mis]Understanding Art

I was recently asked to write a response to a person who was upset by Sophy Brown’s depiction of horses that we are showing in this year’s Coors Western Art Exhibit & Sale. This was a bit of a head-scratcher for me; how were Sophy’s unique, thought provoking paintings of horses upsetting? Sure, you have to dig a little deeper for meaning, maybe ask some questions…perhaps get a little more of the backstory but what’s so troubling about that? Heck, I could give her context galore!

So, I tackled her grievance head on and wrote:

No horses were harmed in the creation of this work!

I went on to talk about how Sophy grew up in England, the land of great equine artists such as Munnings and Wootton and Seymore. And how she herself was a horsewoman, dedicated to the welfare of horses!

Then I hesitated. Was this person really interested in art or was she simply wanting to vent a preordained opinion?

Ah, yes. Hope springs eternal.

I decided to take a chance–at this point, I was kind of on a roll–and went on to explain that, not only were Sophy’s paintings anything but an aggrandizement of the abuse of horses, they were actually not about horses at all.

Sophy Brown’s paintings were, in fact, self-portraits.

I realized this was a lot to take in, especially for someone who most likely searches for literal meaning in art, but it is the key ingredient to accurately viewing Sophy’s work. Seeing horses in difficult predicaments is tough, I agree, but I thought if she knew these works, for the most part, are figments of the artist’s imagination and, more importantly, that they are an outward representation of her very real inward pain, grief, anger, sorrow emanating from a place of unfathomable loss, perhaps she’d register some understanding beyond her own limited vision?

Real art conveys emotions, truth, feelings

At some point in writing this response to a person I have never met, and for all I know, has no interest in art but, as I mentioned earlier, probably just wanted to vent, I realized that this was a much larger conversation and one that probably wouldn’t be well received via email.

And yet I went on, talking about how the manifestation of grief could be seen on the surfaces of Sophy’s work–thrown paint splatter and dripping down the canvases, spray paint obliterating aspects of the work, and carved mark making peeling and pulling away at the layers.

Indeed, some of Sophy’s paintings from two and three years ago, when she first went back into her studio after so much debilitating loss, were pure madness, pure emotion. Pure art.

As a curator, my job is to put together a collection of fine art. I’m sure there are many definitions of fine art but an important aspect, in my mind, is that it is a reflection of the artist’s soul. Patrons know it when they see it because it stirs emotion inside. This emotion has propelled viewers, at times, to try to destroy great works of art, I think, as a way to escape feeling so deeply. But for me, I know I’ve put together a truly important collection of work when patrons are moved by the feelings stirred inside them.

As I concluded my letter, I asked this woman to go back, now armed with context, and take another look at Sophy’s work. Here’s her response:

Dear Ms. Fredrick,

Thank you for getting back to me. I can only imagine her loss. We will have to agree to disagree on fine art vs the glorification of animal abuse. I still feel the way I do about her pieces on the site.

Have a Merry Christmas.

Agree to disagree?

Merry Christmas?!

“You,” I wrote back, “have a cold, cold heart.”

Don’t worry, I didn’t hit send because, honestly, would it have mattered?

She never would have understood that we all carry our own baggage into every experience. To accurately interpret art, the viewer has to be aware of this and then get out of the way and let the art speak. Sophy isn’t asking anyone to like her work; it is hers alone, her heart, her soul. She is not creating for an audience; she is creating to find meaning in this messed up world.

All we need to remember is what a privilege it is to bear witness.

Steven Yazzie’s Upside Down World

Navajo artist Steve Yazzie is circling back to painting after year of exploring video and film and installation art. I first saw Steven’s work at the museum at the Institute of American Indian Art. He was part of the show curated for Crystal Bridges by Mindy Besaw, Candice Hopkins and Manuela Well-Off-Man, called Art for a New Understanding, Native Voices, 1950 to Now.

The work they had was an installation of his Drawing and Driving project. He had built a cart and attached a small easel to the steering wheel and frame. The idea was to hop on and set off down a hill and at the same time, start sketching what you saw flying by at ever increasing speeds. Fun. Harrowing. But, yeah, fun!

As part of the project, which began at a residency at Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture. It grew into a larger venture when he took his vehicle to other sites in the West and invited fellow artists and friends to hop on board and give it a go. And though the idea may seem absurd–attempting to draw while steering a cart down a hill–it’s kind of how we’re seeing the land, whistling down the highway and top speed, glimpsing bits and pieces out of the corner of an eye. We take it all for granted, so why not draw and drive, if only to scare the bejesus out of yourself and, maybe, snap yourself out of the trance of modern life if only for a short, rough ride?

The painting in Allegories of Transformation is part of Steven’s return to the studio to paint. Check out his website for his many videos and other paintings. And, of course, to read more about Steven, go to his site and ours at the PACE Center.

Author: Rose Fredrick