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.

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.

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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.

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

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.

Essays on Art

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.

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?

What haunts me

What I'm doing about it

Here's what you need to record

Tips and Tricks for photographing art

Do You Need an Appraisal?

How to Protect Your Art from Light Damage

Sunlight : an obsession

Notes from the insiders: TIPS AND TRICKS

Creating the day you want

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

Sun damage prevention

And then there are photographs

Hanging Out Under the Sun

Lighting Dos and Don'ts

Handy charts for choosing the right bulbs

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

Letters from Bob

QUESTIONS FOR ARTISTS by Bob Ragland

Drawing the Authenticity line: Cultural Appropriation

Pretendians

Why are we so eager to accept fakers?

Identity Theft: reducing culture to a cliche

"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."

Sharing responsibility, affecting change

I never regret buying art

Hearing the artist's voice

It's not about the money

Unexpected connections reveal ourselves to us

It's all personal

Understanding Art & Creator Are Inextricable

Listening for Intention: Influences

Commitment

Authenticity

Developing Your Eye

The Key to Buying Unknown or Emerging Artists?

When Taking a Step Back Is Critical

Why I Walk Away

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!