Paul Dorrell’s Blog

To be honest, I can’t say whether any of my artists will ever be adopted as the latest rage in Soho or Chelsea, which are tough places to figure and even tougher to break into.  To be even more honest, we haven’t approached any as yet, since my strategies have always focused on artists and collectors west of the Hudson.  Some of my artists would undoubtedly do well in New York, once I get around to setting that gig up.  I just haven’t had time and we haven’t needed it.  I love the town, but being or not being a part of the New York scene doesn’t determine our success.

Many galleries on the Soho/Chelsea front carry magnificent work that, to me, reflect all the values I discuss in my book.  Just as cool, I’ve met scores of New York dealers who fully realize that where one lives is not a determiner of talent.  These folks know they can as readily make their next great discovery in rural Alabama as The Village.

But others who are caught up in the fame machine appear absurd, even ludicrous, for their courting of what they hope will be hip at the expense of everything else, especially talent.  Not only will they ignore the artist from Alabama, but also those from Brooklyn, Harlem, or the Lower East Side—unless they have an entourage.  This excessive posturing seems to bear little substance beyond name recognition, money, and some warped idea of celebrity.  Talent and discipline are often last considerations in these sorts of galleries, superseded by what has tragically become a primary consideration—image.

The most curious thing is that despite its aura of self-importance, this small portion of the New York scene has minimal impact on the rest of the country.  Soho and Chelsea, amazing places though they are, represent only a small fraction of what is now occurring in the arts in America.  And while exhibitions like the Whitney Biennial are finally beginning to pay attention to artists in other regions, a good portion of the Manhattan scene is still under the delusion of assumed superiority based solely on location.  In truth, the New York mystique is what it is because of where it is, not exclusively because of what is carried there—although some of the finest work in America is indeed carried there.  But in my opinion the art world is no longer centered in New York; it began dispersing across the country in the early 90s, a tendency whose time had come, and which is now gaining real momentum.   

From the 1840s onward, Manhattan was necessarily the center of America’s art universe.  I mean, where else would Childe Hassom and Diane Arbus have centered their careers?  Kansas City?  We both know better.  And while artists like Judy Chicago and Wayne Thiebaud did very well by launching from California—another mecca of a different sort—without a nod from New York, their impact would certainly have been less significant.  The entire country, if not the entire world, has been enriched by the cultural wealth of Manhattan.  Whether an artist makes a pilgrimage there, or is indirectly influenced by its many movements, the place is incomparable.  That much is certain.  So is this: things have begun to change.

All the time New York was bearing its influence, the provincial regions were struggling to grow up and stand on their own cultural feet.  Now they’ve begun to, whether in fine art, film, music, what-have-you.  The process is far from complete, but man it has come a long way in a very short time, spurred on by the internet, but also by the inevitable cultural maturing of the country itself.  Outsider art that used to occur mostly in places like The Village can be found in any city now; and whenever that is flourishing, it’s a sign that other disciplines are as well.  This is significant.  Why?  Because without that growth, the country as a whole can’t realize it’s own potential, and young artists in Houston or Milwaukee who can’t afford to live in New York (not that artists there can either), get a far better shot at a viable career.

Since the time of the 1913 Armory show, New York has been the launching pad for whatever was revolutionary, outrageous, or visionary.  It still is, but so are dozens of other cities.  They may not yet have the same cache as Manhattan, but because of the advantages of the internet and a burgeoning national art market (even in the midst of a recession), their influence is steadily growing.

This doesn’t mean that Soho and Chelsea will ever be replaced; I don’t see how they could be.  It does mean though that they are sometimes out of touch with the rest of the country.  This wasn’t so relevant in 1920; now it is critically relevant.  This also means that artists who have been locked out of the New York scene no longer have to look to Manhattan for blessing, consecration, or even approval.  Mutual respect on both sides would be a good thing though. 

I bring all this up because some of you may not be acquainted with the New York scene, yet will be curious about it if not intimidated.  I’m just giving you a brief introduction, and assuring you that your success can mirror or even eclipse ours, with or without New York.  You don’t necessarily need it to have a great career, but having that gig under your belt is often a fine thing if you can land it.

Still none of this changes my love for Manhattan, and the four surrounding boroughs.  I owe New York a great deal, since my years in and around the city had a profound influence on me.  In fact it’s safe to say that without that influence, I would not now be the art dealer or writer that I am.  That doesn’t mean, though, that I’m unwilling to be bluntly honest about the place; I would be doing you and myself a disservice if I was.   Besides, New Yorkers respect bluntness.

While I was in Santa Fe this week, before going on to Moab, I placed the work of Brent Collins with one of the leading contemporary galleries there.  By this I mean they’re one of the leading galleries in the country, not just in Santa Fe.  I don’t want to mention them by name yet, but will after the inventory has been installed.

Why would I bother with this?  Because no matter how successful my gallery and book might be, the fact remains that we’re rooted in Kansas City, and my artists need wider exposure than that if they’re to have national careers. Placing their work with established galleries in meccas like Santa Fe, NY and LA facilitates this.  It also allows me to prove–time and again–that the talent in the provincial regions these days is often comparable to that of the major art centers, it just doesn’t have the same exposure.

I knew when I met Brent in 2006 that he could become a major player. Since then, and his commission for H&R Block, we’ve placed his work with Warner Bros, Wesleyean University, and many private collectors. He’s on his way. I can’t tell you how much I dig facilitating that–especially such a great dude from the MO hinterlands.

The picture of Brown Eyes at Palace of the Governors has nothing to do with Santa Fe galleries, I just happen to like it.  Besides, she always helps me select the galleries that I work with.  What does she do when we’re not on vacation?  She’s a teacher for low-income kids, something that she finds hugely gratifying now that our own are grown.

As I write this I’m in an espresso joint in Moab.  It’s 7:00 a.m.  Time to wake my family, rent some mountain bikes, and hit Slick Rock Trail.  It’ll be a great, and very hot, day.

Dear Readers:

Sorry I forgot to post Friday Tips last Friday.  Been traveling a bit, and focusing on two new large projects.  Also I’m bloody absent minded, and forgot to check my calendar.

The question below was sent in to one of the magazines I write for.  I hope you find it illuminating.

Best,

Paul

Q:  A comment was made in one of my classes about someone’s work being “museum quality,” so now I’m asking, what is museum quality? I’ve seen artwork in museums that left me saying, “Why is that in here?” Also, is there a difference between museum quality and gallery quality?
 
A:  Ah, this is a great mystery.  And like many mysteries, there is no simple answer.  The definition of “Museum Quality” has changed drastically in the past 150 years.  At one time it had its roots in the Renaissance and the Dutch Golden Age.  Turner, who I consider the first Impressionist, changed much of that.  The French Impressionists, Van Gogh, the Cubists, the Dadaists, the Abstractionists, the Minimalists, and Conceptual Artists changed the rest.  Now there are are few rules left, and anyone who has the audacity to challenge the new standard runs the risk of being labeled non-intellectual, so the door is normally left open. 

This mindset, which itself is rooted in history (different topic), led to the National Endowment for the Arts awarding a $20,000 grant in 1989 for a plastic figure of Christ immersed in a jar of urine, a piece otherwise known as “Piss Christ,” by Andres Serrano.  This brought about a huge controversy, unnecessarily pitted the NEA against reactionary politicians and religious groups, and caused a very worthy organization to lose much clout over a curious decision that many panel members later expressed regret for.

None of this disturbs me, as I consider myself more an observer than a critic.  I’m just laying this out is to let you know that virtually any approach in any medium could be considered Museum Quality these days, as long as there are enough authorities backing it.  Some of these works should certainly be acquired by museums.  As for those that seem to reflect a dubious level of talent, discipline and skill–I suspect history will solve those issues for us.

So in the end, what is Museum Quality now?  It depends on the museum, its curatorial staff, and the works that it values.  In some museums, this will be across the board.  In others, it will be more traditional.  In still others, it will be as radical as possible.  To me it’s all interesting.  But if you’re asking in regard to landscape and figure, I would say works that reflect originality, that are devoid of sentimentality and cliche, that are more painterly than illustrative, and that look as fresh on the hundredth viewing as on the first.  If you’re asking about conceptual work or abstraction, anything that is original, daring, minimal, shocking, surprising, or just downright intelligent. 

The easiest way to get a commission is when a client falls in love with one of your works, but it’s already sold.  When this happens, be it painting or sculpture, do you let them go out the door disappointed?  We don’t.  We offer to have the artist execute the piece in a larger size. 

This practice dates back to the Dutch Golden Age.  If you’ll review any of Rembrandt’s better-known paintings, you’ll find that several were executed in three sizes: study, enlargement, and monumental scale.  The same with many of the Impressionists and Cubists.  Hence, the precedent was established long ago.  Of course the pieces are never exactly alike; while they might capture the same mood or feel, there are always minor differences. 

Most of our artists love this practice, as it saves them the trouble of reinventing the wheel on a regular basis.  But a few don’t care for it, which is fine with me.  If you do practice it, please just remember that each enlargement or reduction must be as impassioned as the work that inspired it, radiating its own fire.  

If this approach leads to your first commission, make sure the details are spelled out in a letter of intent that you and the client sign.  This should discuss size, price, delivery date, and the fact that you guarantee the client’s satisfaction.  Making that guarantee is not hokey; it wins their confidence.  You already know you’re going to do good work; the guarantee just qualifies that. 

(Note: This article first appeared in Art Calendar.  Piece above is an example of carefully using incompatible metals–in this case stainless and Cor-Ten steel.  How?  They never actually touch.  Steve Richardson’s genius.) 

Basic Archival Process How many times have I had an artist enter my gallery who had done a great piece, but didn’t know the basics of archival processes?  Dozens. Maybe it was a framed etching, but backed by acidic cardboard.  Maybe it was an oil painting where the heavy texture, carelessly applied, would begin cracking in two years.  Maybe it was a sculpture composed of various metals that would begin corroding in five years because of metallic incompatibility.  Repeatedly I’ve seen instances of this, and couldn’t carry the works because I can’t sell art that is at risk for deterioration.

What happens if you don’t go pay attention to these details?  You’ll get a reputation for shoddy work.  Galleries will drop you.  Clients will drop you.  Clients may demand refunds.  Career on a downhill slide.

So yes, it’s important to understand archival process, though I realize it’s a little boring.  Is it complicated?  Not once you know the basics.  And very simply, here are a few of them.

–UV Glass for Works on Paper:  It’s your choice whether to use UV glass or not.  Sure it costs more, but you’re protecting the client’s investment, since they may hang it in a bright room (unless they live in England).  Regarding the additional cost, we just always add that into the retail price.  Why?  The client is paying you take care of their investment, which is how we always explain it.  –Works on Paper.  I know this seems obvious, but I often encounter it, so: always make sure that the image doesn’t touch the glass after framing, and that only acid-free materials are used.  If you’re a pastelist, I advise you apply fixative before framing, or flaking may result within a few years.

–Stretchers.  Whether you paint in oil or acrylic, please make sure that you use dried poplar–or some similar wood–for your stretchers.  Why?  I’ve seen painters use pine that they dig out of some bone heap, and it invariably warps as it dries.  Another solution is to buy pre-manufactured stretchers if you like standard sizes; there are many inexpensive resources for these.

–Varnishing Paintings.  Naturally varnish protects oil paintings against moisture and dirt.  If you like working with it, try to make sure it’s applied after the oil has cured.  If this means going to the client’s house, great: that opens the door to renewed contact, and possibly further acquisitions. 

–Metal Sculpture.  When you sculpt or install, please make sure that the metals you choose will not cause galvanic corrosion over time owing to incompatibility.  Hence you cannot mate aluminum to stainless steel, bronze to mild steel, aluminum to mild steel, etc.  Any metallurgist or metal supplier can advise as you.  Me?  I have a tendency to utilize some Missouri rednecks who do my fabricating–flawlessly–and don’t charge for advice, except the odd latte.  Yeah, rednecks drink lattes around here. 

–Warning Labels.  Believe it or not, clients still on occasion hang works in direct sunlight.  To help inform them, I advise you put a label on the back of any piece that can be damaged by UV rays, stating that the work should be hung in an appropriate location.  I realize this seems obvious, but not everyone gives thought to these issues.  Of course the flip side of the coin is tell them to hang everything in direct light; then maybe they’ll come back and buy a new collection in ten years.  But I don’t advise that approach.

As a gallery owner, I’ve never had a client complain about a piece, its assembly, or fragility.  This is because I advise my artists on approaches to take, if they haven’t considered same.  I mean an artist is so consumed with creation, that sometimes these details elude them.  But one reason I keep getting referrals to new clients, is because we pay attention to these details.  If you do this as well, your reputation for professionalism will only broaden.  That’s a fancy way of saying you’ll make more jack, and have more time for pursuing your passion.

I blogged about this last week, but it’s too important to not cover in Friday Tips. So for all of you who are looking for fairer treatment with art auctions and tax write-offs, I urge you to go online and sign this petition:

Artists’ Deduction Bill:

Why?  This artist deduction bill (S.548) would give artists the right to deduct the fair market value of their work when donating it to a charity.  About time.

Artists are often asked to donate work to charitable causes for fundraising purposes.  But when the work is auctioned, it’s the buyer who gets the benefit of deducting their contribution above the market value.  The artist can only deduct the amount of the material costs (paint, canvas, clay, etc.).  Give me a freaking break.
 
This bill will help change this injustice. Please click on the link and type in your zip code.  A letter of support will be sent to your senators and congressmen.  Once you’re done with that, forward the link to friends and family.  We need to get this thing passed.

Note: I had to have my web dude turn off the Comments Link because we were getting about 350 spams per day, and he couldn’t seem to screen them.  It was very time-consuming to weed through and find your comments.  If ever he can get rid of spam altogether, we’ll turn on Comments again.

Bonne Chance 

Dear Friday Tipsters:

Well things have begun to happen rapidly for me, not just at the gallery but also in my writing career.  Hence, as of today I’m going revert to writing Friday Tips every 4th Friday of each month.  If you wish to remain signed up, that’s fine.  In the fall, as my new book approaches publication, I’ll begin to run excerpts from it as well.

But for now, with projects in LA and Kansas City, and development prospects of a TV concept I’ve written, along with finishing the new book, I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me–and still have to find time for family.

So I’ll write my next Friday Tips at the end of March.  Between now and then, I’ll post the occasional observation or bit of nonsense that might prove worthwhile.

Best of luck to you each in the meantime.

Paul

 The Gallery Consignment System

When I opened my gallery, in 1991, I was naive about the art business, three inches above broke, with little capital and no experience.  What little capital I did have, I’d saved from running a tree service for eight years.  Why a tree service?  Because I had to remain free to write my novels, which I never could have done if I’d been scribbling promotional copy for corporations—though the money would have been better.

So I opened the business, my capital was gone in three months, and my spiral into debt and near-bankruptcy began.  I’d always worked long hours in the tree business; now 70-hour weeks became the standard.  It was either that or file, and I wasn’t going to file.  Not until seven years later did we start to turn a reasonable profit. 

But the one thing that allowed me to stay open in this fickle market was the consigning of artwork.  I didn’t invent the system, I was just told that that’s how it was done.  So on a 50% split with painters, 40% with ceramists and steel sculptors, and 33% with bronze sculptors, I began to take on work.  Why the different percentages?  Because these artists have different levels of expense, and broke though I was, it would have been unethical to take the same from a bronze sculptor that I did from a painter.  This is still my policy, though few other galleries agree with it.  It is also my policy to increase each artist’s prices to the highest level that the market will bear, so that they profit.

What did these artists get in return?  Sales, my growing skills as a dealer, insured works, annual shows that I paid for, marketing, advertising, articles in papers and magazines, a nice space in which to show, and contact with my expanding circle of clients.  They also got my counsel.  Had they not consigned their work, and insisted on selling it to me, I would have gone bust, and none of their careers would have advanced.  It was a joint effort; it still is.

In the Western World, only about 7% of the buying public collect original art, regardless of the price level.  Selling art isn’t like selling clothes in a department store, where you buy the items wholesale, then count on the vast demands of the public to buy your inventory.  Everybody buys clothes; very few people buy art.  Hence the majority of inventory in any gallery never sells.  Dealers must also constantly experiment with the market in determining what they can and can’t sell.  As they do this, they deal with annual overheads that vary from $120,000 to $100,000,000, depending on the gallery.

Ideally, all artists should be paid a wholesale price for their work, with the galleries turning it over at a retail profit.  Unfortunately the very slender level of demand would force most galleries out of business were this a standard practice.

If I were a visual artist, I would like to see the consignment policy banned; I just don’t think this is realistic in view of the limited market.  Besides, I am an artist—a novelist.  I wrote for 25 years, endured 177 rejections, and went through two agents before getting published.  I’ve written ten books, or three million words.  Believe me, I know how it feels to be saddled with an impecunious calling that you have no choice over, and for which you sacrifice so much.  I would love it if agents would buy my books, then sell them to publishers in turn.  Unfortunately, that isn’t realistic for their market either.

The consignment system is flawed, to be sure.  I didn’t invent it, but since it’s in place, it’s my job to utilize it ethically.  When an artist signs with me, they’re not just consigning works that we hope we can maybe sell; they’re entrusting us with a career to advance, the same way an agent does for a writer.  If my gallery fails in this—since you can’t succeed at it every time—we discuss what to do about it, and try to act. 

There are plenty of dealers who take advantage of the system, never pay their artists, leave town with the art, don’t pay for the shows or marketing, charge criminal percentages, and should be locked up like any other crook.  They’ve always been around, they always will be.  I can’t change that.  But I can try to educate artists on the differences between ethical and unethical dealers, which is why I write for a variety of magazines, why I wrote Living the Artist’s Life, and why I’m now finishing a new book that broadens the discussion.

The truth is, the market realities place stresses on both artists and dealers, which explains why 80% of all galleries go broke.  Until there’s a larger market for art in a world that places greater value on new cars and sofas than art and education, we will continue to deal with this issue.  But at least we get to live this life on some level; for 90% of the world’s populace, that isn’t even an option.  I always try to remember that; it helps keep things in perspective, and the gratitude in place.  

Portfolios and Presentation Folders 

If you’re like most artists, you’d rather be creating new work than assembling a portfolio.  Yes they’re a pain to deal with; I’ve never yet met an artist who enjoys assembling them.  I don’t enjoy assembling them.  But they’re essential.  If you look on the portfolio as a work of art itself, utilizing a direct presentation that is visually stunning, it won’t seem such a bore.  Spend the necessary money on it, and on the photography, to make it look good.  The money will be returned by means of sales.

For those of you who have absolutely no interest in selling your work, create the portfolio in whatever way you wish.  Make it sleek, make it jagged, make it out of duct tape if you want, so long as the finished product adequately represents your work, passion and ideas.  If the notion of making money from your art doesn’t jive with the way you create, then let the portfolio suggest, or even shout, this as well.  

Regarding portfolios, I recommend the following: 
1)  Portfolio Size: 17” x 20” 
2)  Size of Photos:  8”  x 10s” or 5” x 7s” (no smaller)
3)  Other elements: Resume or Bio, an Artist’s Statement, and Press Clippings.

Lay out the photos two-to-a-page, or four-to-a-page, depending on the size you choose.  My personal preference is two 8” x 10s” per page, because they give the viewer the best visual impression of your work—and that first impression is the most important one you’ll make.  Repeat: THE FIRST VISUAL IMPRESSION YOU MAKE ON A GALLERY DIRECTOR, OR A COLLECTOR, IS THE MOST IMPORTANT ONE YOU WILL MAKE.  Please never forget this.     

After you’ve laid out the photos, put the resume and artist’s statement at the end.  I never put these items at the beginning of a portfolio, because I want the viewer to be impressed with the work itself first.  Once that impression has been made, they’ll be willing to read about the artist.  Needless to say, when I lay out a portfolio I always place the most stunning images on the first pages, with the weaker ones after.  If it’s all stunning, so much the better.

You’ll also need a photo page that shows the works in the portfolio in the form of large thumbnails.  Along with that sheet you’ll need a CD that also shows each image in the portfolio, and others if you wish.  It would cool if you’d take the time to make a proper label for the CD utilizing one of your images, with your contact information printed somewhere on the label.  These things you leave with any prospect.  

Most dealers prefer CDs at this time, and rarely any longer view slides.  If duplicate slides are all you have, that’s fine, but I fear it will make you look unprepared in a dealer’s eyes, and not up to par with current technology.

Anytime you show your portfolio, try to have an original with you, since the work itself will always read better than a photograph, no matter how well the latter is shot.  If a gallery director or collector is already looking at photographs, and likes what they see, you can reinforce this by casually showing them the original jewel that you happen to have at hand.  Note use of the word “casual.”  Contrary to general misconceptions, the art business does not function at its best in a mode of pretension and pressure; rather it is always at its best when everyone is relaxed: the artist, the dealer, and especially the collector.  Relaxation leads to trust, trust leads to sales.

If you can’t afford a portfolio, or don’t like lugging one around, then just use a presentation folder.  You can find these in any office supply store.  They’re the size of a notebook, and can make an impressive visual statement—although not as impressive as that of a portfolio.  One advantage, however, is that you can make up several presentation folders, which gives you the means to leave one with a good prospect.  They’re cheap to assemble, and quite worthwhile when it comes to promotion.

Along with the photos in your portfolio, and the resume, you’ll also need to include any press clippings you might have garnered over the years, and a select list of clients.  What?  You don’t have those yet?  Don’t worry.  I’ll go over the getting of press, as well as how to acquire that coveted list of clients.  

When I was growing up in the Midwest in the 1960s, our cultural life was much like the Wonder Bread we were served at school: bland, unoriginal, and devoid of passion.  For years I thought this was confined to my part of the country, but as I began to travel in the ‘70s, I learned it was actually a national malaise.  Then when I went on my first book tour in 2006, speaking in 60 cities from New York to LA, I learned that the malaise had existed even in Westchester and Marin County. 

Only in certain pockets in the cities—The Village, Central Chicago, North Beach—had it been any different.  Oh every city had its art movement, no matter how small—like Westport in Kansas City–but the impact this had on the rest of each city was virtually nil.  These movements were centered in isolated enclaves whose participants were generally written off as weird.

Now however this country is going through an artistic renaissance unlike anything in its previous history.  In fact the same can be said of Canada and Australia.  In every region—the Midwest, the South, the Far West—art creation is assuming a life of its own outside New York, and by this I mean all the arts, not just visual.  This movement has been steadily growing since the ’90s, and is far from over.  What does it mean?  For painters and sculptors who for years were told that if they weren’t showing in SoHo, they didn’t count, the story has changed.  

The art world is no longer centered in New York, but as been dispersed nationally.  In Austin, Tampa, Columbus, Sacramento, and hundreds of other provincial cities, work is being created that could easily pass muster in New York.  Further, collectors in each region are beginning to appreciate this evolution, and are participating—though not without encouragement from galleries.  Ditto regional art centers, high schools, junior colleges, universities, arts commissions, and virtually every other entity involved in the game.  

These organizations, and the people who staff them, have worked very hard at bringing about this change for decades.  The beauty of it?  Their efforts are paying off, though history may not recognize the fact for awhile.  With or without that, you can benefit from this renaissance now.  That’s why dealers like me have labored such long hours, and risked so much, in promoting the artists of our region: we were tired of being frozen out by the some of the more closed aspects of the New York art world.  Fine, we created a world of our own.

How you can take advantage of this?  That’s a complex question, to which there is no simple answer, which is why I’m writing a new book on the subject.  But I’ll address some basics in my next couple of Friday columns.

Bonne Chance