When "Mercy" and "Justice" Collide . . .OR. . .Why It Really is "Lonely at the Top"

Is there some deep underlying part of our psyche as human beings that makes us want to be in charge, or at least makes us believe that we could do a better job than those (idiots, jerks, morons, fill in your own derogatory term here) who are in charge?

"I'll tell you this -- if I were President . . . if I were the Coach . . . if I owned this restaurant . . . if this were my airlines . . . .If you ask me -- I'd lock them all up and throw away the key . . . I'd paint it all blue and that would be the end of it . . . I'd send them all back where the belong . . . I'd make them be at home in bed by 9 o'clock . . . I'd charge them double and good enough for them!"

Sounds great. But the reality is a little more complex. Being in charge is harder than it really seems from your comfy chair. I was in the "boss" position for a good deal of my museum career and it has its appeal. But it was never as easy as others thought it was. And, all too often, other people would say "You know what you ought to do? I'll tell you what you should do . . . ." As if I had no idea what to do next. When I was the boss, that's when everyone else wanted to be in charge. But, being the boss also means being a "judge", making decisions about good and bad, right and wrong, evaluating other peoples work, other people's creations, and that's even more difficult.

When you have to serve as a judge of others, what once seemed distinctly black and white suddenly shows all these intriguing qualities of gray on a subtly shifting scale. Sometimes intuitive responses come easily and without "thin-slicing" issues we can actually make the right decision. But, even "Blink" author Malcolm Gladwell admits that sometimes the more you analyze and delve into issues or aspects of decision-making, the more complexity makes it all very difficult to find the right answer or approach.

Yesterday, I had the great pleasure and difficult challenge of serving as judge for the Cape Cod Art Association's new show "Interpretations of Light" -- running now through March 12. I shared the judging task with a photographer from Scituate and we were both a little late in showing up due to the sleet and snow and sloppy weather.

Serving as judge for an art show is similar in many ways to determining what artists and artwork I will carry in the Gallery. Bad art is generally easy to weed out. But deciding what is good art or the best of the lot is much more difficult. At the Gallery (where I am the boss, by the way), I can decide to meet with a particular artist and review her/his work, or not. On the other hand, the art association had called for entries in a kind of "open" process, that is not just limited to Association members. So, they received many more entries than could possibly be included in the show, based primarily on wall space. So, as judge, I had to actually decide which artwork would qualify to be in the show and which would not.

Unlike the Gallery, where if the artist is not appropriate for the Gallery or our audience and I have the liberty of saying thanks but no thanks, the CCAA has to put together a full show and so half or more of the entries must by default make the cut (or else they don't have a full show). As I said, bad art is bad art, no matter what I do or say. No matter how sincere the artist was in creating this thing, no matter what kind of frame you put on it, no matter what the subject or the medium, bad is bad. But what about mediocre art? Where do you draw the line between "good" and mediocre? And when you are the judge, you have to draw that line. The result seems a little abitrary: some "artist" celebrates that their art made the show while another person fumes or sobs or says "If I were in charge . . . !" And we had to make a judgement one by one as the works were presented to us by Art Association volunteers, presumably many of them were member artists who had entered works of their own in the show. So you don't even know if you may be insulting the very person who's carrying the work, if it's their own piece.

The challenge was to find the right balance. Show some "mercy" for the near-misses just at the imaginary "line" but also try to maintain a sense of "justice" about good art work deserves to be recognized as such. But, with 175 or so pieces to review and determine their merits to be entered into the show, a growing unease after looking at three or four works made the judging even more uncomfortable. There was a struggle, not really between me and the other judge, but more between justice and mercy. What if you said yes to something early in the viewing that might then eliminate the chances of a wonderful piece being shown later because there wouldn't be any more room in the show. Or, conversely, what if you said no to something early on and everything else was worse? It's not easy at the top!

After we had determined which of the pieces were in and which were out, we had the more difficult challenge of awarding first and second place (and honorable mention) by medium. Comparing pieces of really good art one against the other (admittedly, there were not large groups of really good art in most of the various media), is like -- what? I don't know -- maybe like asking who was the better "Thomas", Mr. Jefferson or Mr. Edison. Or, which sauce do you like better, hot fudge sauce or spaghetti sauce? There wasn't any category for "It depends."

Comparing one piece of good art against another piece of good art, gets very subjective and is not really that appropriate given the many different styles and subjects.

As I said, bad art is just that, bad art -- and there was quite a bit of that. But there was also a lot of good art and a few pieces of excellent art. I would recommend you to view the show at the Cape Cod Art Association and try to decide for yourself. It was actually both a pleasure and privilege to serve as the judge for the CCAA show, and I was happy to have been invited to serve in this way. Still, I am happy to be back in the Gallery today among the familiar works of the Gallery's own artists.

Coming and Going . . . And Everything Old Is New Again!

You know those little clumps of dust and lint and stuff that seem to magically collect under beds and dressers and behind TV's and hundreds of other special, out-of-the-way places? Well my mother had a name for them: Dust Bunnies! I have no idea why she (and, therefore, we) called them that. I'm sure you call them something too, probably what your mother called them, without even understanding why or really thinking about it. Some people, I know, call them "Dust Devils".

I've always been fascinated by words, phrasing, idioms, and the like but for some reason I have never taken the time to research where or why we have different names for those dust and lint balls and where ever or however they came about.

The dust-balls come to mind because I have been cleaning and re-arranging the Gallery, moving the free-standing walls, re-hanging and re-displaying artwork, during this quiet time. And as everywhere else in my life in the corners and under things (literally and figuratively) are all ilk of magically-formed things, cob-webs (whatever they are), and dried-up empty shells that may have been some insect critter at one time, lots of other blechs and drecks, and of course not a few "dust bunnies."

I grew up in Massachusetts, where I have lived most happily for the greatest portion of my life, but I did spend a wonderful period of eight or nine years living in Chicago. Chicago is where I met and married my wonderful wife, initiated what would become my long-time museum career, and had a great many formative and life-expanding experiences. Chicago is where I lost what little Boston-drawl I may ever have had (I never really did say "Pahk yaw cah in Hawvahd Yahd . . . I did take several speech and drama courses, acted a lot, and studied languages and that helped clear me of the whole local or regional accent thing). But Massachusetts is home and even with the best training, I still have a bit of the regional flavor to my speech. Moving to Chicago and the midwest was a pretty easy transition, at least in terms of my "accent". I will admit that there are several key words that I did and still do struggle with, especially because of the dramatic difference in how the spoken word is pronounced in the northeast versus the midwest. Words like "quarter" (quahdah vs. Kwartar)and "sugar" (shiggah vs. shurgerr) and "potato" (badayda vs. pitaytow) are amazingly different, dependent upon the peculiar locality of the speaker. These specific words (and a few others) gave me a lot of trouble! Still do, in fact.

Interestingly, and I'm getting back around to my earlier point, some more rural areas of the upper midwest have a particularly peculiar name for what I grew up calling "dust bunnies." Think about it for a minute. Little swirls of collected dust and stuff under beds, behind furniture. In an old house -- perhaps a rural farm house built generations ago by sturdy folk -- all you have to do is crack open a door against that nasty, cold wintry wind and these little swirls of dust will come alive, seeming to dance around and out they come from their hiding places. What do you think? Their name in some parts of upper midwest are "People Coming and Going." I just love that. Clearly a strongly religious people, solid, of the earth, good hearty pioneers of the prairie. "People Coming and Going" is so clearly a reference to the scriptural "from ashes to ashes, dust to dust." It's clear (but also a little scary) that your old family homestead where great-grandpa Jeremy died and old auntie Annabelle was born is filled with "people coming and going."

And, so it is with the Gallery these days. A few of the artists, particularly those whose work hasn't really sold that well in the past year, are leaving us, moving on we all hope to greener pastures or at least to some gallery where their work will be more successful. And, we are making room for a few additional artists we are adding to the Gallery now and over the next few months whose work we think will augment that of our other artists and appeal to our visitors and customers.

While I'm re-hanging artwork, moving sculpture and glass and furniture, I've gotten my old friend the mysterious Dr. Doo (Or is it Du? Not Fu-Manchu, but someone much more dangerously secretive) to help me shuffle and move and reconfigure those free-standing walls we have in the Gallery.

And now, the dust is almost all cleaned up or at least seems to be settling back into comfortable corners. Overall, with nearly all of the artwork re-hung in a different way, especially with the center walls re-arranged and re-configured, with some new artwork from new artists and some new pieces from our existing artists, and with the place a little cleaner without so many dust bunnies -- people coming and going -- everything old is new again and Gallery is refreshed!

YEAH -- BUT IS IT ART?

YEAH, BUT, IS IT ART?


The real challenge in owning and running an art gallery is deciding what "art" you will carry and display. After all, if I am going to sell this work -- actually get people to give me money for it (money that I then split with the work's creator . . . but that's a whole different discussion best left for another time) -- I had better think it really is good art and, more than that, that it has value. It often means making difficult decisions about not just what I like but what I think is "good". Telling an artist, or worse, someone who thinks (s)he is, that the particular piece they worked so hard to create is plain dreck can be pretty unpleasant. Harder still, even worse, is telling someone you know and like that their entire body of creative work just isn't good enough (sometimes just plain stinks). But, it is my Gallery and I am the one who is selling the work, so I better believe it is good.

I do have some simple rules that I stick to in the gallery. First, I only sell original art work. That means that we don't have copies or prints -- even if you fancy it up and call it Giclee, we just don't carry that in the Gallery. Simple enough. Should be the end of the discussion. But many people, including some "artists" and friends and a whole lot of people who apparently know a great deal about the art business, feel the need to argue and scold and take me to task because (and I don't know how come this isn't so terribly obvious to me) "limited edition" prints and Giclees are where the real money is. I may be an idiot, but I am a happy one. I happen to believe, and am quite happy in this belief, that the real artist made just the one original piece and that's what you and I and everyone else who buys and owns art (and everyone should own art) should own. Sounds more confusing than it it. Original art carries the artist's emotions and vibrations and the bit of the artist's soul. Copies might carry some of the emotion and vibration of the machine that produced it, but who cares?

My second rule is that the art we carry has to be evocative. More than just a pretty picture (I know this is Cape Cod but please spare me from paintings of more pretty beach scenes or, worse, deep blue hydrangeas) the art must resonate and cause you to have a emotional response to it. Very good art may whisper or sing out, but it has to make to feel something and react in some way. And that's the simplest way to acquire a piece of art, too. If a piece of art causes you to have an emotional response of some sort, and you like having that response and want to have it again and again, then you should own that piece of art. Go think about that for a while. I am willing to bet that most people could be the judge of good art if they allowed themselves to be intuitive about it. No masters degree in fine arts, no amount of university or museum credentials, no art connoisseurship can get you to like a piece of art that you don't respond to emotionally. That's how you should acquire your own art collection. Please, please don't tell me you bought something or like a piece because it's the right size and matches the color of your sofa!

So, the first rule -- original work only -- that's pretty easy to follow, even if all the art gallery experts think that is a dumb business decision. The second rule -- the art has to be evocative -- is a whole lot harder and much more subjective. And how do you tell someone, even a very technically talented artisan, that the "art" they have created doesn't do anything for me. What if I'm just having an "off" day or the work is so far above my understanding that I am not in touch with my own emotions about it. I started off by saying that this is the real challenge of the gallery world and so it is.

I think that making the decision about which pieces of "art" will be evocative and appealing to others is the magic and mystery of what I try to do. My guess is that I'll probably spend a lot of time exploring this theme in future blogs; it might just be the answer and insight into a number of facets our lives.

There's More to Life Than Just Keeping Time . . . .

THERE'S MORE TO LIFE THAN JUST KEEPING TIME . . . .

Owning and running an art gallery on Cape Cod during the winter is something of a challenge. Not because it's so busy, but just because it isn't. It's quiet here. Maybe too quiet. Not all together lonely, but certainly far from bustling.

So this is a good time of year to plan for the busy season ahead. Look at the range and scope of the artists we represent and the artwork we carry at the Gallery. Think about how we display the artwork. Rearrange and move things. It's a good time to plan special shows and activities. And it's really the time to develop marketing and advertising strategy, develop ad copy, determine how much to spend and where to place ads, and on and on.

But, there's only so much planning for the next busy season you can handle. Then what? What to do? Actually, it's a pretty good time to think, to reflect. And so this blog is born. I have the time and I'll spend it on sharing some of my thoughts on the world and life as I also record the ups and downs of the fascinating world of the Art Gallery.

Thinking and reflecting and evaluating -- that's probably favorite pastime anyway. And as often as I can (within reason), I urge everyone else to make the time, to take the time to review their own lives . . . how else can you come to understand who you are and who you want to be, what you really fundamentally believe in and what really matters.

The Cape is a beautiful place to live and work. In the warmer months, the tourist population grows considerably and the roads, restaurants, gift shops, just about everyplace around are more crowded with a happy kind of bustle. Here's a life lesson: Always live in a place where people go for vacation. It really shapes the feeling and culture of the place and the people.

Without the tourists and second-home owners, without the bustling crowds, winter -- the quieter months -- belongs to just us, those of us who live and work here year-round. This season is our own time for renewing our community ties and sharing a camaraderie. Spending cozy evening at friends' homes, volunteering for and meeting with church and civic groups, running into half-a-dozen people you know at the grocery store. These are wonderful and refreshing aspects of our life.

Right now, even with the Gallery being so quiet and and business being so slow, life is good on Cape Cod.