I am showing in a gallery on the Lower East Side. Get this: there are 110 other artists in the show besides me. This is going to be some opening as even if only two-thirds of the artists showing come and bring one friend, the galley will be packed. Actually, anyone wandering by that considers coming into the gallery will probably think better, turn tail and run as that many people squeezed into even a moderately sized space on an overheated day is crazy. Forget the air conditioning, Mercury is probably retrograde and the machinery will collapse under the strain and the space will be filled hundreds of red-faced, perspiring artists and their supporters. Pleasant!
But would I miss this experience? It's another line on the resume and a chance to make nice with whatever art world powers that be! Bring on the moist towelettes!
Where was I? Ah yes, musing on the vagaries of the art world. My small corner of the art world is an interesting place. Everyone is jockeying for perceived position and there is much feinting (probably fainting, too!) and circling and sizing things up. There are many, many, many artists. And have I mentioned? Not nearly so many galleries, or alternative spaces or prospects for all those many artists. This is (partially) what keeps artists circling each other, appraising each others relative standing. And the system of galleries and critics and curators and power brokers know this. Only a limited number of all the many artists will be anointed the next Big Thing and will have their work coveted and collected. The rest of us endlessly circle around, sniffing and snapping and hoping to be found out to be geniuses we know we all are. Sometimes this is mildly entertaining; sometimes it's mighty annoying. But this is the world we operate in an there's little hope of changing it.
So it's off to NYC for me and Bob... let's just hope they provide moist towelettes at the opening!
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