Entries from July 1, 2005 - August 1, 2005
8/1: Own Art
For awhile yesterday, this car was parked in front of the gallery, where anyone might have assumed it belonged to me (I wish).
isalos fine art
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7/31: Letter to the Editor
Today's blog is in response to an editorial in the Toledo Free Press entitled "Art attack raises blood pressure," by Michael S. Miller.
Thanks to Editor in Chief Michael Miller for providing a springboard for a lively conversation about the price and value of art. The reaction on the online artists’ chatrooms has certainly been spirited: largely artists defending their livelihood. Another perspective is that of the collector.
I bought my first original art when I was nineteen. In the big scheme of things it wasn’t much money, but it was all I had at the time, and it was a big deal for me to spend it on something that wasn’t functional. Young as I was, and with limited understanding of economics, I could see that the artist lived to create these paintings, that he had devoted his life to it, and in a small way, my contribution would help him continue. I was buying something significant, so it seemed right that my sacrifice was also significant. I don’t think I’ve been more proud of anything I’ve ever bought. Over the years I’ve spent far more money (and I have never had much) on “practical” “durable” goods like cars and computers, and those things have eventually gone on to the dump, while those paintings are still on my wall. I feel good whenever I look at them. It also made me feel good last year when that artist had a large museum show, and paintings like mine were displayed among his earlier work.
Far more inspiring is the story of Dorothy and Herbert Vogel, a librarian and a postal clerk, now retired, who devoted a small portion of their income toward acquiring art. Starting in the early 1960’s they began collecting minimal and conceptual works by artists, little-known at the time, who later became recognized as pioneers of these new movements. In 1992, the Vogels donated over 2,000 paintings, drawings and works of sculpture to the National Gallery. The Vogels have never been wealthy, but they helped artists who needed encouragement, and enabled the general public to enjoy their collection for little or no money.
I’m guessing that as Editor in Chief, Mr. Miller earns enough money to buy the things he wants: certainly enough to afford a piece of art priced “in the hundreds,” which he stated was the norm at the Ann Arbor Art Fair. I would further speculate that he has spent more on his barbecue grill than he ever has on a piece of art. “In the hundreds,” is a low price for quality original art these days. What else could he possibly expect? How could an artist begin to make a living if the average price were less?
It is unfortunate that Mr. Miller couldn’t find anything that he liked and thought worthy of the price, but my suspicion is that he is a poor judge when it comes to the value of art; he simply doesn’t value art very highly. It’s easy for him to praise the established masterpieces in the museum that he sees for free (because someone else paid for it). The creators of those works were once struggling like those artists at the festival whom Mr. Miller condemns. If someone hadn’t once taken a chance on them, there would be no masterpieces and no museum to visit for free.
Michael Daugherty
Director, Isalos Fine Art
Stonington, Maine
Thanks to Editor in Chief Michael Miller for providing a springboard for a lively conversation about the price and value of art. The reaction on the online artists’ chatrooms has certainly been spirited: largely artists defending their livelihood. Another perspective is that of the collector.
I bought my first original art when I was nineteen. In the big scheme of things it wasn’t much money, but it was all I had at the time, and it was a big deal for me to spend it on something that wasn’t functional. Young as I was, and with limited understanding of economics, I could see that the artist lived to create these paintings, that he had devoted his life to it, and in a small way, my contribution would help him continue. I was buying something significant, so it seemed right that my sacrifice was also significant. I don’t think I’ve been more proud of anything I’ve ever bought. Over the years I’ve spent far more money (and I have never had much) on “practical” “durable” goods like cars and computers, and those things have eventually gone on to the dump, while those paintings are still on my wall. I feel good whenever I look at them. It also made me feel good last year when that artist had a large museum show, and paintings like mine were displayed among his earlier work.
Far more inspiring is the story of Dorothy and Herbert Vogel, a librarian and a postal clerk, now retired, who devoted a small portion of their income toward acquiring art. Starting in the early 1960’s they began collecting minimal and conceptual works by artists, little-known at the time, who later became recognized as pioneers of these new movements. In 1992, the Vogels donated over 2,000 paintings, drawings and works of sculpture to the National Gallery. The Vogels have never been wealthy, but they helped artists who needed encouragement, and enabled the general public to enjoy their collection for little or no money.
I’m guessing that as Editor in Chief, Mr. Miller earns enough money to buy the things he wants: certainly enough to afford a piece of art priced “in the hundreds,” which he stated was the norm at the Ann Arbor Art Fair. I would further speculate that he has spent more on his barbecue grill than he ever has on a piece of art. “In the hundreds,” is a low price for quality original art these days. What else could he possibly expect? How could an artist begin to make a living if the average price were less?
It is unfortunate that Mr. Miller couldn’t find anything that he liked and thought worthy of the price, but my suspicion is that he is a poor judge when it comes to the value of art; he simply doesn’t value art very highly. It’s easy for him to praise the established masterpieces in the museum that he sees for free (because someone else paid for it). The creators of those works were once struggling like those artists at the festival whom Mr. Miller condemns. If someone hadn’t once taken a chance on them, there would be no masterpieces and no museum to visit for free.
Michael Daugherty
Director, Isalos Fine Art
Stonington, Maine
7/28: Tethered to the Machine
I'm writing from a different computer today, since my own computer crashed. Its demise was sad, but not entirely unexpected, as it had been ill for over a week.
A moment after I realized it wasn't going to start, I picked up a book that had sat unread on my desk for over a month: "Walden," by Henry David Thoreau. I opened it to my bookmark and read: "I am wont to think that men are not so much the keepers of herds as herds are the keepers of men..."
Indeed, the visitor to my gallery might easily assume that I am tethered to the computer, doing its bidding, rather than the reverse. Perhaps a few days without it will do me good.
It's interesting how life can swing back and forth between opposite influences. I want my life to be simple, so I have my own business, which in turn is anything but simple. I don't want to be too attached to material things, yet my livelihood depends upon other people wanting the art I sell (and which I ultimately desire for myself). I want to be efficient and connect with the bigger world, so I use a computer, which I'm at for hours at a time; when confronted by actual people in front of me, I have to tear myself away from the machine to talk with them. How many paintings will I need to sell to pay for the repair?
Either way, some time away from the machine shouldn't be an entirely bad thing. I'll try to check-in from someone else's machine.
When the computer business is all squared-away, I'll enable comments on here... taking the advice of others.
A moment after I realized it wasn't going to start, I picked up a book that had sat unread on my desk for over a month: "Walden," by Henry David Thoreau. I opened it to my bookmark and read: "I am wont to think that men are not so much the keepers of herds as herds are the keepers of men..."
Indeed, the visitor to my gallery might easily assume that I am tethered to the computer, doing its bidding, rather than the reverse. Perhaps a few days without it will do me good.
It's interesting how life can swing back and forth between opposite influences. I want my life to be simple, so I have my own business, which in turn is anything but simple. I don't want to be too attached to material things, yet my livelihood depends upon other people wanting the art I sell (and which I ultimately desire for myself). I want to be efficient and connect with the bigger world, so I use a computer, which I'm at for hours at a time; when confronted by actual people in front of me, I have to tear myself away from the machine to talk with them. How many paintings will I need to sell to pay for the repair?
Either way, some time away from the machine shouldn't be an entirely bad thing. I'll try to check-in from someone else's machine.
When the computer business is all squared-away, I'll enable comments on here... taking the advice of others.
7/24: Questions
A young couple in their mid to late teens dropped-in today and took a good look at everything. If one judged them by their looks, they probably wouldn't fit-in to the usual stereotype of someone with a great interest in art, and yet they lingered quite a bit longer than most lookers. When I finally asked if they had any questions, it turned out that they did.
The girl asked,"Are you one of the artists?"
I get this all the time. "No," I explained. "Being an artist ought to be a full-time job. Running the gallery is a full-time job too, so I try to give the artists a chance to do enough work to make a living.
"Do you sell a lot of art?"
"Sometimes. It's like the lottery. The right person has to come in and find the right piece of art. "
"Who's your favorite artist?"
"That's easy. Rebecca Daugherty, my wife."(After all, she reads this- I do want to eat dinner tonight.)
"Who's your favorite famous artist?"
I had to think about it before I came up with a couple of names, which didn't seem to ring any bells.
"Do you like modern art?"
"Yes."
"How about Jackson Pollock?"
On and on. I found it oddly inspiring after seeing so many adults zip through the gallery in less than a minute without taking their sunglasses off. Later, a woman came in, glanced at a couple of paintings, and asked us what gallery commission is these days. I can't imagine walking into a retail store and asking what their mark-up is; it just seems rude. Fortunately, Rebecca was there to answer politely without actually sharing our figures.
"Forty to fifty Percent is standard," she said.
"That's incredible. So the artist is actually getting less than the gallery. I mean, they've gotta buy frames."
I looked around at the gallery we've put so much work and money into, not to mention time, and I thought about advertising, insurance (yes, the art is insured) the high electric bills to keep the lights on for twelve hours a day, and all the other expenses, and I was flabbergasted that anyone would think the artist is getting ripped-off because he or she has to buy a frame. Amazing.
Not only that, but most artists who have tried to sell their own work realize that it costs them money and time, and understand what they get for the commission, which is time to devote to their art.
Fortunately, Rebecca was there to answer politely.
The girl asked,"Are you one of the artists?"
I get this all the time. "No," I explained. "Being an artist ought to be a full-time job. Running the gallery is a full-time job too, so I try to give the artists a chance to do enough work to make a living.
"Do you sell a lot of art?"
"Sometimes. It's like the lottery. The right person has to come in and find the right piece of art. "
"Who's your favorite artist?"
"That's easy. Rebecca Daugherty, my wife."(After all, she reads this- I do want to eat dinner tonight.)
"Who's your favorite famous artist?"
I had to think about it before I came up with a couple of names, which didn't seem to ring any bells.
"Do you like modern art?"
"Yes."
"How about Jackson Pollock?"
On and on. I found it oddly inspiring after seeing so many adults zip through the gallery in less than a minute without taking their sunglasses off. Later, a woman came in, glanced at a couple of paintings, and asked us what gallery commission is these days. I can't imagine walking into a retail store and asking what their mark-up is; it just seems rude. Fortunately, Rebecca was there to answer politely without actually sharing our figures.
"Forty to fifty Percent is standard," she said.
"That's incredible. So the artist is actually getting less than the gallery. I mean, they've gotta buy frames."
I looked around at the gallery we've put so much work and money into, not to mention time, and I thought about advertising, insurance (yes, the art is insured) the high electric bills to keep the lights on for twelve hours a day, and all the other expenses, and I was flabbergasted that anyone would think the artist is getting ripped-off because he or she has to buy a frame. Amazing.
Not only that, but most artists who have tried to sell their own work realize that it costs them money and time, and understand what they get for the commission, which is time to devote to their art.
Fortunately, Rebecca was there to answer politely.
7/22: The Rapture of Lobsters
It's Friday evening in Stonington. A local band, Shakewell is playing on the deck at the Maritime Cafe, adding a few new songs to their repertoire: Radiohead's "Creep," and Richard Thompson's "1952 Vincent Black Lightning," among others. Live music is a great thing for downtown. People are drawn toward the music. They linger on the sidewalks and chat like they're at a party. By now, the lobsters in the tank have probably learned to dread the music. They know that soon after it begins, so does the Rapture of lobsters. They see their comrades grabbed and lifted into the air and dropped into another tank, and they hear them scream. It's true: lobsters scream. So goes life in Stonington.
Obviously, it's quiet in the gallery; otherwise I wouldn't be writing this. I suppose I ought to figure-out what this blog is all about. I've seen a few blogs by painters, but not by a gallery director, or whatever you want to call me, the person behind the gallery who sits here for ten or twelve hours, seven days a week, surrounded by art.
Among the blogs by painters is one called "A Painting a Day" by Duane Keiser, in which he posts a new "postcard painting" every day. No words: just a nice little painting. He sells almost every one. For quite awhile he sold them for $100 each, but he's recently started putting them on ebay, and they're going for more.
I like to mention this to artists trying to figure out how to make a living from their work. "So he makes coffee money," one said. I pointed out that thirty-five grand a year could buy a lot of coffee. I like having the gallery, but I have to admit that I'm envious of his overhead costs.
So what's this blog about? So far it looks like it's a bit of observation- what's outside my window here on Main Street, and a bit about art, or maybe more about selling art. It is what it is, I guess. Stay tuned.