Isalos Fine Art

Sometimes, when I'm sitting here wondering what I'm going to write in my next blog, the subject walks in through the door. Today, his name is Rudy Nappi. "Did
you read Hardy Boys books?" he asked.

He'd made his living largely by illustrating book covers... Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew mysteries, as well as quite a few lurid paperbacks... the kind that I can hardly pass up at yard sales- not because I want to read them, but because I love the covers.

We found  some of the book covers on the web, and he pointed to the figures, recounting who the models were "my wife, the kid next door, a local cop...". He admitted that he seldom had to actually read the  book. Of course, I had to ask if he still had them, imagining the gallery walls adorned with busty female models with push-up bras and full, red lips. Regrettably, he didn't.

I mentioned putting him in my blog, and he said to use the Nancy Drew covers "they're a little less... you know."

I just took a badly-needed vacation. (Are any vacations not badly-needed?) I hadn't really planned on it, but suddenly I just had to go. I'd been working 10 to 12-hour days all summer without a day off. Maybe you noticed- my blog became decidedly cranky. I had to email a couple of friends to see if I was maybe a bit over the top and the unanimous opinion was, of course, yes. Sorry- I already zapped the offending blog entry, and watered another one down to nothing. I mean, my aim here is to lure all of you in, not scare you away.

 Rebecca Daugherty, Rocks & Pines, oil on paper, 5" x 5"

In the gallery, it was becoming difficult to answer simple questions, especially the ones I'm asked at least a couple times a day, like "are these photographs enhanced?" When people came in and went on about what a gorgeous day it was outside, I fixed them with a mean look, as if to say "yeah- what's your point?'

So we packed up the car and headed over to New Hampshire to a favorite spot for a few days. I vowed not to talk about art, and especially not about galleries. This was very difficult at first. It helped that there was almost no one to talk to, except my artist-wife, who was of course painting. All I could say was "nice picture."

We had no internet or television. We brought a few cds but listened instead to the loons or the waves on the lake. The day was measured not by business hours, but by the path of the sun over the trees and the ideal lounging places for each time of day. I swam and paddled my canoe with no destination: just drifting around and looking at things. I kept thinking that maybe I ought to go for a hike, but I was content to stay put. I read a great book, started a bestseller. I tried to pay more attention to the plot than the language (the lack of artfulness) succumbing instead to the opiate of turning pages.

Rebecca Daugherty, Shore Trees, oil on paper, 5" x 5" 

The irony is that people flock to our home to have this kind of experience, but we had to drive five hours away for it. Maybe the trick is to try to incorporate a bit of what we seek on vacation with our day to day life. Or maybe I just need to work less and have fun more.  And maybe sometimes, the simple answer to things is better. Are these photographs enhanced? No. Yes. What's the difference? Instead of  all the clever things we can try to grasp at while talking about art, how about "nice picture?"

Know Your Prices 

Know your prices before you go to a gallery with your work. Here’s  an article by Robert Genn that says it well. As for establishing your price in the first place, I recommend a chapter in Art Marketing 101.

In Stonington, the tradition is that when you drive into someone else’s car, you keep going. If your car is disabled, get out of it and don’t return until you’ve sobered up.

Last night, as a few people stood outside a restaurant that had just closed, a car drove past and sideswiped a parked car, which belonged to a young waitress who worked at the restaurant. As usual, the offending car kept going. The waitress got on the phone, and within a minute, a Deputy from the Sheriff’s Department arrived.

The Deputy surveyed the damage, noticing that broken glass from the offending car’s headlight lay on the pavement. The bystanders described the car. It was mid-sized, white with Maine license plates that read xxx. At that point, a mid-sized white car with a broken headlamp and Maine plates xxx drove past.

“Like that one?” The Deputy asked, pointing his flashlight.

“Well,” the bystanders said. “Yes.”

The Deputy  got into his car and sped away. The bystanders stood with the waitress, who lamented the damage to her car. One door was smashed-in, with deep scratches continuing down the quarter panel: a few hundred dollars damage at least. It was hardly worth working if you couldn’t afford to park you car at work: the one step forward/two steps back syndrome. This was the third time this summer that a restaurant employee's car was damaged by a hit and run.

Soon, the white car returned with a police escort. The Deputy talked with the bystanders as well as the people in the car, who claimed that someone else (they didn’t know who) had been driving the car only minutes before.

The bystanders assured the waitress that it shouldn’t matter who was driving, as long as the white car had insurance. They Deputy looked apologetic. “We’ll get it sorted-out,” he said, and explained that the license plates belonged on a different car. “For now though, this one will have to stay here until we can get it towed,” and he took the white car’s occupants away in the police car.

Sometime during the night, the white car disappeared.

Maybe this is a good time to point-out that Rebecca's painting, Duchess II has returned from its yearlong stay at the Island Medical Center. Duchess II is well-known locally. She's the big green boat that hauls-in fish for bait. The painting was well-appreciated at the Medical Center, and is now in our front window, ready to find a more permanent home.

It is quieter this week than it was last week. At the grocery store, I'm trying to make up my mind: gin or whiskey.

A friend pauses beside me. He says, "It's that time of year, isn't it?" I go for the whiskey.

"How was your summer?" he asks.

"What do you mean?" I reply. "It's over?"

 
Admittedly, there's not so many people roaming the streets, parking spaces are readily available, and the average age of our visitors seems to be older than it was last week - not that I'm taking a poll or anything. Already, the slant of the afternoon sunlight seems a bit lower, and by 7:30 or so, night has fallen more resolutely than it has for months, with the evening chill dipping into the forties.

On the other hand, I've had a little time to get out in the kayak, and the water almost felt warm (almost). The evenings are getting quiet enough that I just might say yes to invitations to social events. This is a good time of the year.

On Sunday evening, we hosted Barbara Southworth, who gave a slide show/gallery talk about her panoramic photographs. We had a nice crowd for the wine and cheese part, but it diminished a bit when the slide show began. Barbara explained her process and showed us her new portfolio, Maine Islands in Mind. Now she's off in her kayak, exploring the islands, looking for new subjects.

And Rebecca is headed off on a painting trip as well. So, despite dwindling numbers of visitors, the opportunities for creating  art seem to increase