My name is Virginia Broersma and I am here to share my notes.
I’m a Long Beach artist and along with my studio work, I run The Artist’s Office, working with creatives to identify and pursue opportunities available to them. Here on The Hi-lo, I will be offering stories from my process of trial and error, insight from those who know and tools and resources to arm you with information to make strategic decisions as an artist. I am all about the practical steps we can each take to be moving forward, so each post will have a roundup of recommendations (scroll down) that I have found useful or interesting, including opportunities for artists.
So here goes. About a year after I graduated from art school, I was living in Santa Fe, working at an art gallery and making my first attempts at being a real artist. The gallery job was really informative for me since, at the time, the prize of gallery representation was something I was determined to win and I got to see how other artists presented their work, from poorly photographed images to fancy packets assembled by PR agents.
Since I was pumping out work in my studio, I decided it was time for me to reach out to galleries and I started assembling my own packet. I bought beautiful vellum envelopes that were just transparent enough to see through to the image of my painting printed on my CD of images—it was 2004—all folded together with carefully crafted pages of information about my work as well as handmade business cards.
During this period, I was also trying to meet anyone and everyone connected to the art world. I attended a panel discussion featuring gallery owners giving advice to emerging artists. One female gallery owner, in particular, talked about how she championed emerging artists and loved to be a resource for them. I knew I had to meet this unicorn. I said hello and told her how much I appreciated what she had to say. According to my memory, we had a great conversation that was definitely longer than 30 seconds and I felt that we really connected. I left feeling stimulated and motivated, having just met my new art world crush.
Shortly thereafter, my packets were ready to be mailed out to some carefully researched galleries. I thought, I had just made this great connection with a gallery owner in town so I should send her my packet also, right? I double checked the website and there was no trace of the familiar line: “Sorry, we do not accept unsolicited submissions.”
I hopped in my car, took off towards the post office and then realized her gallery was on the way. Why mail it, when I could just drop it off? I would save a stamp and maybe have the chance to say hello again. I’m sure my new friend would love to see me.
Let me pause here to mention that I DO KNOW that it is a major faux pas to pop into a gallery during business hours, portfolio in hand, expecting the staff of the gallery to take a look at it. But that was not what I was going to do; I was just hand delivering something I would have otherwise mailed. A drop off. Not an impromptu meeting. And artists popped into the gallery I worked at all the time. It was a small, sleepy town and it was fun to have people stop in. I’m sure she’d feel the same.
I pulled up to the gallery, hopped out of my car, envelope in hand, opened the doors to see the gallery owner there, talking with three men in suits, startled by my entrance. And here is where I wish I could tell myself to just stop, turn around and leave. It’s like that smooshed road kill that you can’t look away from and then as you drive by you see a small twitch and the horrific realization dawns on you that it could still be alive. You want to help the poor creature but your fear of its pain causes you to keep on driving and that vision becomes seared in your memory. Like that.
The specific details are so deeply buried under the immensity of my shame, but I do remember saying something along the lines of: “Hi! We just met the other night. I was driving by and wanted to drop off a packet of my work for you to take a look at when you get a chance.”
The look of absolute contempt on the gallery owner’s face was followed by a spattering of words from her mouth along the lines of “this is not how you do it.” She turned to the men who I’m guessing were collectors, and while I was still standing there made a scene of her disgust and made very clear she did not dabble with such amateurs.
She did not take my vellum envelope and I never returned to the gallery. I have never sent another unsolicited packet of my work to any galleries since.
At this point, I can recognize the naiveté of my youth but I think it’s useful to share these moments so we can commiserate and learn from them. Comparing notes on our choices and experiences as we work at our art career/practice/hobby is I think, one of the most productive tools we can offer one another.
Roundup of Recommendations
Artist Opportunities: The Ruth and Harold Chenven Foundation, which gives unrestricted cash awards to individual artists for the continuation of their work. Deadline is coming up on July 15. Apply! And if you need some tips on applying for a grant, check out Secrets of the Grant, by Andrew Simonet of artistsu.org.
The Irvine Fine Arts Center is taking submissions for their annual juried All Media exhibition. Great opportunity for those looking to show their work! Deadline is July 14.
Listening: Going Through It – a podcast from writer/journalist/editor Ann Friedman (also one half of Call Your Girlfriend – another EXCELLENT podcast) where she talks with guests about their experiences getting through challenging situations and the decision to give up or push through. She also makes hilarious Pie Charts.
Reading: Ingredients for a Braver Art Scene, by Ceci Moss and featured in the summer issue of Contemporary Art Review Los Angeles (CARLA). In it she lists some ways to imagine alternatives to the traditional support systems for art production. Pick up an issue at most galleries in LA, or order online.
Do you have questions that I can work to address? Resources to share? Email me at [email protected] and I’ll see you around the art world.
Jake Kazakos, whose illustration “Snakes” appears at the top, is an illustrator who graduated with a BFA from Cal State Long Beach. He says he’s felt the same pangs of inadequacy as Broersma. “Presenting my work to people other than my friends is always nerve-wracking. It’s a strange situation to be in, but I think that vulnerable feeling is something a lot of creative people deal with.” Kazakos wants you to get your dogs microchipped before the Fourth of July as well as cut back on your sugar intake. You can find his work on his website at www.jakekazakos.com and on Instagram at @jakekazakos.