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Installation view of "The Business of Art" at the UNE Art Gallery
It Takes a Community: Some comments on "The Business of Art"
By Daniel Kany
Why the Business of Art?
Why do art galleries seem to flourish in packs – like Santa Fe or New York or London or Berlin? What is the story with works of art that are made in “editions”? Is art like fashion – in this year and out the next – or does it build upon its previous incarnations in a constructive way? How can someone determine the price or value of a work of art? Is it better to commission a work of art or get what the artist has already made? What happened before there were art galleries? Why would an artist choose to show with a gallery instead of selling her own stuff? How do galleries work, anyway?
I have been asked these as well as hundreds of other questions that relate to the ostensible subject of this exhibition – the business of art. When I have been asked these questions, however, I have been wearing different hats: art dealer, art historian, studio art instructor, academic, glass art specialist, curator, gallery director, painter, art critic and so on. Any of these is a valid point from which to respond, but with the exhibition, The Business of Art, organized by Anne Zill, the Director of the Art Gallery at the University of New England, the public is being presented with the issue from the standpoint of Portland, Maine’s community of art galleries.
The notable absence from the participating galleries is one that might not even be on the radar of most members of the art-viewing public: Tom Veilleux Gallery. Veilleux is arguably the most exclusive art dealer in Maine. He buys and sells major works, typically for large amounts of money. Walking into his space, you will see works by the likes of Winslow Homer, Andrew Wyeth, the Zorachs, Marsden Hartley and their ilk.
Veilleux’s business is radically different from one like mine for a myriad of reasons: I take work on consignment rather than buying it outright; I establish active relationships with living artists; I “represent” the artists I show; my doors are open to the public; etc.
The qualities I mention here about my gallery are the norm for most Portland galleries. But from there we all differ. Some galleries represent the estates of now-deceased major artists (e.g., Aucocisco has works in this show by Bernard Langlais). Susan Maasch and I show more works by national artists, so by comparison we seem to have less of an emphasis on regional or “Maine” artists. While my gallery represents painters, photographers, printmakers and artists who work in fine craft media such as wood and clay, our unique focus is work by major glass artists from across the country and around the world.
The Nash Equilibrium
We will return to the idea of specialties in a moment, but with the idea of divergence comes what I consider to be the fundamental point of our shared economic model. There are several basic questions of interest about that odd mix of competition and community particular to the art gallery business: Galleries seem to thrive better in communities (e.g., New York or Santa Fe) and galleries also seem to act and advertise together – from developing community events like art walks to building gallery associations across the country. From the traditional point of view of capitalist markets and competition, the business of art galleries seems odd, even illogical.
The economic model that I think best explains this is known as Nash Equilibrium – after John Forbes Nash, Jr. of “A Beautiful Mind” fame. The idea is that the galleries of Portland are in Nash Equilibrium if we all make the best decisions for ourselves taking into account the decisions of all of the other art dealers. So, if three other galleries are specializing in photography, it might be in my best interest to steer away from photography and towards a niche that is underserved. On the other hand, if enough galleries are making Portland the destination for the best “Maine” art, then it might be in my – and everyone else’s best interest – if I pile on to help expand the quality and appeal of “Maine” art in Portland.
The reason why Nash is essentially the default economic model for art galleries has to do with the fact that galleries show unique work by individual artists with whom they establish exclusive relationships. It’s not like Target and J.C.Penny trying to sell you the same pair of Levi’s or the same iPod: If Paul Heroux shows with June Fitzpatrick then he won’t show with me – he can’t – and so on. Between us, there is no repetition and no overlap. As well, the idea of Nash Equilibrium is dynamic: if a gallery opens or closes or moves or expands or switches artists, that can change what is optimal for the other galleries. To function optimally, we need to remain engaged with each other and be willing to continually update our own practices.
Of course, there are exceptions – if Deb Whitney, for example, buys a piece from me or at auction, she can show it or sell it at her gallery, Whitney Art Works, regardless of whether I represent the artist. As well, galleries often host curated shows and exhibit works courtesy of one another.
Working together has additional benefits: If the galleries tend to change shows on a monthly basis and have coordinated openings, it can have an effect on the local press and make its way into the public awareness so that any given gallery doesn’t have to advertise for the public to know they will have an opening on a certain day, at a certain time, etc. This is the idea behind Portland’s First Friday Art Walk – a practice common to other art towns around the country. While many artists open their studios, it’s no surprise that Andy Versosa of Aucocisco Galleries was one of the significant champions of the idea of coordinating openings on the first Friday of every month. For many of the galleries, however, the benefit is not in the “throngs of gawkers who tramp through” (actual Portland gallerist quote) but in the public awareness that there are rotating monthly exhibitions that flow with well-worn rhythms.
Mode and Market
From the public’s standpoint, there are different types or “modes” of galleries: a photography gallery, a gallery that shows paintings by Maine painters, contemporary art galleries, galleries that specialize in prints, galleries that show fine craft or furniture or antique objects or affordable works by local artists and so on. For the gallerist, the question is how much to focus or specialize versus being expansive to the point of having more things for more people. Do we hone in on a specialized niche audience or do we try to have a range so that we can sell works to the whim tourist as well as the professional collector? Of course, there is no right or simple answer. This is affected by geographical location, the type of work shown, the scale of the work, price points, the content of the work, and countless other variables. Some of the variables that are most significant to my gallery are related to the fact that many of my artists are very well known glass artists from around the country: the result is that many of my collectors are major glass collectors from around the country and so I ship about 85% of my sales out of state.
My gallery is a type of gallery reasonably new to the East Coast. Not in the sense that we feature glass as much as we show a very broad range of work: from what is often thought of as “fine craft” to cutting edge contemporary art, photography, sculpture, landscape painting, and so on. This type of gallery has been more common for far longer on the West Coast, particularly in San Francisco and Seattle. By chance, my best friend from Waterville, Michael Sweney, was the Director for seven years at the Charles Cowles Gallery in New York City. His gallery has a similar range, and it was my admiration for what Cowles was doing that drove me to take a job at William Traver Gallery in Seattle (Bill Traver was my mentor: his is the most significant glass gallery in the world’s center for the Studio Glass Movement – yet he shows a bit of everything). I don’t think it’s by chance that Cowles opened his gallery after leaving his curatorial position at the Seattle Art Museum.
The Hip and the Hegelian
This brings us to the question of what’s in fashion: what’s hip? What’s in – and how does that work in the business of art? This is a far more interesting and complicated question than most art people tend to admit (or realize). In terms of fashion and how fashion drives the market, art is a very different thing. Fashion is driven by the seasons: winter is cold and summer is hot. You wear different clothes. The active term is “season.” With fashion, the new drives out and displaces the old. In fact, the new is intended to make the old seem and feel unpalatable. Yes, it’s about taste – and showing you have it. This is the notion behind the idea of “the hip”: it’s not good to be “so last year.”
In general, the last thing a gallery like mine wants to do is sell you a work of art that will make you – and your sense of “taste” – look dated. We want clients more than we want individual sales (it’s a common idea that 80% of art sales go to repeat customers – hence the term “clients”). But that doesn’t mean that galleries aren’t hip to what’s going on right now – what’s hip and who’s hot. There can be a heavy does of “the flavor of the month” but the general and lasting idea is that contemporary art is an intellectual practice closer to the machinations of philosophy than the economics of the fashion industry.
Quite simply, ambitious art builds upon what came before it rather than merely acting against it. Think of the development of technology or the practice of philosophy: great achievements might be passed by (Einstein’s relativity or Descartes’ “Cogito ergo sum”) but they are taken seriously, absorbed and, if beaten, at least they are beaten with the rod of respect rather than trampled and forgotten. This is why Art History is so interesting and exciting to so many people: baby steps mixed with style, envelopes are pushed and assumptions collapsed under the weight of collected attacks. Pendulums might swing to a certain extent but always with a sense of progress and intellectual narrative. This brings to mind the founding art historians such as Heinrich Wölfflin and Erwin Panofsky – as it should. For the inculcated, they bring to mind Hegel and the grand traditions of philosophy, dialectics and historical method. The question here is less of needing to know the specifics of philosophy as much as to understand that it is a long-standing and systematic practice of using ideas in relation to each other. Even the most radical artist reinforces the power of her predecessors by referencing them in her efforts to move past their assumptions and mistakes: even in criticism, she takes them seriously.
Art v. Kitsch
In terms of the market, does it really matter that works of art function like philosophical objects? From the point of view of the dealer, it certainly does. The dealer selects and stands behind the works he sells: it is my job, if you will, to select the “philosophical object” for my clients rather than some fashion industry tchotchke that will look like a passé embarrassment in a year or two.
A painting in time might be easy to place as the product of a given moment or aesthetic period, but we would hope it will not be emptied of all content and significance. This is not only tilting on the balance previously discussed, but it begs the question of kitsch versus art. In fact, I personally do not see any distinction between what is traditionally seen as the division between art and craft: rather, I think the only truly useful distinction is that between art and kitsch. Art or craft are not wholly the stuff of mediums. Wood in the hands of Martin Puryear, for example, is hardly mere craft. Most paintings made in America, on the other hand, are kitsch: think of velvet Elvises and weekend watercolorists.
As a tourist destination, Maine is a veritable cornucopia of kitsch. We produce seemingly endless streams of images of lighthouses, lobsters, moose, sailboats and googly-eyed smiling clams. It is our business as professional galleries to distinguish our goods from the humble hilarity of the lowbrow. We do this by establishing and adhering to professional standards and ethics. We do this by creating clear sets of expectations and professional practices. We do this by creating and maintaining a community of professional art galleries.
Ultimately, the business of art is about communities: The community of galleries, the community of artists, the community of collectors, the community of art supporters, the viewing public, the cultural press, and, indeed, the community as a whole. In Portland, the business of art shares much with the rest of the art world, but has plenty of unique qualities as well: Maine is one of only a pair of places in America where the locality (“Maine”) is a major brand in itself; Maine is a major tourist destination that is defined largely by the aesthetic qualities of the landscape; Maine has a long history of being the home to major artists; and so on. These all shape the reality of the business of art in Portland, Maine.
The business of art? It takes a community.
June 2009
June 2009
Installation view of "The Business of Art" at the UNE Art Gallery
Installation view of "The Business of Art" at the UNE Art Gallery
Installation view of "The Business of Art" at the UNE Art Gallery
By Daniel Kany