Post for the week.

I'm drunk, I'm not in Muskegon and I am celebrating my wedding anniversary with my wife. Life is good.

First things first!

I know I have a few loyal followers and that my lack of updates is a slap in the face to them. I am very sorry. It's just that the fall season is when my clinical depression sets in and everything looks grey and tastes like pennies.

The end of summer went out in a triumphant yelp and I turned a new page in the gilded book of my life as an artist. When I last left you, I spoke of entering the world of Art Fairs as a way to pay my bills. I am very glad I did as it has opened my eyes to wonderful opportunities.

During one of my guided landscape excursions, I brought up my idea of taking part in Muskegon's summer art fair to my fellow painters. I explained to them that my wish was to bring an authentic art experience to an average art fair. Our 'tent' could include a few of our landscapes and maybe a few other 'contemporary' works that some of us may have been working on.

Everyone liked my idea, but Kay would have to decline the invitation. Kay is a little bit of a shut in and doesn't enjoy going out in crowded public places. I told her that I understood.

Susan stated that she loved the idea but would also have to say 'no'. The Muskegon summer art fair takes place during the same weekend as the Unity Fest. The Unity Fest is an outdoor Christian music festival that draws thousands of practicing Christians from all around the mid-west. I was a little disheartened to hear Susan state that she was 'morally opposed' to 'those people' and it makes her sick to even be close to them. I did my best to try and convince Susan that if she participated, she may be able to 'convert' a few Christians with her art. It was an uphill battle that I lost.

JESUS ROCKS!!!

Bob, on the other hand became giddy at the idea of taking part. He stated that while his landscapes were becoming better, he had a few new things that he had been working out that may fit the bill as 'new experiences' for the viewing public. I was impressed with his excitement but a little worried that he wouldn't share these new things with me, he demanded that they will remain a secret until the day of the art fair. I agreed and did not push him to share.

While we continued to paint our landscapes, Bob and I discussed the financials of  renting a spot in the fair and acquiring a proper tent for our display. We both agreed that we would split the expenses evenly and we could iron out the rest of the details over lunch at Mr. Quick's this afternoon. I love it when a plan comes together over milkshakes and burgers.

We soon finished painting and I drove us all back to Mr. Quick. Waiting in the parking lot for Kay was her son Wayne. I had not thought Wayne would be interested in taking part in my little art fair endeavor and while I was unloading everyone's art supplies, Bob filled him in on what we were planning. "Hey, that's cool! I got some shit I would like to get rid of" he burped. I told him that his items should be 'art related' and it would cost him money to take part. I was hoping that the 'cost money' part would scare him away, but before he even flinched, his mother Kay announced that she would be happy to pay all of his share. God Damn It.

Well, at least there would be three of us taking part. A few days later, Bob, Wayne and I all met at the Subway on Harvey street to plan everything out. Bob stated that he would provide everything needed for his art surprise and Wayne let us know that he could bring a few card tables for what he was going to sell. I would provide a proper art fair tent that I was renting from a rental supply company. I had gotten a pretty good deal on the tent because it was an old canvas tent and not one of the newer snow white plastic tarp tents. I also was bringing a few eight foot by four foot free standing 'walls' to hang my work on and that they were more than welcome to share some space on the panels I was buildingt. As we chatted over our foot-long subs, it felt as if a bond was growing between the three of us even though we all seemed so different. It was a warm feeling and I felt as if it was good sign.

The weekend of the art fair quickly came upon us as we packed my van with all of our supplies. Bob and Wayne both said that their offerings would fit in their own cars and they would meet me there on Friday morning. Our lot number was 136, a good number if ever there was one.

I was the first to arrive and I was sober. I denied myself any liquor for almost three days so I would be as bright as possible. It sucked to be awake that early and be sober, but I was able to get alot done in a very short time. I was able to set up the tent and a few of my walls before Wayne and Bob arrived with their quarry. The canvas tent I had rented had a slight odor of mildew and looked a little more ragged than the tents neighboring me. But, was all about the art. It was not about some dandy white tent. The art must rule the day!

Bob arrived in a little while and he looked smashing. He was wearing a vintage tan suit and one of those classic thin black leather ties from the 80's. I was very surprised that a shorter man of his girth could pull that look together, but somehow he did. I greeted him at his car and helped him unload his wares. Everything was packed neatly into several plastic tubs. Before I could sneak a peak, he sharply reminded me that it must remain a secret until it is all installed. Laughingly, I agreed to follow his orders.

From one of the plastic tubs, Bob removed a number of midnight black shower curtains and began to install them in the far back corner of the tent. He worked with a razor sharp singularity and I did not disturb him as I began to install my own work.

I had just hung my second work went Wayne popped his grizzled head under the tent,  "Hey dudes, what's up?". He had a large Radio Flyer red wagon in tow with a number of stacked well aged cardboard boxes. "Can you watch my shit? I gotta go get my tables", he added. I said yes and he shuffled off. One of his boxes was half open and I took it upon myself to help it open up a little further. Within I saw a collection of NASCAR paraphernalia that had to be over twenty years old. I had once built an impressive toy collection and knew that the most important thing about collectible toys is that the boxes must be kept in pristine condition. From what I could see, Wayne's collection was far from being mint. The boxes looked as if they had spent the better half of the 90's packed under the stairs of a very wet basement at his mother's house.
Well, I kind of expected this small set back but was determined to not allow Wayne's dusty crap to ruin my day. Art would rule the day, REAL ART!

Bob never left the confines of his fortress of blackened shower curtains in the far corner of the tent while Wayne set up his two card tables of NASCAR collectibles and I hung a selection of my shoe paintings, two framed landscapes and organized two small pedestals. The pedestals would have upon them five of my newest creations, a limited series of empty liquor bottles that were engraved with images of past American Presidents and beautiful women wearing pantyhose. The bottles were going to be my money makers as the paintings were probably out of reach, financially, for your average art fair attendees. The paintings may have been priced out reach, but they were more for ambiance and acted like the gasoline for my hard driving REAL ART FAIR EXPERIENCE!

At about noon, I was finished. My work was hung and I thought it might be prudent to check behind the black curtains to see how Bob was doing. I had not even pulled them an inch apart when Bob poked his head out and demanded that I would be the first to see everything if I would stop trying to peak and give him about thirty more minutes. I apologized for interrupting his work and backed up and away. As I turned around I saw a small group of men standing around Wayne's table of withered treasures. Then I saw one of the men pick up a Jeff Gordon figurine and hand Wayne thirty dollars. I fully expected Wayne to return a handfull of bills as change but no change was given back. Wayne had made the first sale of the day. He had sold a Jeff Gordon NASCAR Christmas figurine for thirty American dollars. Well good for him.

I told Wayne that I was going to get a lemonade and to mind the tent for a little bit. He gave me a thumbs up and turned to tend to the small group of potential customers standing around his table. It was fun to be out among the public and I was not impressed by my tented competition. There was quite a collection of yarn and feather "Native American Dream Catchers" and two gentlemen had both set up competing tents selling homemade wooden toys. Children where already hungrily eyeing the rubber band guns on display under their tents. There were also quite a few 'photographers' who thought that their Photoshopped and inkjet printed pictures were going to make them millions. The only money to made off of their crap will be made by Hewlett Packard via hundreds of gallons of ink used to print such drivel. If I learned anything while getting my Master's Of Fine Art Degree it was that photography is not art. But, I will leave that fight for another day.

I found the lemonade stand and got in line. It was the kind of lemonade they made by tossing in a crap load of cut up lemons along with two pounds of sugar and mixed it into a glass of iced water. Life was good.

When life gives you lemons....

An hour had to have passed and I was sure Bob was finished with his installation back at the tent. So, I began to make my way back. The crowds were starting to grow and I saw quite a few Jesus t-shirts among the herd. The Unity Fest crowds were finding the art fair.

Wayne was sitting on a folding lawn chair behind his two tables. I noticed that there were a few empty spots when he announced "Looks like I got beer money!". Well good for him. My business was with Bob. I noticed Bob had set up a small lock box with a slot in the top and had posted a sign that stated "Entry $5, Adults ONLY!".  I stood outside his black curtains, "Bob? Are you done?" I asked.

"Topher? Come in, it's all done" he returned.

I carefully parted the black curtains and entered Bob's domain. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but from what I could see, Bob had created a very unique collection of art. The blackness was cut by an overhead black light that made Bob's false tooth glow white and his glassy eyes turn a weird shade of baby blue.

"How do you like it?" he asked.

Hanging upon the four black walls was a collection of nicely framed black and white photographs. They all glowed in a strange way under the black florescent light. From what I could tell, the photographs looked like pictures of male body parts. Hairy male body parts. Rotund, hairy, male body parts. Bob had really created something that was, in it's own way, very beautiful.

Every photograph was different and after looking at quite a number of them, I raised my eyes to Bob's. In the small black space I could see a small tear rolling down his cheek. "Thank You", he said. I tried to ask why, but Bob interrupted me.

"The landscape painting has opened up my life in a wonderful way. I had spent my adult life in a closet and now I am free. These photographs are my artistic out-coming. These are for you", Bob sobbed.

It felt as if I was standing in a large bucket of ice water. My heart was beating so hard that I could feel every heartbeat from behind my eyes. Then it happened.

Bob put his arms around my waist and placed a dry kiss upon my lips. He was shaking underneath his vintage tan suit. His kiss was salted by his own tears and lasted for what felt like an eternity, but I did not 'kiss back'.

Every awkward sexual experience from my life flashed before my eyes. I relived every forgotten moment, from my prom night premature ejaculation to getting locked out of my own car naked while my date called her father.

Bob then released his embrace and took three steps back. His upper lip looked like a heavily tinseled Christmas tree from all the snot that was flowing from his nostrils. He sniffed and the moment had passed.

"Bob, you know I'm not gay. Right?" I asked.

Bob stood erect, "OH.....yea. I know. Neither am I. I was saying thanks....DUDE".

Without missing a beat, Bob turned and described the tale behind every one of his naked self portraits. I didn't hear a single word and thought that a shower and an an iced glass of Makers Mark would really hit the spot.

"Hey Topher, Some guy wants to know about your shoes.", Wayne announced from outside the blackened chamber of photographs. Wayne had become my savior.

The smell of decades old mildew from the canvas tent and the bright light of the mid day sun was a very welcome comfort. Standing in front of one of my shoe paintings was a elderly man. He asked a few questions regarding my paintings and I did my best to answer him. But, it would take a few hours and two more lemonades for me regain my composure.

All in all, the weekend had mixed results. Wayne made over $300 and sold almost all of his NASCAR collectibles. Bob didn't sell any of his photographs, but he did make over $60 charging people to see them behind the black curtains. Most of that money was from Wayne, who had become quite enamored over Bob's creations and enjoyed multiple visits.

I sold two of my engraved liquor bottles. Wayne bought both of them

After that first day of the art fair, Bob and I never discussed what had happened between us. None of us broke even that weekend, but we all promised that next year we would be happy to do it all over. I told my friends that I thought it might be fun to do the Grand Rapids Art Prize and they agreed. Hell, Wayne even thought we could win first place.

So if you visit a summer art fair next summer, look for our tent and buy some art. Bob, Wayne and I would be happy to sell you some for a fair price.

As an artist, the most frequent question asked of me is "So do you do art fairs?". Up until this summer I had always avoided what I believed to be the lowest form of art; the summer art fair.

I know I probably sound like a snob, an art snob. But, there is an unwritten code among artists that once you delve into the gutter of the summer art fair, there is no return. You are stained for life with the fecal smell of pandering to the lowest of the low.

Ok, it may not be a 'real' code and there really is no smell of poo. But in the art circles I frequent, there are certain categories that art may reside and these categories rarely intersect.

At the highest echelon of public display of art resides the 'By Appointment Only' for profit gallery. These galleries are the pick of litter and cater to the wealthiest of the wealthy. They are an artist's wet dream and well above my stage of art expertise. Unfortunately at my age, I doubt I will ever see any of my artwork displayed in a gallery that is only open by appointment only. Nope, keep dreaming fucktard.

Slightly below the 'By Appointment Only' galleries are the 'Open During The Weekend Only' galleries. These galleries are for profit and only open during the weekend because they MAKE SO MUCH FUCKING MONEY!! I know, it's crazy that an art gallery could make so much money that they would not need to stay open during normal business hours. But that's how they roll. Now, I have been in shows in galleries that were only open on the weekend. But, they were different. The galleries that I have shown in that only open during the weekend, were only open during the weekend because they were going out of business and had to make pizzas during the rest of the week. They are two different things and as before, I doubt I will ever see my work displayed in a (very profitable) gallery that is open only during the weekend. It won't happen.

Lower down the ladder are regular 'for profit' galleries. These places are open  during normal business hours  Wednesday though Sunday. These places bust ass to make a dollar and are probably as high as I will ever go when it comes to displaying my art. I have had a number of shows in these types of institutions and I am very grateful for every minute my work was on their walls.

But, these shows are few and far between and will never pay daddy's rent.

From here, we delve into the 'Non Profit' arena.

Non-profit galleries are a very wide ranging group of categories. The highest of these are run by city art commissions and promote the idea of bring art to the masses. These tax exempt venues serve a very noble cause and I have been honored to have been asked to take part in a few of their showings. In one such show, I made a huge sale of two of my best pieces and when asked, I always say "YES, I WOULD BE HAPPY TO TAKE PART".

Dropping down a notch are the tax exempt galleries that work very hard to bring art to regional urban centers. Run by Board Members and high profile donors, these galleries play a valuable part in bringing an affordable art experience to the great unwashed masses while at the same time bringing a small amount of much needed cash to a few unwashed local artists. These venues have been the most profitable for me and where I have had the most public showings of my work. Most every show I have been asked to take part of in these types of venues has been a fantastic experience. Almost each show has been a collection of great artists and great works. Ok, I'm brown nosing it a little. Ok, alot. Fuck you, I need the money and if I burn the bridges this low, I may never get any higher. So, if brown nosing gets me shows, then I will wear a badge of shit for my entire life.

A few more rungs down the art ladder is the tax exempt, non profit, some dude has a dream gallery. These are the lowest of the legitimate galleries. Usually in an abandoned urban space or in some city owned building bought at auction and usually without heat, insurance, or full time staff. These venues offer little in the way of sales or marketing. Never expect a sale at one of these galleries and if you do get a sale, many do not 'do the whole bank thing' and may only offer cash or postal money order as way of compensation for sold art. But, rule of thumb, don't expect to sell work here. Many of my first shows were at places like these. I have fond memories of artwork hung in cold poorly lit rooms and miss-spelled labels. Good times.

Slightly below the realm of 'some dude running an art gallery in the basement of an abandoned church', we have that local bar or restaurant that believes that they could be a serious gallery too. If they didn't serve food and booze. These places are the true wild west of public art venues. Art becomes secondary to the Reuben on rye with fries instead of chips. Personally, I have been proud to have always drawn the line in the sand at this spot when it came to displaying my work publicly. It's not bad, it's just different. Fried food and my art do not mix. 'nuff said.

Wait, somewhere just above the dude who runs a restaurant that has art on it's walls is the MFA studio show. Public confession, I have taken part in one of these things. A Mongolian Cluster Fuck has better planning than the single MFA studio show I took part of and it is not my fondest memory of grad school. The minute I was asked by a fellow student, "Could you move your work? It's making mine look too orange", I knew I was truly in hell. Look, I still have problems speaking of it today without losing control of my faculties. The entire night was not ranked among my proudest moments and let us leave it at that and move on.

Well below the art gallery wanna-be restaurants and the MFA studio shows are the Summer Art Fairs. I feel bad about ranking them here because the average art fair artist busts ass to make every buck. I just wish they would bust ass to make every work of art. That being said, this summer I came to the conclusion that dish washing at Hooter's, part time teaching at my local community college and selling my shrinking toy collection on E-bay was not going to pay my rent. I needed more money. What if I could bring a real art experience to your average summer art fair? What if I could do all that AND make a huge amount of fucking money? Well, this is the summer I tried make some real scratch.