Congratulations!

This happens to be one of the most awkward responses we have in the English language. People use this word in such random circumstances. Since I’m an artist and randomly talk about art, I’ll start here.

Recently I did an art show. (See previous paragraph, because I’m an artist this is one of the venues I go to sell my wares.) I take my craft, talent, discipline, vocation, whatever you would like to call it, very seriously. I tend to think of it as a mixture of work and passion. It’s an odd alchemy of blessings and curses. I find that I am blessed to have the talent to create and cursed that I need to create. A condition, which, with the right amount of discipline, can become a profession.  So I do. I make and I create; then try to earn a living at it. In prior years and up to this date it has been pretty successful.

One of the reasons it is so successful is because I go to theses venues, “art shows” or “galleries”, and sell my “what I do” things. If all is done right, the mixture of patrons, art aficionados, friends, family and the curious converge into the space where I have my creations for sale… I’m not saying this is lightning in a bottle but a piece of artwork sells. CONGRATULATIONS! No, this isn’t a time for that word. It is a planned strategic business decision. I created artwork, placed it in a venue where I had the best opportunity to prosper and continue my love hate relationship with my passion. Don’t get me wrong; I love it when a plan comes together. But, this is the expected outcome.

Imagine a petrol station strategically placed on the exit ramp of a well-traveled expressway. The odds of someone needing to refuel their gas guzzling horseless carriage are pretty good. Would you congratulate the man that helps you in your choice of petroleum products? Just because he had the right product at the right venue at the right time, doesn't warrant a congratulations. You should be congratulated for being at the right place, at the right time and understanding the true value of "E" = empty. If you feel the need to impart your wisdom and enthusiasm for their service you might suggest some punctuation on their sign "Eat Here Get Gas." 

It's a Swiss Thing

It’s a beautiful fall day, the warm sun dappled the cobblestone road. Shadows of cornices and awnings create angular shapes along the sidewalk as we journey towards the gallery. The sites look familiar and the stores look like they haven’t changed. Each window is carefully decorated modestly to show their wares. All this familiarity and I still can’t figure out what train stop is ours. “There it is.” I quickly press the stop button with my finger. The train passes the gallery with its windows covered to hide the upcoming exhibit. We’ll get off at the next stop.

Here it is, Gallerie I.D., we stand in front of the gallery for my fourth solo show, windows covered, wondering if my artwork made the long voyage. The covering of the windows is a European thing. In the states I would have been freaking out, exclaiming, “What do you mean there are no pre sales?!” but this is routine and I’ve experienced it before so I’m not worried. There are no pre-sales, no political jockeying certain clients selecting that ultimate piece. The windows are covered. The doors are locked. If you want to see the art or, better yet, purchase it, be there at 6:00 when the doors open.

Sure enough like the accuracy of a good Swiss watch, there is a queue outside the door at five minutes to six. Precisely at 6 o’clock the doors open. The windows are unveiled and clients, collectors and the curious work their way into the room. I on the other hand show up twenty minutes after because my stomach is in knots. What if nobody shows up? What if nobody likes my new work? What wine am I going to have with dinner, red or white? Why did I take four years of Spanish in high school instead of French? My fears end as I embark at the right train stop and enter the gallery to see at least thirty people inside. I scan the walls and the labels placed to the bottom right of every painting for red dots. More anxiety fades away as I glance at a few red dots in the main room. I say “ Bon Jour” shake hands and greet people with the traditional three kisses. A little extensive but it’s a nice cultural difference. It goes as follows: place your hand on their shoulder then go cheek-to-cheek, go to the other side cheek-to-cheek, then back to the first cheek, step away and smile.

I can’t put my finger on it but all these things seem to work. Like clock work the doors are closed at 8:00pm. The previous collectors and new collectors head back home. As tradition has it, we go out to dinner; the gallery owner, some clients, my wife, and I. Dinner is ordered and there is wine, luckily I don’t have to make the decision of red or white.  I don’t speak French so it is ordered for me. We eat, we chat, and we laugh. We say good-bye: cheek-to-cheek, other side cheek-to-cheek, back to the start cheek-to-cheek.