"You should really submit something," said my friend Kristen. It was the autumn of 2002 and I had really wanted to get back into the art scene (I'm a professional designer and I rarely get to create anything with myself as the audience). Kristen— a great photographer and a New Jersey native — was going to submit several photographs to the annual Monmouth County Arts Council art exhibition. Here was my chance as she would be a good influence on me to get back into visual arts — but what should I do?
For several months, I had been documenting and collecting artifacts from several trips to New England (I'm a native Rhode Islander) and it all seemed to come together. I had produced a piece entitled "Ocean Forty" — an installation that combined both ready-made art and original silkscreen prints. It was my homage to the Post Road/Route 1 thoroughfare that runs through the Northeastern United States. It was a celebration of the American idea of the vacation, which featured motel art, suburban architecture, and seafood restaurant decor. I was very proud of it. "Ocean Forty" was also received well by family, friends, and colleagues, but would it play in New Jersey?
It was a cold autumn night as Kristen, my wife, a friend and I drove from Manhattan to Monmouth County, New Jersey. The location of the Monmouth County Arts Council was located in an unassuming building next to a small Italian restaurant. I was surprised. For a regionally significant art exhibition, everything seemed so...crafty. The Monmouth County Arts Council show was essentially an upscale yard sale - nothing but quilts, vases, baroque-framed paintings, and Pottery Barn-eqsue photography. These were things that could be sold and re-sold. Here was art made by suburban housewives for other suburban housewives.
An obviously stressed-out and nervous "curator" was on the cusp of a full-blown panic attack when she saw "Ocean Forty."
"What is THIS!?"
"It's a conceptual installation piece," I said.
"Well," she stammered. "You need to draw a map or something right now as to how this thing gets assembled."
A somewhat uncomplicated installation, I quickly and throughly drew a map as to how the piece was to be assembled. I then handed "Ocean Forty" to the registration desk, paid the showing fee, and set it free into the court of public opinion. I felt both anxious and proud as we ate our celebratory pizza in the restaurant next door. I was back in the game. It wasn't a monumental or important art show, but it was a start.
Two weeks later, Kristen had returned from a return trip to New Jersey where she retrieved both our artwork and reviews from the jury. I couldn't wait to find out what they thought about my piece.
"So, Kristen. What did they think of 'Ocean Forty?'"
She handed me the original bag that I brought the piece in two weeks earlier.
"They never put it together," she said with gentle disappointment. "I found it near the trash."
What's the moral of the story? If you wish to subject your artwork to the scrutiny of the Monmouth County Arts Council, the first thing you need to develop is your price tag.
Great story. LOL. I never knew what the outcome was!
ReplyDelete