Yesterday, I found myself in an awkward painful be fangled yoga position that I seemed to have gotten into all alone.
An American girlfriend asked to set up a personal tour of a local artist’s studio in Spoleto’s Historical Center and could I do this? My friend had a number of visiting friends in from the USA that she wanted to pull in tow, about 10 in total. I called the local artist and set up the appointment for later that afternoon.
The foundation of the ugly interaction was without words except two, “50 euros”. I accept blame for my part which will be exposed. Prior to arriving I mentioned that the artist had numerous little things for sale at good prices. This simple pick phrase “good prices” contributed to an expectation which did not pan out to be anything close to reality.
I had been this artist’s Christmas market and recalled reasonable may a little high, but reasonable prices for the exchange of items that had been painted.
So with 10 outsiders in tow they slowly filed into this local artists house. They were amazed at what they saw. Bold orange masses, sweeping trails pure clear pigment bright colors outlined with an accent of black wrapping up the final composition.
Unexpectedly for me, it was a chance to see the artist’s latest body of work that had begun to really begun to grow and show debt. I was impressed by the newest large pieces that had been created for a “well know museum in Rome show this September”. Then it was added “I was invited by a known art critic to show at this prestigious local show.” With a sincere interest I asked to be invited and personally remind of when she would have this show.
Again, I would reserve my critique until I saw the actual delivery of the so called “Museum” and the “so called art critic” who did the inviting.
In this 3 year relationship that I have known this artist, I saw a particular fixation on the need to paint everything. And with that I mean everything… kitchen bottles, hot mitts, fridge, curtains, knickknacks, a child’s bike, the family car, scraps of wood, inside walls to garden, men’s ties, woman’s scarves, drinking glasses, the even some very unique stones. I was sitting at her kitchen table where the chairs, benches all objects possible had been painted throughout her home studio. I am truly surprised she has yet to tattoo her body with her style as it seems the only thing left unpainted with in her reach!
On a prior visit I had fallen in love with her painted toilet seat with little faces looking up at you. It was almost difficult to sit down knowing there were all these faces looking up. I asked to show that to the visitors but it she stated that it no longer existed as the toilet set wore out. What a funny thought, the same thing had happened to mine.
I had found myself inspired as an artist to go out and buy a new toilet seat to paint in my animal theme. It looked great for some time with brilliant yellow and turquoise blues zebra stripes and all my guests loved it but the issue here is the lack of quality to the underlying item. So say that both of had created brilliant works of art to only have it be discarded after being breaking as to the active use of a toilet seat deteriorating.
The master piece of art had become something not of artistic value but something no one would want to keep around after being broken and the grossness of the whole idea. Anyway we all went upstairs and looked around. She offered her guests, 100 limited edition giclée prints offered at 50 euros. Not a bad price at all for a high quality limited reprint but enough for an artist whose works rarely sell at any of her asking prices.
I asked “How much for these 6 inch long rectangle sticks of wood painted that had a little clip on the back for hanging?” “50 euro came out.” Personally I thought to myself, “hum?” I’d say 25 or 30 euros at max but this were not my place to be pricing. She offered the round pendant necklaces where, you got it right, “50 euros”. A visitor asked, “How much for the 6” diameter Styrofoam painted balls?” Before I had a chance to control my flinch, distorted cringe and face of anguish, I heard “50 euros” ringing out again, “they are all original works of art too!”
At that point I felt embarrassed but for what I am not sure she even saw it. Was this a joke that wasn’t funny, a miscommunication or bad translation, was it the only English number she knew, 50? For me the tension grew with the air filling with the internal thoughts we were all having. So much noise without a word being spoken!
The artist started spewing off all her shows and the show coming up, the places where she had exhibited and invites outstanding as well as shows in other countries. She pulled out catalogs and brochures where she had been featured. An awkwardly loud silent sound stunned the air even stronger. The artist started to explain the wood frame came from her a 50 plus year old grandmother’s closet and the fabric was that of her Nonna’s too! Over 50 years old was the material she used, “it had a history in itself!”
The discussion went on and the audience cringed at her ridiculousness of some of her pieces prices. I agree with translating as the artist bled out her details of justification. I found myself turning to her defense as I saw the alienation of those bargain hunters or “Ugly American” posturing that she was possibly perceiving. Like the ridiculous idea of having to pay for public toilet use and then how dare the Italians charge paper!
But after living here in Italy full time for nearly 4 years now, I clearly see why how this posture was created and where it was needed for the sheer survival in this culture.
We did invite ourselves in. We did eat some cookies out of politeness but then the return of value for her was expected. This was her home, her time, she personal showing, her explanation as we did intruded on her. Did this not count for time?
I personally explained how one on my originals (gatto di Buddha)was easily valued for sale for 1500 euros and a sweet local shop assistant said I cannot afford that. I said, I know but neither is it for sale, as numerous others had asked prior to you for this particular work and where willing to pay it. I did mention I had a first reject version of this piece that was still lovely. I had about 65 euros in it for costs and would add another 65 for my pocket for time and labor if she was interested. I had screwed up on the Buddha cat’s eyes and then added Andy Warhol type glasses to rescue him. After the sun glassed Buddha cat was shown, she said no. I want that 1st piece you made and discussion returned that one. Again I said he is not for sale and if he was, there were already a few interested buyers at a price you could not even entertain thinking about.
My sunglasses Buddha got snubbed and snubbed hard. It ended up being a bitter lesson learned. With all the health issues I had been through these past fours and where I had arrived in life living on a disability pension, I did not need to even try making a living from art. So without even my solicitation of her interest, not being offered for sale, I was getting burnt, and dissed from the start. That became my moment where I just out right say, “NO ART IS NOT FOR SALE. PERIOD, IT’S NOT!” As my recollection of this event sat on my soul, I realized I was no longer in interest of haggling with others’ ignorant and insensitive whims.
But here I sat an artist kitchen table’s home studio and I found myself defending her right to a valid price and why art cost so much. But then there was the embarrassment of how ridiculously high her prices where on things that in no way supported her wringing our, 50 euros, 50 euros, 50 euros.”
As a few minutes passed a Baltimore couple was opening their wallet and I was being asked for 5 euros in help to make the 50 bill change. I asked the detail of the price exchange so as to make sure the language barrio was not adding to this awkward turned visit and there I saw a absolutely beautiful palm sized portrait painted on this stone for 25 euros. What? Wait did I miss something…. These stones where truly lovely, each with a different woman of color not hem, but the cartooned magic marked Styrofoam balls were 50 euros. I myself even thought it was extremely reasonable priced and found one I wanted.
It seemed like such a relief for me. Someone stepped up to the plate to rescue what was becoming a ugly American style possible in her eyes to one couple making what we had called a “Bella Figura”. To do something right even though the situation make not have merited it. To rise above the awkwardness of the situation of pricing injustices versus an artist who pours out here life savings to paint without return, I was relieved.
I thanked the couple more than once for doing the right thing and was actually shocked at how lovely the painted stone filling his wife’s hand was. As we walked away I was glad it was over and realized next time, I need to keep m big mouth of it. It would be a discussion I could never when with this artist and my simple intentions to help became extremely awkward.
