I also used to cook and bake tremendous amounts of food to satisfy the hungry hoard that I imagined would come to see a year’s worth of Throop work. Soup, breads, cakes, cookies, quiches even. I remember my first public exhibition; I rented the space for a long weekend, designed and mailed 200 postcards, invited local media, spent hundreds of dollars on frames, and laid a veritable feast on several tables. I had a game where some lucky art lover could win an original Throop simply by answering correctly an obscure trivia question. I never once considered it compensating for the inferior work on the walls. Rather, I naively thought, “this is how it’s done”. As artist, you warm your friends, family, and even some strangers with the human touch, and they give back by purchasing a painting, or, if that is out of any guest’s price range, one of your several published books discounted on the table beside the free saved seeds. On the price list I included some barter ideas (still do), to get the conversation humming. On opening night, students from the college came at the behest of their professor, who was fast becoming a friend of mine. A few asked excellent questions, many showed serious interest. It was practically heaven while they eased in and out of the rented gallery. In the course of a weekend maybe up to five other unknowns came to view the work. One brought his elderly mother who really loved the food, and went so far to say that I should open up a catering business. Not a single word about the paintings! Even with several colorful titles like:
Veterinarian Ron Gets In Trouble With His Magical Time Machine
Welcome Suspicious Careerists
Don’t Underestimate the Bite of the Toothless Dragon
Aut Libri, Aut Liberi (Either Books or Children)
All in all, it was still wonderful. Truly a life-changing success. Likewise, a harbinger of future financial failures to come, but heck, it was an exhibition, not a stock speculation. An expressionist cannot help it if the laymen thinks television and a glass of wine the better night life to stimulate slumber. The dreams of the latter will amount to new cars and carpet. The expressionist as fool believes always in a better life. Often he or she must make one up to prove it.
These Russian painters are the future of art on earth. Their enthusiasm is more verve than the MoMA could squeeze from pathetic, uninteresting, uninspired bozos like the false clowns shown here:
Jesus, just look at them. No thought of exhibiting their innocence. They are prepaid for.
As to the constipated man in the photo, there is no doubt in my mind that he is oblivious to what makes art art. He would come to the Stuckist painting show, eat their food, chewing silently with no questions asked, and head back to the hotel with time to stream a few episodes of Breaking Bad through his iPad. Art think must break away from this kind of power that doesn’t even know what goes into an apple pie in order to bake it. There is art adventure out there. Seek it! Else fork over $25 to see what Bjork wears on a hot day.
Of course, many can partake in a revolutionary act. Attend the free art party to talk to human beings who help make talking to human beings a worth while pursuit.
Have fun tonight showing your work!