re-grouping

the shock of the first year review is subsiding under a pile of woodcarving chips and the thick odor of oil. I spent some days under the sweatshirt hood, moping around. But I am ready to refuel. I went west for the Ann Gale opening at Hackett Freedman last week. After navigating SF traffic to retrieve my spouse, we parked in the rainbow-levelled parking lot, and elevatored up to a brightly lit gallery. Ann's work is intriguing on an lcd screen thumbnail, but captivating in-person. The varied marks are gestural, loose yet deliberate. Like giacometti's drawings & paintings, Ann seems to hone in on her sitter's face. As she approaches the head, brushstroke vary into delicate hatches or cuts, and a judicious application of stronger hue draws attention to an ear, neck, or chin. Up close, the faces are all texture, but from a step or two back, there is palpable presence. And I didn't tire of searching through the greys, blues and browns in the background. The tone of the paintings was sober (bordering on morbid) and beautiful. The interplay of these qualities left me sad, happy, and inspired to paint.

replenished-gallery field trip in SF

An out-of-town visitor motivated me to cross the bridge for a SF Gallery field trip. Haven't bumped into too much exciting (to me) work in the past, so have skipped repeat outings. But, Sharon kindly let me join her on a tour of her favorite galleries. As hoped, we saw some great spaces with varied types of representational paintings and drawings.
It's infrequent that I pass north of Market Street into the better-heeled shopping part of town. On the way, I passed a lady in all pink suit with matching pointy toed pink shoes. Arriving early, I had a chance for a small walk. Under the Chinatown arch (a place I arrive upon only by accident) I walked slowly past the couples photographing each other by the ornate entrance. Last year I visited the SF Earthquake Show at the Oakland Museum. In a lapse in judgement, firemen used dynamite to "control" post-earthquake fires, causing much of Chinatown to burn. There were hopes of a land grab by outside developers. Equal to the scale of the devastation by fire, is the tenacity of the folks who held onto this land for Chinese (a few prominent Chinese families and business-people) during the rebuiding stage. Now, its a narrow steep road lined with tourist goods, neatly stacked t-shirts, parasols, and knick knacks. Up above, week's worth of laundry hangs from windowsills and porch railings. My 7 minutes afforded me a couple block walk up and back into the traditional shopping district.
There are lots of gallery and collectible shops at eye level. Today we started upstairs. I passed my first destination 1.5 times before figuring it out. Dolby Chadwick gallery is tucked on the second floor of a nice office building. Each floor has tall ceilings with ornate detail. While it seems strange to seek out commerce on upper floors, once in, the light is beautiful, and you get a nice vista of the window detail on the cross-street building.
Some highlights:
* Ben Aronson - cityscapes
* Nancy Switzer - her metal can still lifes were great
* Ann Gale - portraits
* Marc Trujille - having a show at Hackett Freedman in a few weeks.
* Stephen Simons
* Jim Phalen
* Katina Huston
* Shelley Hoyt - i met her in the monterey market checkout line - views of from the berkeley hills through fog.

And, to aid my memory for future outings. We went to:
* Jenkins Johnson Gallery - :)
* Hespe Gallery
* Dolby Chadwick (my fav... neat retrospective show up now)
* John Pence Gallery (secret boon is room of drawings in the back)
* Hackett Freedman
* Frey Norris

formletter#1

formletter1,
originally uploaded by robin kibby.

Seeing a hand-addressed oversized yellow envelope poking out of the mailbox, activated my "real mail" radar. With excitement, I mounted the front steps, hands clenched around two full grocery bags. Not only was there personal mail, but a lot of it. Paper filled the depth of the box in a way that exceeded the normal bulk ads and credit card applications. This may be a day of good correspondence! My mind turned to distant friends, forgotton purchases, and the recent grad school applications sent out. But after climbing step three or four, excitement turned to suspicion. I had seen this envelope before - recognized the familiar crease where the yellow sleeve was once folded and tucked in a larger one and the double row of outdated santa stamps. And the clincher, the address lettered in my own hand. Not easy to spot at first, since it was a tidier effort on my part, but sure enough this was a note from the me of the past to me of the now. Which can only mean one thing to an artist - the return journey of a SASE. Inside was my a sheet of my precious, carefully labeled slides, and a form letter.
I set down both bags, and approached the mailbox. Seemed unlikely to me that a "yes" would be returned using my own postage, but it's possible. I opened the envelope, recognized the logo as a gallery I was excited about, and optimistic that I could get into, and saw the "thanks... but unfortunately."
My first rejection. My reaction was similar to when I taco'd my bike wheel on the side of a moving car and somersaulted onto the cement of a quiet city neighborhood. "Oh yeah... I am ok" and then melt into tears 20 minutes later.
I have a book on art business that suggest the artists has not truly "tried" to get gallery representation until collecting 100 rejection letters. While I don't interpret this as inspirational, I can take it as a benchmark for what measures a true effort to show and sell art. Day number one of skin thickening, nearly completed.