I know the future doesn’t exist in the sense that all we have is this present moment.Now is all there is.
But for me the future doesn’t exist in a more problematic way.I somehow believe that whatever I agree to do in the future won’t actually come about.Therefore, I can agree to anything in the future because there is always time to change my mind.
Last winter I agreed to do three summer exhibits in places I would not have sought out on my own, just because I was asked to do them.
It was the middle of winter.I couldn’t imagine it ever being summer.I thought I had all the time in the world to change my mind.
And then it was suddenly time to hang the first show, and the day after that, the second show.I had plenty of help, but only because my daughter and grandkids devoted two days to loading art, unloading art, and helping me hang it.
One show was in a winery, where visitors come to drink and buy wine, not art.I was decorating their walls for free—not even a complimentary bottle of wine!
Yes, the show looked great, but so what?I wouldn’t even list this exhibit on my resume.
One reason the show looked great is that I brought large bright paintings.The better lighting that was promised last winter had never materialized, and on a cloudy day (which we have a surplus of in Ithaca) it was dark in the tasting room.
Artists in Ithaca are continually exploited by wineries, restaurants, beauty salons, and even doctors’ offices.You transport and hang your own art.You get no recognition.And if you’re lucky, no one will spill wine or splash soup on your art.
An exception is the Kitchen Theatre, which has a fabulous lobby for showing art, promotes the artist on their website and in gallery night brochures, and even offers free tickets to their plays.The Kitchen Theatre is the only non-gallery venue where I have felt appreciated.
The worst thing I agreed to do last winter was to be present at a reception for one small exhibit at a local frame shop from 5 to 8 pm on gallery night—which is tomorrow, in fact.
The future is now.
I absolutely hate standing around an empty gallery, the embarrassment when turnout is small, the relief I feel when a friend shows up, forgetting people’s names and faces, the temptation to guzzle wine in order to block it all out, the physical act of standing for three hours, the clock ticking one second per century.
The little frame shop gallery hosting my exhibit is not on the main downtown gallery night trail.If it was, I could be assured a decent crowd making the rounds—plus those who come for the wine and food.I can handle a busy reception—it’s the standing around with sporadic clumps of one or two people—the silence and awkwardness--that kills me.
But in the middle of winter when I’m asked to do a summer exhibit, I don’t believe the summer will ever come.
I’m paying for that false belief right now.
