A sucker punch

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/10/arts/design/10colen.html?_r=1&ref=todayspaper

Enough is enough, really. This guy is selling paintings made out of chewing gum and or grass stains or other ridiculous materials and claiming they are art work. And, remarkably people are buying them Well, B. T. Barnum was right.

Refuges From The Storm

As many of you know, we recently relocated M Gallery to Charleston SC from Sarasota FL. We were feeling the excruciating pain of the protracted collapse of the Florida housing markets & the related economies.

We did thorough research and determined that Charleston was a strong market for the kind of paintings we carry and provided a nurturing environment
for museum quality representational art.

I found it ironic, that after years of drawing the
parallels between over inflated financial derivatives and non representational art, we would find our selves financially entangled in a collapsed balloon of a
real-estate market. We knew based on our adamant stance & experience in the art world, carrying works of tangible value that escalate slowly but steadily in value, that are competence and skilled based works of art by living masters, that the consequences of this collapse would be long lasting and we felt we needed to depart our beloved Sarasota.

I never imagined I would feel at home elsewhere our art community in Sarasota was so strong & loving. The minute we settled in Charleston, it was as if we had always been here. Everyone is so friendly, so warm. There is great appreciation for the work we carry and we fit in to the
existing art venues comfortably. We feel a bit like refugees that have come into safe harbor from a financial storm of unimaginable strength. What a relief to be here.


As my friend Clayton Beck reminds me, in the last 2 centuries, since the development of photography in 1829 the purpose of Art and the commercial enterprise of Art has drastically
changed. Historical rendering of events, scenes & persons no longer was required
by painters. Photography could document history much more efficiently and
cheaply. The commercial proliferation of artists as documentarians of life was
no longer needed. Peggy Guggenheim, Sotheby’s and the vast gallery network in
the urban centers of the world began to market & promote art works which were no
longer skill based (much cheaper to make & required less training) as an
alternative to the mass production photographs offered. These schools of art:
cubism, expressionism, abstract expressionism, minimalism etc hijacked the idea
of art and turned it into a Ponzi scheme of selling valueless works which
required no skill for great amounts of money.

As a result the general public and the collecting public became very confused.
Academia and the museum establishments embraced the absolute non-sense of what
amounted to art derivatives and invested heavily. Now consumers of art were
befuddled and began to say words like: I don’t know much about art (meaning what
they were taught in school made no sense) but I know what I like (meaning beauty
and skill interest me but I am embarrassed to counter such an overwhelming
trend).

The emperor had no clothes.

What has emerged out of all this mess is finally a recognition that the works
presented by these schools of art are no more than hucksterism and what is
occurring as a result of this understanding is a great resurgence in
representational work: Skill based & aesthetically beautiful. M Gallery’s
mission is to provide a commercial venue for these works, reflecting one of the
greatest art movements of our time. Our painters and their peers are the
vanguards of an art movement which promises to change the direction of the
future, rewrite our understanding of art history and restore an understanding of
art for generations to come.

We are tickled to be in Charleston’s embrace.

Robert Liberace's Crouching Man captures it all.

M Gallery is located at 11 Broad Street in the Historic District of Charleston,
SC. Hours are Monday – Saturday 10 am to 6 pm; Sundays 11 am to 4 pm.

Life is so interesting I cannot imagine suicide, if only in order to find out what happens next.

I am sorry for this rambling content, but there are many things I want to say. After a very difficult couple of years, experiencing the complete collapse of the Florida housing market and its related economies (including the gallery market) I went for a drive. A long drive.

As many of you who follow our undertaking know, I circumnavigated most of the US, towing a U Haul trailer, returning paintings, visiting artists, looking at markets in which to open an alternative location to our beloved but beleaguered Sarasota.

I settled on Charleston & this week (Internet provider gods willing) we will open a new gallery at 11 Broad Street in the heart of the historic gallery district.

We had not intended to exit Sarasota, but after some long and hard business discussions with our selves & our landlord, we decided to close our location at 16 S. Palm. It saddens us to finally throw in the towel, but we simply cannot continue to accrue losses. Our landlord has been very gracious and we have many beloved friends, customers, artists and fans that have supported our efforts to bring aesthetically beautiful representational art to the region.

We simply cannot continue in Sarasota. We know for a fact people came from across the state & the region to visit our gallery and enjoy the salon-like atmosphere we have created here in Sarasota. It saddens us to leave, but frankly we need a more nurturing environment with a healthier economy. Our street was torn up again this past week, and the city seems bent on making it as difficult as possible to conduct business downtown.

I was shocked at the difference in Charleston, in terms of business climate & economic climate. There actually are people bustling on the streets down town, working, shopping, eating out, laughing, and buying art.

Charleston treasures their galleries and understands the draw they are for the entire region. The city of Charleston sponsors countless art focused festivals & events and every effort is made to expedite business permits and support local merchants. It would be unheard of to block off a busy merchant street for weeks on end as has happened to us over and over again in Sarasota.

It would be unheard of to turn the historic downtown of Charleston into a canyon of high rises with accelerated wind tunnels blowing customers literally off the streets as has happened to us in Sarasota.

The city of Charleston aggressively advertises & promotes their art district; its merchants work hard and advertise nationally as a unified body to bring people to the community. We started our business life in Sarasota as a city full of galleries. We are down to a small handful, certainly not enough to justify a monthly gallery walk. We have lost the critical mass required to create the kind of retail cluster we need.

My home is in Sarasota, & I love the city & my neighbors. I fuss like an old lady over the dismal prospects for the housing market & employment. I cannot see how a recovery can be in the offing for at least a decade…we cannot hold on that long, no matter how much I wish it was different.

So, we are moving to Charleston. We think, hope & pray this will be a better environment for us. We are so sad to leave, but we simply do not know what else to do.

While packing and unpacking I have found great comfort in a favorite poem by Wisconsin Poet Laureate Ellen Kort:

Moving Slightly Left From Center

Once every five year Uncle Jake

Gave it all away cleared out

The house moved everything

From shelves out of cupboards

Letting go he called it

Starting over clean as clouds

They laughed when he came to the door

With boxes of mason jars old books

His collection of wishbones

He knocked on the window

Held up quilts spread his arms

Wing-wise offering his new blue jacket

And then there he’d be

In that emptiness only the bed left

Like some crumpled wounded animal

Like something waiting at the bottom

Of sleep The bareness I remember

As a child how lonely it felt

How afraid I was that he was getting ready

To die that this hungry house

Would swallow him leave me trying

To digest the way lives fill and empty

They gather up through long dry summers

Gulping the daililness spitting out

Thick heavy vowels worry words

That link us to that one place

We’re sure we can never leave

I think of you now Uncle Jake

As I measure myself against what I know

Will come the air in this house

Rubs against me like a grateful cat

Purrs darkness out of corners and crevices

Uncle Jake your voice lies damp

Your bones swing easy inside my flesh

Packing packing this heart an open box.

I think Charleston will be great. I hope everyone will come & visit us there. It is a lovely city. We will miss Sarasota, the sun, our friends, the water dancing in the sunlight.

Packing packing this heart an open box.

Lifting Fog

This has been a week of crazy incidents: Irrigation systems burbling wildly; Water gushing out of interior house walls across my bedroom floor; Water pipes broken in the back yard & flooding fish ponds onto the street. I live on a tropical island so I am fairly conversant with difficult water issues. Just not in my house. The great news of the BP cap holding, stopping the flow of oil into the water surrounding our island overshadowed any of my personal broken pipes. The repair men just left, things seem to be stopped up, both in the Gulf & on my property. Whew. We have been having our normal blessed torrential rains. When we drove Hwy75 Monday, the roads were so hot any rain immediately turned to vapor in the form of foggy wetness. John Traynor painted this lovely painting while here on Bird Key in Florida and when I stopped in the gallery for a bit of painting therapy I resonated with its image of light and beauty peeking through the atmosphere veiling our eyes. We can't quite tell what lies ahead, but based on my life so far it will certainly be interesting. I am excited for the sea change and hope it is my good fortune to experience it fully whatever it will be....

My Father's Gift

I have a tendency to work way to hard at things, long after they are quite hopeless. Described in race horse terms, I would be called a "mudder", slogging my way through adversity, even when all evidence pointed to the wisdom of throwing in the towel. As a result, I sit in SW Florida, with some of the most beautiful paintings in the world for sale, in one of the worst economies of recent memory. Many many businesses here have simply collapsed. Now with the uncertainty of the oil spill, real estate has screeched to a complete halt. Times are hard. This week my wine merchant had his air conditioners stolen (two very large compressors) from behind his store...the culprits were caught on tape, the over worked and under financed Sarasota police force didn't feel the theft of the merchant's livelihood was worth coming out to the crime scene. All of this guy's inventory is literally popping its corks in the 100+ heat. (I guess if they were investigating the loss of livelihood they'd have to stop at every other store front up and down the street) We did sell a couple paintings this week, miracle of miracles, and due to the patience of our landlord we manage to stay open. We are looking at additional art markets for a second location and hoping their economies will some how be better. I was sitting in the gallery mulling over "what to do, what to do" , beating my self over the head for not being clever enough to figure it out. I remember my father doing the same thing to himself, when the economic policies during Nixon drove small farmers out of business and we were forced to sell our family farms. Only one of the farms remain, and they raise confinement hogs, something my father would have never had the stomach to do. He took the whole mess of the farm very personally, as did most of our neighbors. One of them hung himself in his barn. Another drank himself to death. Although what was happening around them was neither their fault, nor under their control, they felt like failures. Time and historical perspective of course have absolved them. So I use their experiences as guidance, staring at this painting of Tony Pro's of the lovely Geishas in their imaginary garden and somehow know I will find my way through. I won't hang my self in the barn or drink my self to death. I will simply soldier on trying to figure out the best way forward. I have the wonderful gift of the lessons of my father's pain & history proving him blameless in the whole mess. He also showed me resilience: After we left the farm he went on to a new career as an inventor of farm automation equipment, a merchant in a small store, & in retirement a craftsman restoring old furniture. Tony's painting of the lovely ladies in the garden mesmerize me, remind me impossible things can come to pass (what could be more impossible than Geishas in a garden?). My father would have marveled at Tony's skill as a painter, his craft. I wish he was here to stand with me in front the painting, remind me this time, like all other times, will pass and be something different...and that I will still be obstinant and myself no matter what the circumstance.

Roger Dale Brown's painting evokes a sense of space & drama which allows one's mind to wander, open up to a possibility of rest & peace and perhaps a new day. The Nashville based painter has seen more than his share of painful images (post flood) and still maintains the gracious presence of a southern gentleman. His community may be wallowing in mud & muck but the elegance of his imagery carries on in the best of traditions. I feel like Scarlett herself could look out at this sunset murmuring the famous line about another day and sleep peacefully. I know in my own life there have been enough disquieting moments to make me sure I am a member of the human race...and gifted with the lessons of adversity. Our commonality as people in enduring strife & yet being able to glimpse at beauty and find hope so carefully defines our humanity and our connection with the divine. Roger has a very special gift in being able to deliver that holy moment of comfort and hope to his canvas and let us take it home to our lives and be collected in arms of the divine and the ease of it all. This painting by Roger Dale Brown is available through M Gallery of Fine Art 16 S Palm Avenue Sarasota FL or on the web at http://www.mgalleryoffineart.com/masterpiece/title.php?ititlenum=12866

Eli Cedrone's efficiency of brush stokes makes the drama of this lovely woman's stance and the light on her turned head cascade across her cheek as morning kiss. How often have we all taken for granted the quiet reflective moments when observing a lover, a child, a friend only to return to them years later in our mind's eye...wishing we were back there in that blissful unconsciousness of being; doing all of the daily things we did without thinking: tie a sash, brush errant locks of hair, run our hand lightly across the peach fuzz on an arm. Eli's painting takes us to that moment of commonality, the treasure of the every day. It allows us to freeze frame the loves in our life: current, past & future in one holy place. It reminds us to really look when presented with the gift of our everyday lives; to see the light, the shadow, the hue...memorizing and imprinting each precious detail. It reminds us those moments are fleeting and to hold them dear. It reminds us of the temporal nature of now and the everlasting nature of our past and eternal nature our future. Eli's painting can be seen at www.mgalleryoffineart.com or at our physical location at 16 S. Palm, Sarasota FLhttp://www.mgalleryoffineart.com/masterpiece/title.php?ititlenum=12667