I’m not really good about public relations. I like to concentrate on my work, not on how my work is presented or sold. This blog, for example, has never been promoted, or had ads, or even a counter. I just write it for me, and a few friends. You!
(By the way, this is my 763rd post.)
Now, however, I’m being forced to reconsider PR. I must be more pro-active in marketing myself, job situation being what it is.
I saw this exhibit a few months ago at Rosamund Felsen. The paintings were sort of nice—loopy, ice cream colors, what I think of as California abstraction. Nothing great, though, and the person I was with hated them.
On the way out of the gallery I saw the poster. It’s a masterful story of romance: sexy yet sensitive artist, gorgeous studio, hint of the hip scene, whiff of wealth, hot Mediterranean garden… and it explains the paintings. It could be all made up, the guy could be the gardener for all we know, but the paintings are now much more marketable.
2 comments:
They feel beauty, but want stories.
Tricky, to tell stories without being patronizing or baldly capitalistic. And after telling the "story" behind the art a few times, don't you feel tired of repeating the words?
We have to work on being interested in our own voices, sadly.
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