Comfort and Discomfort in the Business of Art

Last month I had a pastel selected for an international juried exhibition here in Montreal, sponsored by the Pastel Society of Eastern Canada, an organization I joined earlier in the year. The opening was last night, and I had to do quite a bit of work to get ready for it. Framing the piece, of course, but also doing a number of tasks I've neglected because I have not exhibited at live exhibitions for a long time, in favor of sharing my work online here and on social media. For instance, I didn't have business cards for my studio, or a website specifically for my art to list on them, or on my artist's profile with this or other organizations.

Since closing my Etsy shop, I've been mulling over what I wanted to do about offering my work for sale, and decided that it was a question of respecting myself and my work: it should be priced properly, and presented and offered in a way that reflects me honestly and clearly.  That meant creating a new website from scratch. I completed it a few days ago, and it's ready to view on computers or phones.

 

It was an illuminating process: in choosing the work for the site, I realized for the first time, really, that I have actually created a cohesive body of work over the past several decades, even though I haven't been able to devote myself to it with sustained focus until recently -- which has been a frustration throughout my adult life. I think the person behind the work comes through, too, and that was a surprise and a happiness; I was also able to see new directions, which I think is often the result of various kinds of retrospectives or collections.

I do need to participate in exhibitions, and perhaps look for gallery representation, but I have mixed feelings about both, as many of us do who are online a lot. Exhibitions are still prestigious, but they're also expensive and time-consuming, and yield limited results. Sharing work online makes so much sense for me, not just because it is easy, but because the connections and the community are an integral part of what art-making means to me. Watching a body of work develop over time - your own and other people's - is rewarding, fascinating, and a privilege. I love being in touch with younger artists and encouraging them, while also being pushed into new places, and included where I would not otherwise be. And in turn, I'm encouraged by artists of my own age and especially by older friends who continue to do excellent work and challenge themselves: I want to be just like them, as long as I possibly can. I have found more kindred spirits online than I ever did in real life, even in a big city like this one, and it doesn't matter at all where we are.

Here in Quebec, language issues continue to be somewhat of an obstacle, or at least a stumbling-block, for me. There were very few anglophone artists represented in last night's exhibition, and when I went down to the Old City a few days ago to help with hanging the show, I was the only anglophone among a number of people not just from Montreal (where we are all used to dealing with not just two but many languages) but from provincial Quebec where French is spoken almost exclusively. I can manage in French, but my lack of complete fluency limits me; my name-tag gave me away as English before I even opened my mouth. So I felt awkward, the odd person out among many people who already knew each other well and had a cultural connection; I tried my best to be extroverted and friendly, but by the time I came home I was exhausted and a bit discouraged.

At last night's opening.

This is an ongoing issue of living in a bilingual culture that is not my own. In the choir, we are a mixed group of French and English speakers, but unified by sharing the common language of music, and working hard, like a team, toward a common goal. I have never felt excluded or unaccepted there in any way. But when joining mainly-French groups, I have sometimes felt a subtle sense of being on the outside, and even of exclusion. I'm not looking for that, as some people do, but I've been here long enough to know that prejudice does exist and that it has nothing to do with me, personally: like all racism, it stems from systems of superiority and power that are actually rooted in fear and insecurity. Here, they reflect a history of injustice and inferiority where the positions were once reversed. Many anglophones deal with these issues by living in English-speaking areas and joining English-language artist groups, but we live on the French side of the city, and have tried to find our way within it.

Being truly fluent in French would help, but it would not change the underlying dynamic: prejudice and closed doors are a fact of life here for almost all immigrants, except the French-from-France who are alternately resented and fawned over. It's particularly difficult for immigrants who speak French as a second language to find work. As an American, I am actually less subject to prejudice than the English Canadians who once ruled and dominated Quebec. Neither the French nor the Americans wanted to remain subjects of the British; we had our "revolutions" at different times, but I think we often feel we have more in common.

For the most part, I try to ignore the prejudice: to be friendly, and assume I will be liked and accepted for myself. For the most part, that's been true. It would have been a lot harder if I had come when younger and tried to find employment or start a business. As it is, I love Montreal for its multi-culturalism; I feel at home now. But when I come up against these subtle walls, it reminds me how vastly worse it is for so many, and confirms my empathy for immigrants and refugees, for people of color, for other women and LGBT people around the world. I actually have a lot of empathy for the Quebecois who were repressed by the Church and by the English. Of course they want and deserve their own language and culture -- but at what price? Prior to the upcoming elections, the Liberal provincial government passed a law banning face coverings for those in public jobs or receiving public services -- which includes using public transit. The law is aimed squarely at the tiny minority of Muslim women who wear the niqab or burka, and its purpose was to woo the most conservative, pro-separatist, racist voters who normally don't vote Liberal. It's a stupid, wrong-headed, misguided law that won't stand up in court, but it is an indication of the racism that persists, particularly outside Montreal. Fortunately, a majority of people strongly disagree, and will continue to fight for inclusion and fairness.

Last weekend, we were in the U.S. visiting friends and family, and my heart broke for the difficulties many of them are facing -- from fear of nuclear missiles to soaring healthcare premiums -- and the daily political climate in which they're forced to exist. Coming up against this darkness in daily life reinforces the openness and diversity of my online life, and how much it matters to me. I have friends all over the world, united by shared humanistic values, and by the desire to express ourselves artistically through various media. I often have no idea, nor do I care, about my friends' color, sexual orientation, or religion. I care about their lives; I care that they are open to me and in turn I try to be open to them.

Art, seen in this way, is much more a language than a business. And so I've reached this conclusion: that my art feels right when it is priced to fairly reflect the work that has gone into it -- and also when it is given away.

Comments

[Nancy Gandhi]

Congratulations on your exhibition, and on your beautiful portfolio site!

It’s interesting to read about your experience as an expatriate. Mine has been different in part because educated people in India speak English, and the service people with whom I speak Tamil or Hindi are usually pleased and surprised that I can speak their language at all. I always regret that I’ve never become fully fluent in another language, but I don’t feel any sense of exclusion. And yet you have made contacts, put down roots, sung in the choir. That’s a great thing. Even if it’s tiring (my brain actually gets hot sometimes, after a long conversation in Hindi), It would be a sad waste to huddle in an expat enclave.

[Natalie]

Beth, congrats for the exhibition, and your new studio site looks great, easy to navigate, well designed. Hope it brings you great success.

[Roderick Robinson]

Ah, but what is a proper price? And can one claim to be honest? Incidentally, with regard to burka-banning I passed by a betting shop yesterday which sported a notice: No Hoodies. There was even a drawing of a hoodie for those punters who are unaware of the name of this garment. To my knowledge some banks in the UK and in France have notices excluding the wearing of motorcycle crash helmets inside. There is a legitimate reason for this since some bank robbers arrive and depart on motorcycles. But I wondered if there was an unexpressed reason that - umbrella like - supported the banning of burkas. Sauce for the goose... if you like. But are banks that subtle?

[Beth]

Nancy, that's interesting, I've always wondered how your experience has differed from mine. And I agree, I'd never want to huddle among other expats: even if it's difficult sometimes, my life is so much richer and more fascinating by embracing this place and its people as fully as a can. (I know exactly what you mean about "hot brain" though!)

Thanks, Natalie. I don't have high expectations for this site, but it was time I did something that acknowledges this part of my identity. Like the books you did a while back, a lot of it is for myself - you learn a lot seeing your work collected.

Robbie, you always ask the hard questions! Of course none of us are ever completely honest, and worse, we don't know it! As for a "proper price" -- if the buyer and seller both feel satisfied and happy, I think the price is fair and as close to correct as it can be. Banks are another kettle of fish - there are probably good reasons these days for them to request that headgear be removed, but if it is a closet excuse for racism, then there is a problem. I certainly don't think banks are going to be comfortable serving men wearing face masks!

[Roderick Robinson]

That's the best compliment anyone's ever paid me. Ever!

[Natalie]

Beth, my "livres d'artiste" - if those are the ones you mean - were never for myself alone, apart from the joys (and pains) of creating them. I definitely intended to sell them and the whole time-consuming, arduous business of selling, including much internationl travel, was the one part of the process which I've always disliked. However I did it, gritting my teeth, and did result in my work being acquired by prestigious institutions and collections so it wasn't in vain. I envy those artists who actually enjoy and have a knack for 'selling themselves' and never struggle with pricing their work.

[Duchesse]

Pricing one's work is a puzzle no matter what the field, and there are outliers on both ends of the continuum. I like your principle of "both sides feel they got a fair deal". It's the intermediaries- the galleries, dealers, agents-that can mess with that sense.

Anyone planning a life here should, IMO, learn and speak enough French for basic transactions and he or she may even find the language fun and rewarding (as well as frustrating.) If one lives here only in English (or any other language), one lives in a vastly smaller city, with fewer exposures to its richness and texture. So I applaud any anglos, etc., stumbling around in French! I