Recently, I read an article by a very prominent artist about rejection. It brought to mind an experience that I had many years ago at a time when I was pounding the pavement to sell my work. I don't recall my age but I was long out of school and living on my own.
I found a gallery in the town where I was living - a successful gallery in an upscale area. I called, asked for the director, introduced myself and she was interested in seeing my portfolio so we agreed on a time for an appointment. That was easy enough.
Being of utmost importance to me, I employed everything I knew at the time about approaching a gallery owner. I groomed and dressed myself in a professional manner that implied success. My works (all on paper at that time) were secured in a large commercial portfolio along with my short resume.
I arrived at the gallery on time, introduced myself and produced a business card to be presented to the owner. I did a quick walk through the gallery, while waiting, so as not to appear awkward. She was called to the front counter and I greeted her - without a response.
This gallery owner took the portfolio from me, opened it up on the sales counter (as opposed to a table, work counter or her desk in another area) and quickly went through each item in front of employees and clientele reducing me to the status of common beggar. Her only comment: "We already have a portrait artist." Note: there were two portraits among 10 works.
When she had finished with her very fast look through, she turned her back, without a word and drank from her coffee cup, then walked away with my work all over the counter and me the center of attention with everyone else in the gallery. I waited a moment to see if she would return to thank me for keeping the appointment, being on time, tell me "sorry, but our stable of artists is full right now". In the short time I was there, she had made only the one comment. I gathered by work, returned it to my portfolio and left.
All the way home, I tried to understand what had just happened. Did I do something wrong? Could I have offended her in some way? She was very receptive on the phone when we set up the appointment. Did her dog die? Was there a bugar under my nose? Were her panty hose in a wad? What the heck? To this day, I cannot understand the entire situation.
P.S. Later, when I recalled the incident to my mother, she wanted me to take her to the gallery so that she could give the owner a piece of her mind. Love ya, mom.
later . . . . me
http://www.rousart.com/
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