Back to Articles

The Artist and the Agora
originally published in GASNews, May/June 2001

           I’ve recently returned from doing one of the big winter wholesale shows back east (as we say out west). The one I participated in, the Buyer’s Market of American Craft, held at the Philadelphia Convention Center, was organized by Wendy Rosen’s organization and is commonly referred to as “the Rosen show.” The American Craft Council sponsors a similar wholesale show in Baltimore, right on the heels of the Philadelphia show, and is just referred to as “Baltimore.”  As in: “Did you do Baltimore this year?” ”No, I did the Rosen show.”
            I bring up this example of show-going dialect because I knew nothing of the existence of these shows when I was a student. There are certain things you learn in school, certain subjects that are pertinent to a degree-granting program, and certain things you do not. For good or ill, marketing is one of the things that you do not. The show circuit is a well-worn path, and a boon to those of us engaged in the production of multiples, but utterly beyond the ken of anyone who is not dependent on an income from wholesale sales.
            I like the shows. I’ve been involved with production studios for ten years now, but for the first five or six years I got away with sending my brother to do them while I stayed in the studio, the proper artist, filling annealers. I was suffering from the prolonged effects of a commercially ignorant education that treated sales with disdain – a disdain that infected any part of the process of promotion and marketing. When I started a new, brother-less business four years ago I no longer had that option and hauled myself off to Baltimore for the first time.
            It was a revealing and, quite surprisingly, creative experience. You must create not only a coherent line of work, but you also have to deal with the logistics, mechanics, and aesthetics of how to display and promote it. You are forced to acknowledge that the sanctuary of the studio exists within a larger context. What you make, what you manage to pull out of the void, with your imagination, your hands and your sensibility, exists in relation to a whole world of objects. This is the experience of the agora, that quintessential feature of public life in ancient Greece, where people would meet and gather and sell wares. Translating that as “marketplace” is a pale, one-dimensional rendering of a much more lively and engaging concept.
            The concentration of energy and talent that comes to bear on the shows is remarkable. In the course of a few hours, the cavernous expanse of a large, urban convention center is transformed into a sprawling village of artisans, each constructing a very personal and considered environment. There is none of the generic sheen of trade show exhibits. By and large, the precious square footage that one is paying many dollars for becomes the site of intense, idiosyncratic and clever constructions that try to show work to its best advantage and entice the buyers. The work on display ranges from the sublime to the ridiculous: perfume bottles, paperweights and ornaments still proliferate, and there are more art nouveau reproductions and artless faux-Chihuly baubles than should rightly exist. Some of it really ain’t pretty. But I would give anyone credit for taking the initiative, getting their act together, and actually showing up ready to do business.
            In many respects, the gathering of artists at the wholesale shows is much like the gathering of artists at a G.A.S. conference. It is a regular, annual event where you count on seeing old friends, meeting your peers, getting to know newcomers and enjoying the camaraderie of a relatively small group. There are representatives from industries that serve glass artists roaming the aisles–a decentralized, mobile technical display–delivering information on new products and getting customer feedback. Similar to a G.A.S. conference, you get to see new work, talk through technical problems, socialize, network, and generally experience the binding of community that makes you feel part of a greater whole.
            Of course, preparing and dismantling your display and engaging others with your salesman-like patter is the real substance of these shows, and this is how you spend most of your time there. The sole focus of the G.A.S. conference is information gathering, networking, inspiration and fellowship. The parallels between the two can only be extended so far. But what they have in common–the gathering of artists for both individual and common benefit–is what keeps me going back.

TOP