IS ART?

You know the feeling. The door is closed. Inside, the artworks are sparsely arranged in heavy frames. You steel yourself to enter, arranging your expression in a kind of ‘serious about art’ stare.  The atmosphere inside is no more welcoming. Silence prevails. The ‘gallerist’ barely lifts her head to greet you. There is however a distinct sense that she has already checked out your shoes, your watch and the fabric of your clothes. She has made rapid conclusions about your net worth. She has seen into your bank account and already knows that your mortgage is a monthly burden that you can barely afford. In short, she has rumbled you even before a word has been uttered between you. She knows that your Omega is not Cartier and your Boss is not Prada and she knows you will never, ever afford the kind of artwork on display.

The items on the walls are attractive but visually challenging. There is a small stack of photocopied papers on a counter but you are unsure as to whether this relates to the art on the wall. For fear of making a mistake, you touch nothing and nobody offers any help. You fix your eyes on one of the works and transform your gaze into one analytical appraisal. Panic begins to seize you and you now need to be careful not to look too inquisitive – fearing this may actually engage the assistant into an uncomfortable conversation that neither of you wants. “Do you know Panangelotti’s work?”  The words echo around the silent room. Her voice is parody pure 80’s Sloane. “Know it – I can’t even say it” is what you want to say. “Not really” is the best you can retort. The truce broken, the only objective from this moment on is retreat. Not only does she have a mental spreadsheet on your worldly assets, in her mind you are an artistic luddite.

It amazes me that galleries persist in adopting such an elitist attitude. When the works on display are invariably made by artists, artisans and master craftsmen and women – working in simple environments with simple tools and with unsophisticated materials – why then is it necessary to exclude and make exclusive such visually stimulating and non-discriminatory objects? Is art that special that it requires intimidation and snobbery to maintain an aura of mystique and monumental aloofness? High prices I can understand and appreciate. Galleries have overheads and artists deserve to be rewarded for brilliance. But why the attitude? It’s old-fashioned, it’s unpleasant and it’s offensive.

I have located my galleries in malls and high-footfall shopping areas. We leave the doors open and we play music. We accompany every item with information and prices. We provide catalogues and link our shops (and shops they are) to our web site. We sell postcards and notecards, often of the work on display. If customers don’t want to spend a $1000 or more on a wall piece, they may want to spend $1 on a well printed card memento.

If you go the Tate Modern, MoMa or The Guggenheim, the busiest areas are always the gallery shop. We want to admire the masters but we also like to shop. And is art so different to any other kind of shopping? In most ‘art outlets’ sadly it is so radically different to our day to day retailing that it is alien to an average consumer. That makes it difficult and embarrassing – which it really doesn’t need to be.

G