Art Show Etiquette 101

This is the weekend of Septemberfest here in Midland. It’s the annual fall art festival, held outdoors on the grounds of the Museum of the Southwest. Like its cousin, Celebration of the Arts, that’s held downtown in May every year, it draws artists from across the region. It draws a lot of visitors, as well:  the organizers are Not Stupid and know that if you want people to show up to look at Art, you have to entice them. Hence:  there’s lots of food, and there’s beer. It’s a novelty to beer drinkers here in West Texas to be able to walk around in public swigging a beer, and lots of people will go to these events just for that alone. We’re not like New Orleans or Fredericksburg, where you can walk and shop and sip all at the same time. Of course, there you can also walk and shop and sip wine; here, it’s just the beer. No Public Wine Consumption once the Summer Concerts are over, alas.

Anyway, so I was talking to my walking partner yesterday morning, hoping that it doesn’t rain this weekend. She always points out that we need the rain, no matter when it happens, and I had to argue that no, we do not need it this weekend. In explaining how horrible rain would be this weekend, I realized that most people think of art fairs in a completely different way than do 1) artists and 2) those of us who love artists.

Rain on this weekend would be a horrible thing. No matter that the artists have tents and tarps and can fairly well protect their art—it’s still stressful. And what’s worse, it keeps away the people who would otherwise be strolling and swigging and buying the art. Because art shows are not just excuses for people to set up their stuff and let you look at it; art shows are the way these people make a living. Oh, sure:  some of them have other jobs. Thank you, jesus, for that:  we are not a culture that’s all about helping artists make a living. Yeah, we’ll help you if you’re some recording artist or have somehow managed to make a name for yourself on some reality tv show. But a working artist, trying to make your art during the week and then packing it all up and schlepping it around the country on the weekends to try to sell enough to keep doing what you love? Eh, screw you:  if it’s not going to re-sell on ebay for 100 X what we paid for it, we don’t want your stinkin’ art.

And I’ve noticed that a lot of people walk around art fairs with just that attitude plainly expressed on their faces and in the comments they make to their friends as they move from booth to booth. While I know y’all are not at all guilty of any of this, here’s something you might want to pass on to your Non-Artist-Supporting Friends.

Rules for Art Fairs:

1) It’s not about you. While you may somehow have come to harbor the common attitude that Everything is About You, it’s not. And this art show is not. It’s not about entertaining you or letting you loose your Inner Art Critic. These people do not drive all this way and do all the work of setting up and organizing their booths so you can walk by and impress your sister-in-law with your snobbishness, as in, “I can’t believe she’s trying to get $25 for that. Why, I could do that, and I could do a lot better job.”

2) If you think you could make it yourself, do NOT say so. Just shut up. Shut. Up. If every working artist had a dime for every time someone made a point of saying, “I could do that!” they wouldn't have to spend their weekends in Podunk, Arkansas, sweating under the afternoon sun and cringing as some soccer mom lets her kids handle every single scarf in the booth. If you can make it, then go home and make it. No one wants to hear your negative opinions.

3) You’re not an art critic, and your job is not to walk around judging the art in the booths. Sure, you may think the stuff is crap. Pure D crap. Fine. Some of it may well BE crap:  I’ve seen some stuff that baffled me with its awfulness. I did not, however, believe it was my place to enlighten the artist about this opinion. No:  my job is the same as yours, and it’s what your momma told you when you were a kid:

4) “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

If you’re thinking that it’s your job to point out to the artists that they really should be using a better quality canvas, or that they use too much blue, or that their flower paintings are too realistic, then here’s something to think about:

They do not need to hear that from you. They have heard that before, probably from people way better qualified to suggest ways for them to make a difference in their art (read:  judges, gallery owners, actual Art Critics). What they need to hear from you, the Art Fair Shopper, is something positive. Something encouraging.

Think about it: they’ve made the art, whatever it is. That’s a huge thing right there. Then they’ve sent in their slides and application and waited to hear if they were accepted. They paid their booth fee, which is often a pretty hefty little chunk of cash. Then they’ve picked out work they think people will like—imagine that:  looking through work you’ve done, things you’re proud of and scared about and maybe still wondering about, and you look at it and try to pick out things that will elicit gasps of appreciation and delight. You maybe don’t pick the pieces you like the best because you don’t know if you can bear it if other people don’t like them. You pack up that work, and you figure out the layout of your booth, which might include lighting, and sometimes a nice rug, and maybe a little chair for shoppers to sit in. And you load that all into a trailer and drive however many miles and set up. You attend the opening night auction/dinner, where the people who can afford it get to rub elbows only with other people who can afford it—so they don’t have to mingle with the Great Unwashed during the rest of the weekend, plus they get first choice—and so you smile and schmooze with these people, who often treat you as some semi-skilled craftsman and say things to you like, “Could you paint me one just like that, only in blue, and with sunflowers in the background, instead of that mountain? And could you put in my dog—here, I’ve got a photo, except I want her to look younger than this. And maybe my daughter? Except make her taller and without the piercings. And you’d give me a discount, right? Since we’re friends?” And you just smile and bite your tongue because you really need to sell some work. The electric bill is due and your wife’s been laid off since last May and your 12-year-old Lab needs surgery.

What these people need to hear from you is something to keep them going, something to give them hope. If you love their work, say so. Say what you love about it. If their booth is warm and cheery, say so. If they hand you a postcard, don’t say, “No.” Take one, say, “Thank you. This is lovely,” and then put it safely in your pocket or bag. Don’t you DARE drop it on the ground or toss it into the trashcan. If you don’t want it, slip it into a library book as a bookmark the next time you return your books. Pass it on.

5) Do not dicker for a better deal. This is not a flea market or a boot sale. An art fair is not one of those places where you’re supposed to try to talk the seller down to a better price. The only time it is acceptable to suggest that a discount might be given is when you’re contemplating buying multiple pieces from the same artist, and then you may very delicately suggest, in a very round-about way, that perhaps you might like to be able to make a group purchase, should such an arrangement be offered. If I come up behind you in someone’s booth while you’re trying to talk the artist down to a better deal, I’m going to accidentally poke you in the butt with the stick from my corn dog.

6) Talk to the artist. Ask about their work, about their ideas, about how the show is going. Remember that, for every kind, art-loving person like you, there are probably half  a dozen people who walked by today and said (all together now!), “I could make that.” So compliment them, let them talk about their work. Be a light for them.

7) On the other hand, remember that they’re working. They’re there to sell work, and if you’re standing in the middle of their booth talking about your bunions and they’re politely trying to listen to you, they may be missing a chance to talk to someone who actually wants to buy something. When you talk to an artist at an art fair, do it when they’re not busy, when they’re not trying to eat or write a receipt. Keep an eye out for other shoppers and, when one approaches the booth, STEP OUT OF THE WAY. You know how it is when you’re trying to buy something from someone whose art you love, and there’s some bore standing in the middle of their booth going on and on and on about the sorry state of the economy vis a vis art buying, and you can’t get in, and you can’t see the work, and you can’t get the attention of the artist to ASK about the work.

Don’t be that bore. Talk to the artist about their work, but move aside and give everyone else a chance to shop. 

7) If you love the art and can afford it, buy it. So what if you’re not 100% sure about it? If you love it, buy it. You’ll end up with a piece of art you love, sure, but even more important, you’ll be supporting an artist. That means that they can keep doing what they’re doing. Don’t think of buying art from the outside in:  it’s not like buying, oh, a framed print at Dillard's. When you buy one of those prints, you’re buying from the outside:  you’re buying some anonymous thing from some anonymous maker in an anonymous store. When you buy art from the artist, however, think of it as buying from the inside:  think of what your purchase means to the person who’s selling it to you. Sure, it means they’ll get to make a payment on a bill or have a nice dinner, but it means more than that. Oh, ever so much more:  it means that someone likes their work enough to give them money for the privilege of taking it home. Sure, a lot of artists may be old hands at this, with many hundreds of sales under their belt. But think about the new artist, the one just starting out, the one who wasn’t sure they should even come and set up a booth. They’re nervous, they’re unsure, they’re worried about making enough to pay for the trip. And then you walk into their booth and see something you like. They see your eyes light up. You ask them questions about the piece, about where they saw that mountain, about how they dyed that wool. You tell them you love it, and then you hand them money and carefully, carefully, tuck your purchase under your arm and thank them for creating it.

Imagine how that feels to them. And then imagine how you feel, making that happen for them.

Even if you don’t have a dollar to spend, though, you can look and admire and enthusiastically accept business cards and say something, anything, that will make those artists glad they went to the effort to set up their booths and share their work.

Go find an art fair near you this weekend and be a light for someone.