The Purchase of Art

or: The Art of Purchase (If you prefer.)

Let me begin briefly by saying, my post-art-show-depression DOES NOT have anything to do with all of my very attractively-dressed, well-behaved opening-attendees. And to Shannon: I'm sorry I told you that nothing matters while we walked (you guided me) home. Upon talking to several fellows in the business of aesthetics, it has come to my understanding that this occurrence is a rather common one, and the vague emptiness I'm feeling (where the passion for what I do usually resides) will wane. In the mean time, I shall work diligently to become a better sales representative on my own behalf. Thus far, I've been a fine example of things un-recommendable.

I spent the better half of last Sunday morning berating myself for being what you might describe as absolutely doltish, and were you to say it that way, it may have been an understatement. Coming to from my coma, afflicted by a headache to make you wish you were dead, I find that not only (during the blitzkrieg of cheap wine/bike-riding in heels) did I lose my bank card, but I also happened to have lost the contact information of a potential patron who told me he would be buying one of my pieces. A winning evening, even for me.

Now, these two issues are currently nearing resolve, so regret may be temporarily thwarted. However, nothing yet has prevented me from being the most awkward human on the planet to attempt to close a monetary transaction with.

Firstly, I want to sell art. Every time a piece leaves my possession and enters the collection of another individual, I feel closer to finding fulfillment in a career path, and they essentially gain something no one else has, something created with the intent to somehow inspire. (We all win?) That does not mean I find it easy to name a price, tell you when I want your money, or physically take it from your hand. (Should any of that ever be so straightforward.) Most likely I'll be having a glass of wine in your condo while your little dog humps my leg and you explain to me how to send an invoice using pay pal. Or you'll practically have me tearing up in my living room (I love you!) because you gingerly place 4 twenties on the table and tell me how proud you are to be making the first down payment on an art investment that you adore. In either scenario, please realize I navigated by saying "uh..." and "Thank you" more than you can imagine followed by a deluge of uncomfortable smiles, teeth clenched all the while.

This is a desperate attempt to find a manager/agent/gallerist.