From Moldy Basement to City Skyline
Well, the exhibition has ended. Approximately 70 people visited the pop-up gallery—that’s less than one person per painting. 85% of guests were friends, family or colleagues of either Bill (the business owner), Rhiannon (my daughter and Director of Arts and Technology of the school I am donating half of sales to), or me. I invested $2300 and 150 hours of my time (which does not include actual painting or framing hours). 13 paintings sold for a total of $2,629 and one (valued at $302) was given away in a raffle that raised $48.
$208 got pushed through the mouth of the Donation Box I set out for the school. So the payout is:
Renaissance Academy Charter School of the Arts: $1522.50
Ron Throop: $1314.50
A total failure from the perspective of any competent accountant or Philistine.
And this is no isolated event. Not once in my anti-career have I come out ahead financially. It and me are absolute failures at making money with creative expression. Perhaps ironically, I actually prefer it this way—to cut down income at every opportunity. Burn pocket holes with hot money. In my gut I believe a hand to mouth existence is the most trusting and optimistic one—that cynicism is born of acquiring too much stuff after basic comforts and invigorating contentment. After 54 revolutions around the sun, if I cannot (or won’t) nurture the life enthusiasm I had at 20, then I am just a cold rock like the moon, going through repetitive motion until gravity gives up and rigor mortis cadavers me.
This exhibition would not have existed without Bill the business owner who, out of the blue, visited my ramshackle basement studio last August, exclaimed “How prolific”, bought three paintings, and asked me if I’d like to show my work in a big room of an old factory. The generous giving isn’t finished either. His initial enthusiasm provided support and recognition to an excellent charter school, bumped my name into a new community, allowed me to keep in step with my pretend hand-to-mouth strategy, and now yesterday Bill offered me another factory room with a view next to the gallery to set up my studio and continue where I left off, which was nowhere and everywhere at once. He offered this at no charge, provided I curate other artists to exhibit, and seek a couple more to share the space with me. However, Bill must give the okay to any new artist because he has his own tastes and wishes to express them to all and sundry, just like me and you.
I told him “No” unless I can pay a portion of the rent, (which is astonishingly low, because of its location in a high crime district of Rochester), and, that I’ll have to think about it. There are many reasons to take the long ride out to a city a couple times a week—a new market, recognition, energy displacement... One of them is even for love (my daughter and her family live there). So, yup, that decides it. A new studio above ground in Rochester, N.Y. and my first patron, Bill the business owner.
Thanks to the hand-to-mouth pretend, our always-empty savings account, and a chicken in the pot every Sunday afternoon, I am fast climbing the ladder of Intangibles Incorporated.
And thanks to everyone who has supported my silly for so long. Stop by any time for a whiskey and a cookie.
Two whiskeys and you might even want to buy a painting. I’ll need to sell two a month in order to pay the rent.
Love
(and big, sloppy wet kisses that you better disinfect now else coronavirus wins),
Ron
