Breathing Life Into My Art: My First Gallery Experience
APRIL 2023 ● JOURNAL
About six months ago, I met this guy Jordan at a new film lab and business called Basement Lab in Minneapolis, Minnesota. When I noticed they followed me on Instagram, I immediately saw they had "Minneapolis" in their name. A new film lab is pretty unheard of around here. So, I checked 'em out and talked shop and chopped it up with Jordan, who I would come to learn is the owner of Basement Lab. The lab operates in the same building as a cafe and record shop called Disco Death Records. Coffee, film, and records all in the same building- a little bohemian haven in the sluggish Midwest.
One of the biggest things about opportunities is you just have to be prepared when the bus comes around the corner.
Honestly, I didn't have much of an opinion on galleries before doing my own. I had never given exhibitions and galleries much thought. I mean, I had attended some before, but they never felt like something on my own artistic radar. I suppose I had always had it in the back of my head that it would theoretically be nice to have an exhibition of my own one day, though. Anyway, whenever I would stop by the lab to drop off film, Jordan and my talks would get more in-depth, and it became increasingly apparent that our philosophies and passion for film were closely aligned. At one point, he noticed that I had dropped off an absurd amount of film compared to what he typically sees come through his store. This particular batch was for a body of work I had been starting that stemmed from some trips to California. He really got a sense of my passion then and there. He said, "We're only about four months old, and we've been wanting to hold a gallery, and I think you would be the perfect person to start it off." For the longest time, I wanted to contribute to the local community and scene in some way, whether through helping to raise money, starting an artistic space, etc. But when Jordan brought up the gallery space idea, it felt like a new opportunity to experience a whole new side of photography that I was unfamiliar with.
For the longest time, and oddly enough, I wasn't excited about the gallery from the get-go. It didn't necessarily feel exciting; it almost felt like another task I had to complete on my journey. I just didn't fully grasp how big of an opportunity it was. Many people don't get an offer like that for a gallery spot. The excitement started to sink in only a few weeks before the event. It was peculiar. I had so many friends around me telling me how big of a deal it was, but I didn't perceive that feeling myself. I wanted the gallery to live up to my full expectations, though. And it all became real for me once I got my prints together and finalized. I framed them, signed them, and even worked with a graphic designer for event posters. Friends also donated their talents to my cause, offering to play live music during the gallery launch. I was now eager to get my work out into the physical, real world, where people could observe my art, and I could make conversations and connections. I was particularly amped to get feedback and general real-life commentary instead of getting it through social media. I take it in on Instagram, but it simply doesn't register the same way. In a gallery setting, I could chat, delve into art and photography, and hear feedback on my work in ways I never could on social media. That's what really started getting me going. It was a solid precursor to what I had anticipated versus what I experienced.
Regarding preparation, I started looking into printing companies to see who was reputable in my area. From there, I learned about paper types, how certain papers react to photography, and how they display in galleries under certain lighting conditions. Learning about the paper was fascinating, especially concerning how the different types would affect your image and its presentation. That was a whole side of photography I had never considered, coming from a world where I primarily shared my art on Instagram. Paper-wise, I used Hahnemuhle Photo Rag Baryta, which is a museum-grade archival paper. This type of paper has a lot of dynamic range and a slight sheen as it's glossy, which can be seen as a negative under certain lighting conditions (however, you can get anti-reflective museum glass if it fits your budget). Ideally, I would have used the matte version of this type of paper. The printing was a cathartic process. Printing my images was a strange feeling at first. I had been so used to looking at my work on a screen. When your photos are printed, they become more real, more alive, and instill a feeling that displaying them on a screen can never match. It's a much more powerful experience. Being involved in the process in this fashion is more satisfying than what you can get from sharing your work digitally.
There could have been a whole or cohesive narrative for my gallery. Some artists will dedicate a specific theme to their exhibitions. But since it was my first, I wanted to curate a showcase of my journey through film photography and show all realms I have dabbled with. I felt it was best to take the viewers through my journey and explain why I do what I do. I chose my favorites from my body of work- images that best represented where I was artistically when creating them. I structured the gallery so that, by the end, viewers could see where my art was taking me and where I am now. In a way, it was thematically chronological. If I were to put on another gallery, I would hold a tighter narrative, whether that means a singular photo trip or idea- or just a specific theme.
When Jordan first approached me about holding a gallery at the Basement Lab, I knew it would be expensive. Honestly, it was a good thing initially to not know just how expensive it was because that may have scared me off. The financial cost was much more than I anticipated when it was all said and done. I got to understand what it means to sacrifice for your art, at least from a financial perspective- from getting the prints made to framing them to working with the graphic designer for cards and posters and figuring out what tools to use to hang them and materialize this thing. It was a chunk of money here, $40 there, and on and on. It all really started to add up. I remember I had set myself a $1k limit initially, but as time went on, I quickly broke that. Mind you, this isn't what the cost of everyone's gallery will be. It was the cost of my vision and what I wanted to do. When I broke that limit, I entered a mental space of "this gallery means more to me than selling a print or having a checkmark on my docket saying I did this." It became more of a right of passage. I didn't want any expense spared for this first opportunity. I kept track of all my spending on a notepad and let my passion guide the way. Luckily, I had close creative friends helping me along the way- people who didn't fully charge me for their services. Musicians, drinks, graphic design, etc. If I didn't have the connections I had, I would have been in a deeper hole. I'm endlessly grateful for these friends because they were the ones who encouraged me to take the gallery space and the ones who helped me to realize how big of a moment it is to have your first gallery.
One of the coolest things about the lab space was they said I could include as many or as few photos as I wanted. From an experimentation standpoint, I had total creative freedom. Jordan would chill in the back of the shop and offer opinions while I hung things up. Still, having free range over setting up the gallery as envisioned helped me feel more confident in how my art would ultimately be presented and perceived. They weren't going to charge me anything for the space, and I was allowed to advertise my Venmo account for print payments. I could also leave my art hanging for 30 days after the gallery launch event. I was initially going to work with a professional framing shop. But there's a big difference between framing two photos and 50. Eventually, I decided to go with a large retailer. The prints themselves were the highest quality I could get my hands on. If someone did want to get a print framed or re-framed, they would have the option to do so, and I wouldn't have to blow large amounts of money on frames. In terms of pricing, I actually had a friend of mine do it for me. During the process, I found that a lot of artists really undersell themselves, in my opinion, in large part due to impostor syndrome. Many artists don't think they're as good as they are, or you get an artist who thinks very highly of themselves and maybe gets carried away. So, having them priced for me was very helpful. I advertised by word of mouth, telling anyone and everyone I knew I had this show coming up. I used social media to promote the event to my following. The owners of the space also agreed to advertise. Overall, I had about ten thousand people who were getting the word.
A considerable part of a gallery is presentation. As I said, I worked with a graphic designer. We made posters, business cards, etc., because in a gallery or just creating a brand for yourself, 70 percent of the game is presentation. You want to project yourself how you want to be seen as an artist. This all plays into how you want to be seen. The preparation was very stressful, to be honest. I'm a notorious procrastinator, as a lot of artists are. In that vein, I made things harder on myself than they should have been. On the day of the show, I was very nervous and tried to keep my expectations low as I had no idea who or how many people would show up. I just kept myself busy. I focused on what I had to get done. It ended up being a ten-hour day hanging things up and carefully crafting every little detail of the presentation I could. By the time I got to take a break, I had 15 minutes before opening.
The event itself was a weird feeling of emotion- triumph and relief that everything was over. The most interesting feeling was this vulnerability that I had never experienced before. It was so odd to watch people sit there and read my artist statement, which had intimate and vulnerable information in it. Watching them take that information, view my art, and see their reactions was something else. It was emotionally draining talking to people about my art. I constantly answered questions like, "Why did you make this?" or, "Where did the inspiration for this come from?" It was the first time I had to actually explain these things and be totally honest in person and be vulnerable, discussing painful memories or joyous triumphs in my life- the things that were the lifeblood behind many of my photos in the gallery. I got more validation and meaningful conversation during the four-hour gallery than during my two years on Instagram. That's not a rip on my audience or the people I interact with on Instagram, but you just can't replicate that when someone is in front of you physically and how you can really accept criticism or praise about the art you're presenting. Just the flow of the conversation is something else. It changed my view on photography because, after the gallery, I started to really not care about my social media presence- in a good way. At the beginning of my journey, I really cared about likes, shares, etc. Then changes concerning the algorithm came upon us. Now we're all looking for more meaningful ways to share our art.
Being a few months removed from the gallery has changed how I approach my photography. It has made me appreciate taking breaks, taking the time to go about my creative process on my own terms, and not basing my output on what social media demands of us. It was my favorite experience as an artist. I recommend anyone who has not done so yet to put their art out into the real world. I have yet to think about the gallery in terms of whether it was a success or a failure. I mean, it was a success in the sense that I put a lot of money, labor, and love into the process. And because I was able to complete and see it through and gain all of what I've been talking about- it was a success in that sense. I never viewed it overall, though, as whether it would be a "success" or a "failure." It was just a great learning experience. Since the gallery, I've made local connections in the scene and have strengthened existing ones. I've gotten my name out there. The experience made me a better photographer because I'm much more focused on creating compelling work for myself and trying to go against what might be perceived as popular. I want to create something that will emotionally impact a viewer. Seeing that process actually happen at the gallery reinforced the idea that creating art that speaks to me also speaks to others, and I just need to be true to myself as an artist. It makes you a better photographer, and the viewers have a warmer reception to your art. Following popular trends may not yield the same result. I encourage everyone to take a chance on their art and on themselves. One of the biggest things about opportunities is you just have to be prepared when the bus comes around the corner.
This article is featured in the sixteenth issue of the Y35 Mag. Check it out here.