When you attend an indoor art exhibition, the weather outside isn’t particularly critical. But when you’re serving two kinds of gelato cones to guests (as well as prosecco, tiramisu cheesecake, biscotti, lattes, espresso and Italian sodas) it’s a nice touch when it’s a brilliant warm and sunny day (it was) and they can socialize on the patio.
Not that I remember eating or drinking anything nor hanging on the patio for that matter. The two-hour private view flew by and what I know is this: I didn’t speak with all of the guests and I didn’t take enough photographs so I could remember who was there. This leads me to make a Note to Self: when you’re having an exhibition you need to arrange for ANOTHER PHOTOGRAPHER to shoot the event. Otherwise, you’re in danger of either a) having few photos to show for your hard work (that was me) or b) having many photos and realizing you didn’t fulfill your social obligations, which is really unfortunate because I think that’s the point of the private view/vernissage, isn’t it?
I also realized that I need to brush up on how to work a room. Unlike the night before when we’d finished hanging the exhibition and everyone had left and I was sitting alone with the work (and glowing), the social viewing left me with a different feeling; it felt anti-climactic. I thought it was awfully generous of people to show up in the first place, and it looked like everyone was having a good time without me, and perhaps it was the promise of amiable company and excellent food and drink that really was the draw. And I’m perfectly fine with that, too. That makes me kind of happy.
But it made me think of the origin of vernissage, which, at 19th century salons, was the day before the exhibition opened, when the public was invited to visit and engage with the artists as they touched up and varnished their paintings. I like that sense of inclusion in the artistic process, of friends and patrons seeing a work in it’s unfinished state; it’s a more intimate and participatory approach to viewing art.
What if people came to the installation and ate and drank while they watched (or maybe even helped)? Wouldn’t it be exciting to see the work unpacked and view the process? And couldn’t advice be solicited around arrangement of the work like I naturally did with my installer-friends? (“No, I think that one should be there and this one here”).
It would create an anticipatory slow-reveal instead of the voracious gobble, chew and spit out when taking a room in all at once. Could it build engagement with the work? Reveal connections between the pieces? Would it temper snap judgements?
I know there will be a next time (and a next time and a next time) for my exhibition openings. So next time I’m going to try something a little different.
