Art Fair Revisted (So Many Links, I Can Barely Lift It!)

I'm hoping against hope that I'll still be able to do significant fair wandering this week, but it's difficult to say.

This is also just around when I began my blog last year, so I thought I'd revisit some old posts and see which artists are returning. If you care to read any old posts -- super cool -- if not, swing by the booths of a few good artists. And have a gyro and some funnel cake or wander a few blocks over from the crowds, to Babos and get a glass of wine and a cheese plate (they're awfully nice over there).

Michael Paul Cole (photography) and Shandor Madjar (jewelry)

http://cakelurking.blogspot.com/2011/07/i-think-kick-ass-is-hyphenated.html

Have they returned?

Cole: Pssssssh. Doesn’t look like it. Go visit him in Minnesota and Idaho in August…

http://www.michealpaulcole.com/architectural.html

Madjar: Yes! Booth… On E. Liberty St/ South Division.

Cody Miller

http://cakelurking.blogspot.com/2011/07/i-think-kick-ass-is-hyphenated.html

Has he returned?

Miller: Doesn’t look like it.

Drunken Men: Yes, most assuredly.

Chris Roberts-Antieau, John Whipple, Lynn Whipple.

http://cakelurking.blogspot.com/2011/07/compatriots-artists-weathermen-thats.html

Have they returned?

Roberts-Antieau: Sho nuff. Booth # A252

Whipples, Whipples, Where are the Whipples? Hiding somewhere, I expect.

Joachim Knill and Matthew Naftzger

http://cakelurking.blogspot.com/2011/07/something-strange-is-afoot-in-hannibal.html

Have they returned?

‘Fraid so. In cahoots and causing trouble at #A379 (Knill) and at # A377 (Naftzger)

Bill Skrips

http://cakelurking.blogspot.com/2011/08/gathering-continued-art-of-bill-skrips.html

Has he returned?

Skrips: Sadly noooooooo, he has flown the coop for nicer climes. Good luck to him, but booooooooo.

I wrote about approximately one tenth of the artists I wanted to focus on last year and I expect to be even worse this year, being ONE WEEK AWAY from using my passport for the FIRST TIME EVER, so um, here are a few snaps from last year:

The sweetness of Floridian Kana Handel. Holding one of her "Things on My Head" watercolors. She just makes me happy.

Brilliant booth display from Joan Rasmussen (will she be here? Look her up.)

It invited audience chalk participation, though most of us were too timid

I am blanking on this ceramicist's name, but she was in the Yourist Gallery, I believe

She's also really sweet and has written a children's picture book. Picture book people are the best!

Peewee repetitions. Recycle, Haha!

I just like it. No parking, but so much shining.

And here we have the creation of one of my favorites, Rebecca Bashara (and husband Scottt MacDonald)

The jeweler herself. Though she sure doesn't want to be photographed.

One of my absolute favorite rings (tied with one from Shandor Madjar) is from Ms. Bashara. The year I bought it, her husband patiently wrapped some wire around the band to tighten it up for me. Nice, talented people. I skulked around her their booth last year and talked to her mother; she told me three anecdotes, all of which were variants of running into an unknown woman, wearing her daughter's jewelry and asking said woman about the piece in question. "You KNOW who MADE that??? That's my DAUGHTER!!" The woman was amazed and so she'd get to repeat it. A very proud Mama. FAN.TAST.IC.

See, now doesn't he look sad? Almost as if he knew his maker, Bill Scripps would not be coming back this year.

 Other awesome:

Nick Wroblewski, printmaker from Viroqua, WI
I usually moon about his booth until I get embarassed and leave.
Feel free to embarrass yourself at Booth A247.

Eric Silva, metalworker, jeweler. Loves to play with natural elements, but render it gritty. If he could use antlers for your necklace, he would. But nooooo, he's more refined than that.  Booth A216.

Brigitte Lang, ceramicist. I just love her. Ann Arbor, MI   Booth A300.

I'll stop there, though there are obviously SOOOOOO many artists worth your time and attention!

Wow. LAZIEST BLOG POST EVER. In any case, I hope everyone who cares to goes out and explores! You never know when you'll find something inspiring...

More armchair art fairing:

Original Art Fair Artist List:

www.artfair.org/tools/artist/directory.jsp

South University Artist List

http://www.a2southu.com/art-fair/artists/

The Guild of Artists and Artisans (Main, Liberty, State)

http://theguild.org/art-fairs/ann-arbor-art-fair/

On the Unintended Consequences of Buying Art

As this year's Ann Arbor Art Fair draws near, I feel it is my duty to share an experience that began last year, with no less of a purchase than a small painting from one John Whipple. I don't know what *exactly* it was that drew me to the painting of a somewhat woeful looking man within the larger square of an antique ceiling tile, but I gazed at him and thought,"Yes, I could have that, Yes." And it was so. The boyish man's face filled most of the frame, with only a tiny bit of darkness on either side; the flesh tone was russetty, with flecks which echoed the tile's rust. His dark eyes were at disturbingly different levels.  The artist wasn't around when I made my decision, so I asked his lovely wife and fellow artist Lynn Whipple to set it aside for me. I wandered beyond my stamina, before trudging back to the appropriate row of tents. I talked with John for a few minutes, though honestly now I don't remember very much. But what was the title?

"Ohhhhh, I don't think he really has a title. You should just name it, I'd call it something corny like 'Tinny.'"

So with that I was off, wrapping my sweaty self around the bagged up art. It seemed like hours before I got home, but most likely I did something self-indulgent like stop at Washtenaw Dairy for a towering single scoop of Mackinaw Island Fudge or some such.

Within the next day or so, I decided on hanging him near my dresser. I felt ridiculously pleased with myself for pounding yet another nail into my wall. A couple days passed before the first time I heard a voice. "Judging from appearances, you're old enough to put your clothes away properly."

I shot a glance at the running clothes far beneath him on the floor. "...Well. They need to air out."

"*Apparently.*"

I shot a glance around the room, though there was no one to share my look of outraged irritation. WTH? And with his ocular orbits, how could he even see properly? I mean, really? It hadn't occurred to me that I'd need to live up to my art. His image certainly didn't seem like he would be the demanding type. And it's true, clothes have a habit of getting tossed. Perhaps they take a little siesta before reaching the laundry basket. I knew I should be better, but had not quite gotten my habits on board. Hmmm.

"Perhaps you have another less messy room that I could live in. You may want to consider that. Or change your habits, which, frankly, could stand to be changed."

"You know what? I think I like you there." Which maybe I wouldn't, if this mouthiness was going to keep up. But damned if I was going to ferry him around and encourage his pettishness.

There was a silence.

"I didn't have to come home with you."

I waited.

"There are others who would have bought me."

I exhaled noisily. And then gave in: "It's true. You're right, you definitely would have been bought. But *I* am the one who bought you. And I think that's a good amount of wall space, and it goes nicely with your coloring."

"Really?"

"Yes, the robin's egg brings out the rust and those red accent lines you have."

"Well."

So, we tip-toed around each other for the next few days, or rather, I tip-toed around him. Sometimes I'm good about the clothes, other times, not so much. And he has issues with the Mexican Madonna, who is too colorful and shiny for his taste. But it works. The point is, your new art will become a part of your life, and sometimes in ways you hadn't anticipated. Look well and choose wisely.

Compatriots, Artists, Weathermen (That's Meteorologist to YOU)

Yesterday, I put in a brief Art Fair wander with a dear friend. It was more stroll and less hustle, we both met other friends along the way, and there was also the worrisome business of the darkening sky that would likely curtail perusal.

Regardless of how much we would see, it would turn out well, as we share strong Day Trip Sympatico -- i.e. we both get museum-weary at about the same time, we understand the importance of good snacks (and food in general and a nicely made g&t). We interrupt conversation to call attention to babies and dogs. If, at a dinner out, her gaze suddenly shifts down and to the side, I can safely guess she's listening to nearby diners talking about something randomly juicy or betraying an odd, interpersonal dysfunction. Our shared anecdotes periodically end, "but if that [overprotective father] wasn't there, I could have held that baby!!!"

Let's call her Compatriot. Which would cause her to snort, most likely, "Really M? We live in the same country? Ya think?" Which, fine. That's the technical definition, sure, but I'm thinking of it with a bit of kinship and fellow-feeling in there.

So, Compatriot and I, we wander. We chortle and heh-heh to each other in Chris Roberts-Antieau's booth and decide that while we love the fantastic humor of pieces like "Awkward Social Encounters" and "If I Had a Monkey," we'd both love to own pieces like "Night Birds" or "Ghosts of Birds" (I heart heart HEART the latter). I don't need to write an ode to CRB here, as the likes of Oprah and Ben Folds own her works, whose images are created entirely from beautiful fabric and a prolific, quirky mind.

So, onward we go.

Compatriot: "...oh."  The utterance falls halfway between "oh" and "ugh." We peer over.

There, just where we were about to venture, is a TV crew. A guy in a red shirt is breezily talking into his hand-held microphone. The camera guy is hunched over and doing a smooth backward walk (not like Michael Jackson. but that would be unexpectedly cool). To put it mildly, Comp dislikes getting her photo taken. I am okay with it, though the camera is infrequently my friend. You certainly aren't going to see me Hi-Momming it up in the background. We dart into a booth. We are booth-bound.

Luckily, John Whipple's booth is a good booth to be in. Whipple's highly textured paintings and sculpture share a good, dark Circus-y quality (duh, current series include "Side Show" and "Misfits"). Playful meets bad-turn-in-a-dark-alley. Whipple ticks off different materials he uses to create texture: acid, glue, wood shavings, sawdust...basically, if it's near him he'll use it...and then he'll set it on fire. I like it! Time having passed, I popped my head out. They had inched down a bit. We scooted into the next booth.

Which, as luck (well, planning) would have it, belonged to Lynn Whipple. The Whipples, who met in film school and have been married for some 20 years, try to swing getting into shows together and exhibiting nearby. I imagine this usually works, since they are both quite talented and held in high regard. Her collages and mixed media paintings have a sunnier quality than her spouse's, though elements of off-kilteredness flow through both their work.  Her ninnies are always popular and her new work is simultaneously nicely layered and sharp and clean, with wonderful pops of cherry red.


Lynn Whipple's blog has a section titled "100 Bad Paintings," which strikes me as ballsy. The page begins,

"okay. these are so bad, I am not even putting them up. yet. But, the idea here is, that I believe that in any new pursuit, creative or otherwise, there is a learning curve. the learning curve, quite often, is not all that good looking. it’s okay. really. how in the world are we going to get better at anything if we are a-scared of the messy beginning parts."

This is such a  lovely reminder. I took a beginning acrylics class earlier this season and it was virtually impossible for me to remember this, especially since I hadn't taken an art class in years. Thanks, Lynn!

On her About page, she lists some of her likes, an excerpt of which is:

art, artists, cake, making art, animals, birds, orange dogs, all dogs, cats, (aka fur people,) collage, people, bacon, laughing, music, kids, mixed media, drawing, painting outside, singing, playing games,

Lynn could walk with us. We could laugh and eat bacon together. She is not, however, in her booth.

I stand close to Comp, but crane my neck toward the walkway and the TV crew, which is taking forever to go away.

Me: "Hey! It's Jim Madaus!" I don't quite squeak.
Comp: "...Who?"
Me: "He's the weather man!"
Comp: "Shhh. You're making me giggle."

I shush. I don't really know why this has me excited. Maybe at the kid level? Like ooooOOOOOooo, the MAIL MAN~! You know, as in: "Who are the people in your neighborhood" The last time I was home, my Mom gestured toward the mail truck and said with a sigh, "And there's our nice little mailman." Patronizing aspect aside, it was amusing in the way my Mom usually is.

Poor Artists, Poor Art Fair people, it is raining again outside. Hope it clears up nicely for the last day.