When One Door Closes, Another Opens.

The business of art is unlike anything else in the open market. Painters, ceramicists, photographers, glass workers, weavers, et.al., put a little of their soul or passion into their work. This right brain DNA is infused into every painting, pot or image, to the point that every piece is akin to the artist’s offspring. So when an artist gets his/her work into a gallery, is invited to a venue or a private showing, it’s a big deal, like being picked to be prom king or queen, and an incredible opportunity to “show off” your kids to the masses. The flip side of the coin is that one variable in life that we humans have never been able to openly embrace:  Change.

Gallery directors and owners change, either by moving on, or every so often the theme of the gallery will alter. Venues come and venues go, sometimes the latter includes the artist’s work vanishing with the gallery. There are also times when the artists decide to change things up, by introducing a new line of work, or removing art from venues that don’t perform.

Artists, being the creative types that we are, don’t like change. Especially when we are not the instigators. I oftentimes chat with fellow brethren who have just lost gallery representation, or a long-time venue has shut down. Usually, they’re in a panic, wondering how they’ll find another place to show their work, or what they can do to supplement their income. The one thing I always share with them is something my father told me many years (or tears, depending on the circumstance) ago, “When one door closes, another usually opens.”

I just experienced this sort of thing a few weeks ago: I had sprained a tendon in my hand (Becoming a Lefty in a Righty World), and after splinting/wrapping the hand, the orthopedist laid down the law – no lifting anything over three pounds, unless you want Russian Roulette with permanent nerve damage. Do you have any idea how much stuff weight more than three pounds? A heck of a lot!

That weekend, I was scheduled to participate in an art fair, and my orthopedist had me quickly realize that loading or un-loading my Toyota – or even setting up my display – was out of the question. As soon as I got back into my truck, I called the Pit Boss of the group, and let them know that I wouldn’t be there – doctor’s orders. That Sunday, with hand submerged in a bowl of ice, I got the call of, “You didn’t show up. You’re out.”

It took me about a week to go through the Kübler-Ross’ Five Stages of Grief (denial, anger, depression, bargaining and acceptance). My dad called, just as I entered stage five. I filled him in on what had transpired, and his words of wisdom rolled forth: “You know, when one door closes, another door opens.” I chuckled that those were the same words of advice I gave to friends when they were in my current situation, though I never thought I’d find myself there again.

“That’s the miracle of change,” he noted.

“Yes,” I agreed. “But the key is to embrace it, and come out better on the other side.”

“I know you,” he said laughing, “You’ll never back down from a challenge, and I wouldn’t be surprised if more than one door opens for you.”

As if on cue, a door opened the following day. Actually, it was several doors, over several days, but the cumulative effect was about the size of a Hoover Dam Jet Flow Gate in full-flow mode. While I now have double the work compared to what I was putting into the departed venue (be careful what you wish for), we’re already seeing five-times the results, with massive potential for growth.

Now, where do I find a prop for this door this big…?