50 %
There was no such thing as an artist run commercial gallery in SF in 1980. Aritists of my generation came of age during the heyday of the so called alternative space. Places like 80 Langton, A.R.E., and La Mamelle recieved NEA grants and were run by granolafied committee. They did not sell art like the chic downtown spots and these downtown galleries did not handle any of the younger generation. In fact the whole idea of selling work was poo-pooed by the SF Conceptualists and us younger Fashionists and Contextualists went along with this mindset. We were happy to have our yearly show at one of the Alt. spaces and produce work outside of the system. What was missing was a bit of glamour for the youngsters.
Once again, a little gold leaf on the front window and a half way decent mailing list and i was open for business. I had monthly shows and openings then let the place sit, open only by appointment. I wrote a couple more articles for the LA magazine High Performance under the name MO David and enjoyed my new role as art dealer. To my surprise i actually sold a few things. I found it easier to talk up someone else's work. All I had to do was put my ego on hold and take my 50% off the other end. My monthly nut was less than $200 for my apartment AND my gallery. I didn't have to sell much to stay in business. I could put the sharkskin suit on and talk the talk.
About the time I was finally getting over Honey, ( I pine for even the worst of them.) I met a long legged, pink haired 19 year old in spike heels and party dress. El Estudiente and i were out of school about a year and one night we both went after this girl after one of MO David's openings. The three of us ended up back at his place above Terminal Fun (by the bus station), doing thick lines and 'gnac. Mi Amigo poured some Corvousier in her shoe and drained it. She was impressed. I held back and made my move around dawn. I proposed marraige and we called my family back east with the good news, high, drunk and giggling. I nicknamed her Cookie as we hit the street, leaving Mi Amigo pacing the floor and hitting the heavy bag. The little birds were chirping and the sky was blue by the time I got back to the gallery with my new fiancee. I can still hear the rustle of crinolin as that 50's party dress hit the floor.
Once again, a little gold leaf on the front window and a half way decent mailing list and i was open for business. I had monthly shows and openings then let the place sit, open only by appointment. I wrote a couple more articles for the LA magazine High Performance under the name MO David and enjoyed my new role as art dealer. To my surprise i actually sold a few things. I found it easier to talk up someone else's work. All I had to do was put my ego on hold and take my 50% off the other end. My monthly nut was less than $200 for my apartment AND my gallery. I didn't have to sell much to stay in business. I could put the sharkskin suit on and talk the talk.
About the time I was finally getting over Honey, ( I pine for even the worst of them.) I met a long legged, pink haired 19 year old in spike heels and party dress. El Estudiente and i were out of school about a year and one night we both went after this girl after one of MO David's openings. The three of us ended up back at his place above Terminal Fun (by the bus station), doing thick lines and 'gnac. Mi Amigo poured some Corvousier in her shoe and drained it. She was impressed. I held back and made my move around dawn. I proposed marraige and we called my family back east with the good news, high, drunk and giggling. I nicknamed her Cookie as we hit the street, leaving Mi Amigo pacing the floor and hitting the heavy bag. The little birds were chirping and the sky was blue by the time I got back to the gallery with my new fiancee. I can still hear the rustle of crinolin as that 50's party dress hit the floor.
posted by mike osterhout at 9:29 AM
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