#32: "you know what i like" : run, artist, run

I can blather on forever about stones, and will do soon. Early in my career I was always trying to include my love for natural textures in my work. 

And the Mother and Child motif was always a favourite, too. I still like it. Therapists? Got any theories?

I showed my work for some years, early on, in Art in the Park, Stratford, Ontario

A kindly Torontonian, quite a sophisticate, bought one of my first Mother and Child bronzes. I had admired the work of Mathias Mulume, and wanted to incorporate some of the textures that I found in nature, and in his work.

Mother and Child, bronze, 14" high. Note sure if I ever sold two of these. Still, there's something about this that I quite like now.

The kindly Torontonian came back a few weeks later and said that she'd like a large piece for her foyer. I guess I must have visited her home to see the space. She was European, decorating in that cool, white, sparse way, everything rather crisp and clean-lined.  She said the fateful words that artists might love to hear, something about liking what I did, to make this perhaps 7 feet (213 cm) long to be mounted in a long high-ceilinged room lit by a long skylight. It was a perfect white stucco wall. 

"You know what I like"

I felt like I'd been treated like a real artist, at last. I'd made it! Someone trusted me! 

I don't remember if I ever submitted as much as a thumbnail sketch. Maybe. This was long before the internet, so tossing ideas back and forth wasn't the effortless thing it is now.

I simply went ahead.

This is fairly typical of my small sketches for ideas. The texture that I applied came straight from my memory of days spent on the Bruce Peninsula.

If I ever offered to show the maquette to this customer, the idea must have been dismissed. Or maybe I was just in some euphoric fog, a favourite place to hang out. But I just went ahead and played for hours, adding texture to my plaster master. I had this cast locally, and was quite pleased with myself when I presented this to the customer, standing in her immaculate entry, feeling like the artistic master at his patron's castle.

I think I had a template ready for drilling 4 large holes for substantial anchors into that wall. Perhaps we spent a short while finding just the right spot. I drilled the holes, inserted the anchors, and hung the sculpture. 

The nice lady looked serious for quite a while, then said:

" I don't like it"

Yikes. Being a well-brought-up fellow, I did not go ballistic. I simply offered to take it away. She was quite contrite, not wanting to do harm to a penniless artist. Still, she nodded, and asked me to take it down.

It took seconds. A couple of lifts to remove the bronzes, a few yanks to pull out the anchors. Then she said:

"what about those holes?"

I've always been pretty handy with tools. A few holes in drywall have never been a problem in my world. Everyone I know can slop in a little Polyfilla as required. I said that any local craftsman could fix this for her in a few minutes. She looked quite worried for some time. I let the silence hang until she said:

"Put it back."

I was astounded. I think I might have asked for clarification.  It was true. She wanted me to put it back. I did. I got paid. I went away, no longer some high-flying artist, but a man who installed really expensive drywall compound.

Over the years, my proposals have gotten more and more explicit. When fax machines came out, I could submit drawings and quotes in real time. I grabbed on to the internet fairly early on, appreciating the ability to submit photos of work in progress.

I don't swagger as much, nor do I fall down in horror or amazement. Life is more boring, and this is good.