As I cursed and scrambled to secure what I could, my artist neighbor sat stretched out in a lawn chair, reading a book. Finally, she looked up, and, with the hint of a smile, spoke for the first time.
"I always go to an art show expecting the best but prepared for the worst."
This past weekend I endured another disasterous show complete with the usual suspects - beer drinking good old boys, babies in strollers, goth students with no money in their pockets, corporate hot-shots with nothing except money in their pockets, and every kind of dog imaginable. And everyone of them competing to not buy the most art. It was the worst and I was not prepared for it.
In times like this, I tend to become philosophical and go on and on about "the wonderful learning experience even if I didn't make any money." The truth is, I should have learned my lesson with this kind of show years ago. Small art shows just starting out, with little advertising, and a bad location, should be avoided like a Thomas Kincade print.