THE BEST INSULTS I’VE EXPERIENCED IN THE ART WORLD
First, buckle up for a little history lesson (it’s not like people read anything anymore but hey, the AI can scrape it and pretend to be me one day).
Other than my dad trying to convince me to rather study to be a plumber instead of graphic design, the real insult started when I left Westerford Highschool in Standard Nine (two years before finishing high school) so I could go to a technical school.
Back then (1989), tech schools were seen as the last resort for problem kids who couldn’t fit into normal schooling systems – basically a place for drop-outs and losers. On my last day at Westerford I had to “sign out” at the Principals office, I remember the secretary tut-tutting. When I asked her what’s wrong, she explained how children who go to technical schools end up being drug addicts and losers.
I looked her dead in the eye, and said “Oh, so which technical school did you go to?”.
I learned early on that sometimes a sharp sense of humour can become a valuable survival tool. Anyway, the Cape Tech allowed me to get my Matric, but I also took on a host of extra subjects – pottery, life drawing, painting, poetry, creative writing, music – I was in a creative heaven, with long hair and paint covered jeans.
Funny thing is – I never turned into a drug addict. Instead, I spent about 25 years in the advertising industry, and had a go at various other entrepreneurial businesses – a story for another time.
Fast forward to Barrydale, where I’m now deeply entrenched in pursuing a career in fine art
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My first exhibition was at the Karoo Art Hotel – not a solo – just a space to hang paintings. It’s when I met Gavin Huart who came in as Hotel Manager that things really started happening – we got on like a burning building and for some reason he was passionate about my art. It showed, because he was damn good at selling them.
Gavin eventually moved on from the Hotel to open his own restaurant in Barrydale, where I had a pretty exclusive use of his space with about 20 or so paintings.
Gavin sold a painting or two of mine almost every week, so things were going fantastically well. Word like that gets out, and soon other artists were clamouring to get into Gavins space.
One in particular stood out…
I got a rather frantic call one day from Gavin, asking to meet. It turns out another artist had requested a meeting to show her art to him, then stood him up. A few days later she phoned to say she wanted to pop over immediately – Gavin wasn’t there – he was out getting supplies.
When he got back, the other artist was waiting for him despite being told he wasn’t available – and had removed a few of my paintings, put them on the floor, and hung hers up in their place.
She then proceeded to explain to Gavin how shit and novice my art was.
Gavin – bless his huge heart – being a gentle guy (and a gentleman), was in a frantic state when he told me what had happened.
I think inside I had a murderous rage building up, but with Gavins calming nature we chatted briefly about it and decided to let her keep her work up. I confronted her a while later but she didn’t seem to realise that what she did was beyond despicable, in fact she went so far as to insult me further, so it was a pointless exercise.
The last laugh was on her though – not a single painting of hers sold, and eventually she collected them all, never to be seen again.
Some time later Gavin got an offer and moved to Johannesburg – probably one of the darkest days of my life. He’d become a great friend, and a master of selling my art. As luck would have it though, I heard about a small space on Route62 up for rent – and snatched at it.
In the middle of December 2024 I unofficially opened my first gallery, and that’s where, to date, I’ve had some of the best compliments and some of the best insults.
The Gallery of horrors (queue scary music)
Here’s a few (don’t worry, they’ll be short) insults – often unintended – that I’ve experienced in the Gallery:
- The sweet old lady
I struggled to understand some of what she said, as she was very Afrikaans and tended to mumble a somewhat. Before she left, her parting words of wisdom to me were that her Granddaughter wanted to study art, but that the family had said no – and she in particular – had told her Granddaughter that “you can’t make a living from art”.
I think my chest caved in – it hit home at the worst time, because at that point in the month I hadn’t made any sales, and was shitting myself for end of month. I don’t think she meant to insult, it was just what she was brought up to believe. For the most part, she’s right – very few can make a comfortable living being a full time artist – most have “day jobs” or side-hustles.
- The Indian Dealer
A tourist from India walked in like a whirlwind, made a beeline for one of my biggest paintings, and after a short examination, looked at the price tag and loudly exclaimed “No… no, no NO!”.
When I asked what was wrong, he said he’d give me R6000 for the painting, because it was far too expensive. The price tag was R18 000 – he’d offered two thirds less.
I literally let out a laugh, thinking he was joking. Obviously, I said I couldn’t go that low, so he asked me what my best price was.
I said I would be fine to give him a 10% discount (R1500 less).
“No, no, no that won’t do” he said, “It absolutely MUST be below R10 000”.
I stared at him for an uncomfortable moment, and repeated the last sentence back to him. Then I asked where he buys his groceries. He looked pretty confused but answered.
“Have you ever bought R1000 worth of groceries, and once the teller rings it up, you tell her you’re only prepared to pay R300?”
“No, I’ve never done that” he stammered.
“Well why is my painting any different?” I asked him.
He said it’s because art is subjective, therefore the price is too.
I replied, “Do you realise selling that painting becomes my groceries, so I can feed my family?”
He couldn’t look me in the eye – but said “Obviously you don’t want a sale”
Continuing to stare directly at him, I replied, “Oh I do, sir – just not to you!”.
Needless to say, he stormed out, while I stood there, bewildered.
- My Wife is an artist
A chap came and stood at the door, hands in his pockets, looking into the gallery with a bit of a stern look on his face. When I said he’s welcome to come in and have a look around, he dryly replied, “No thanks, my wife is an artist, I’m looking to get her into proper galleries”. I didn’t get to be a smartass back at him because he turned and buggered off.
- Parting gift
A gaggle of ladies wafted through the gallery smothered in jewellery and perfume, pointing, scrutinizing and (although I had music going) I could’ve sworn I heard some stifled laughter. They didn’t acknowledge me and simply left. As they went down the stairs outside I heard one say to the other “Your work is much better than that shit darling!”
I’ve had a range of other comments like “Do you really making a living off this?”, or “Do you just sit here and paint all day?” and “So, what’s your real job?”.
There’s a weird kind of stigma around being an artist – unless of course, you’re famous – where, since a child – a lot of people dismiss art as a side-line hobby, not a serious craft.
I’d hate to see how desperately depressing the world would be if you took away art. Imagine no music in your car or at home, imagine bare walls, grey blocks instead of architecture, no movies, books, orchestras or theatres and no designs on textiles or no interior decor.
The world would be a very different place – perhaps it’s all taken for granted, perhaps people haven’t really thought that without the creative arts of the world there’d be nothing to lift their spirits.
The next time you think about art, or music, watch a movie or go catch real actors on stage – hell, even admire the floral print on your cushions – look around, and consider what your life would be like without any of it.
I won’t even mention how art is a means of expressive historical record, immortalizing the expressions of people from thousands of years ago, or paintings on rocks documenting cultural heritage of people that no longer exist – not just what they did, but how they felt – a moment in time captured forever.
When you insult artists, belittle them or think they don’t deserve respect you’re not insulting the person alone, but entire generations of men and women who, through art, afforded you the luxury of seeing beauty in the world, provoked your thoughts on subjects, enlightened you to other worlds, othe cultures, historical moments in time…
… or perhaps the simple joy of having a pretty picture that matches your couch, giving you the illusion that maybe one day your house could be in House & Leisure magazine 😉