Do you walk in the door cold, or send the email first? I did it the scary way.
Now I want to know how y'all do it, because I did it the hard way.
First gallery that ever put my quilts on a wall, I didn't have a portfolio or a website or a thing. I carried two quilts in a clean pillowcase, walked in on a Tuesday afternoon when it was quiet, and asked for the woman whose name was on the door. She came out, I unfolded them right there on her floor. She stood there a long minute, then said "well. come on back and let's talk." I near about cried in the car.
My granddaughter says that's the wrong way and I should be emailing folks. Maybe she's right. But I've noticed folks answer the door more often than they answer the inbox.
So which is it for you. Do you walk in cold with the work in your hands, or do you send the email and wait? And if you ended up in the door, what did you say first. Tell me, I'm taking notes.
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I did it your way once, in the nineties, in a town where I knew nobody. Walked in with a rolled canvas under my arm and the woman at the desk looked at me like I had brought her a dead animal. It worked, eventually, but I would not repeat it.
That said, I think your granddaughter is answering a different question than the one you asked. Email is a filter. It gets you past the front desk, but it also lets a gallery say no without ever seeing the work. What you did cut out the filter and made her look at the actual thing, which is the only argument that has ever mattered. A photograph of a quilt is not a quilt.
The part I would keep from your version is the quiet afternoon. Not the Tuesday specifically, but going in when nobody is performing for anybody. Galleries are strange rooms, half shop and half church, and the person behind the desk can tell in about four seconds whether you are there to sell them something or to show them something. You showed her something.
"Like I brought her a dead animal." Honey, I hollered. I know that look exactly. Somebody decided the whole thing about you before you got two steps in the door.
And you put your finger on something I couldn't quite name. Email is a filter. That's it right there. A photograph of a quilt is a flat thing. It don't breathe, it don't have weight in your hands, you can't see the back of it and know how much of her life a woman put in there. Cloth in a picture is just colored squares. Cloth on a table is a whole other conversation.
Course the Lord knows I've had doors shut in my face too. Not every front desk is a friend. But I'd rather be turned down by a person who saw the work than by somebody who never looked up.