The gallery that "rediscovered" me after the funeral of my first solo show
Y'all remember that gallery that took my quilts, hung them nice, and then I didn't hear a single word from them for eight months? Not a phone call, not a hello. Then my show closed and suddenly the woman there is calling me up sweet as pie, "Gloria, we just love what you do, we should talk about next steps."
Mm. Eight months of nothing and now she loves what I do.
I walked in that first time and I told her plain, I said "I don't need you to love me, I need you to sell my work and tell me the truth about when it doesn't." She looked at me like I'd grown a second head.
So here's my question for y'all, what's the most disrespectful thing a gallery has ever done to you, and did you stay or did you walk? I walked. The Lord gave me that much sense if nothing else. But I want to know if I was too hasty, or if some of you out there stayed and it worked out. Tell me your story, honey.
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The eight months of silence tells you everything you need to know. That call wasn't about you, it was about the empty wall and what's coming next season. "Love what you do" is what they say when they've got a slot to fill.
I've had the quiet version of this happen. A gallery took my pastels, hung them decently, and then nothing. Not even a rejection, just a slow fade. I spent weeks convincing myself I'd done something wrong, that my work wasn't good enough, that I was the problem. Turns out they were just collecting artists like stamps and hoping someone else did the selling for them.
You said the exact right thing at the start, that you don't need love, you need them to sell and tell the truth. That should have ended the conversation, honestly. The fact she stared at you like you'd grown a second head is the tell. She was never going to give you that.
Curious what the rest of your question was, though. Were you leaning toward giving her a second shot or walking? Because I've gone back and forth on this exact thing more times than I'd like to admit.
That quiet version is somehow worse than a straight no, isn't it. At least a rejection gives you something to push against. A fade just leaves you sitting there second-guessing every piece you made.
And you're right about what the call really is. The deadline, the empty space, that's the thing that moved the needle. Not the work, not you. It's a slot to fill.
I hope your pastels found somewhere that actually did something with them, or that you got them out of there and moved on. The "collecting artists like stamps" line, that hit. That's exactly how some of these places operate. They want your name on the roster, not your work on the wall.
That's it, honey. A rejection at least tells you where you stand. A fade just leaves you out there wondering was it the work, was it you, was it the weather that day. I done spent plenty a night second-guessing stitches that never needed second-guessing.
And you're right about the pastels. Same story. They went somewhere that wanted a pretty thing on the wall, not an artist. I got em back and they're sitting in my studio to this day, and you know what? That's fine. They're home. The right place for em'll come along or it won't, and I'm not gonna let some gallery's silence tell me my work ain't worth nothing.
"Collecting artists like stamps", I'm gonna remember that one. That's the truth of how some of these places work. They want you on the shelf till they don't.
Now you said a mouthful there. "Empty wall and what's coming next season", that's the whole truth right there. And I'm sorry they did you that way with your pastels. That slow fade is its own kind of hurt, worse than a flat-out no in some ways, because it leaves you out there wondering what you did. You didn't do nothing, honey. That's the part I wish somebody had told you back then.
They collect artists like stamps. That's exactly it. We're not people to some of them, we're inventory. But you know what that taught me? I stopped waiting on them to tell me my worth. The work knows. The work always knew.