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03/15/2007: "Harmonious Collaboration" by Jose Freitas Cruz
I would like to start keeping a record, now and again, of things that happened along the way and which I never had a chance to tell or record conveniently.Two recent articles in the papers recalled to mind two meetings with the people in focus and took me back to past events and the decisions I took at the time. Some of you will maybe think that my reactions to these situations were brash and unnecessary – that I burnt perfectly good bridges –, but before you get carried away I’d like to say just one thing in my defence: I have no regrets. What little I have achieved for myself since then, I have done so without selling my soul – at least no significant portion. At least in that department I can sleep with a clear conscience, whatever that may be worth these days.
1st situation – November 1993
Project CriArte was a collective exhibition/charity event I was invited to participate in following two successful exhibitions at Arcada Gallery in 1992 and 1993. It was held in the newly completed Cultural Centre of Belém situated between the Jeronimos Cloister and the Tower of Belém, two landmark edifices linked with the glory-days of maritime exploration that made Portugal visible to the world. The charity – geared towards helping abandoned children – was, and still is, presided over by the wife of a former President.
Mrs. Eanes, having been informed that my painting had been sold was thanking me for my contribution. She was accompanied by a man I recognized at once to be of extreme importance in the Art World [within the boundaries of my back-yard, naturally, but bearing the possibility of repercussion in the world beyond], and by a former colleague of my father who had been attempting for years to get a hold of his diplomatic and political correspondence with the intent of writing a book ever since he died in 84. I had strong reasons to protect my father’s documents from the people he had been wary of in his life-time.
Noticeably surprised and impressed with my presence at the venue and the evidence of my contribution [and showing it for the first time since I gave up the prospect of following in my father’s footsteps, a decision that led many, such as himself, to discard me as a fool] the ambassador hastened to inform the gentleman of who I was and that he consider taking me on in his gallery.
2nd situation – May 1994
I was waiting for an interview with the new director of Arcada Gallery with which I had been working since 1991. There had been a big reshuffling of artists, but because I had a very good ‘sales record’ and two very successful and much talked about shows under that very roof I had been asked to stay on but under new conditions.
I arrived early in the afternoon and waited for the lady to return from her lunch-break. Her assistant ushered me into the office and asked me whether I could hold the fort while he went for a quick coffee. I nodded yes, being alone would help me to focus on my priorities and review my negotiation strategy. I had heard that I was going to be squeezed out of 50% when I had managed to work with the previous management at 45%.
It is all still very clear to me. Mad Rush by Philip Glass was playing on the stereo when the gallery director returned with some prospective clients, stopping briefly to discuss artists and prices just outside the office. I was feeling highly motivated and waited patiently for them to finalize their business in the adjacent room where all the works on consignment were stored. After Mad Rush silence returned and I overheard the remainder of the conversation: Cristina Guerra praised and promoted the new ‘conceptual’ artists she had brought with her but failed to speak of any of the artists she had ‘inherited’ with the gallery. When asked about ‘those paintings over there, against the far wall?’ all that she had to say was that she had yet to renegotiate that particular artist’s presence in her gallery but that she felt there was clearly an obsession with things Indo-tibetan and too manifest spirituality [check pages 12, 13 & 14 of my portfolio: www.absolutearts.com/freitascruz ]. Fortunately – I have to admit in hind-sight –, she failed to mention my name in conjunction with what she intoned and intended as a negative assessment of the work in question. There can be no doubt, however – in that gallery, at that time –, that the collectors had not failed to spot my work.
Here we are then, on the brink of two key-moments that can have a significant bearing on the direction your life takes as an artist. What do you do? How loud does your ego call out to you? How hard does your wallet tug at you? How clearly are you still able to listen to your soul [or conscience, or whatever you wish to call it]?
For me the latter happens to be an essential element. It is the last thing I am willing to compromise on. Without it my work looses its bearings, becomes useless, empty aesthetics and I pretty much don’t care for that [I feel like a tree with no roots in the ground and impervious to the rain that falls from above]. The end, the ultimate goal, does not justify certain means. And so, when I face moments such as these when it [the soul, conscience, whatever] becomes so exposed and vulnerable I tend to react. Why? Because first and foremost it is the quality of my independence that counts most not the quantities of money I am able to spend on it to make it look good. Because, in a word, I am a sucker who still believes in the romantic notion that the soul of an artist requires no further embellishment than the unimpeded light that shines forth from it when it is not tied down by compromise. That is the one fundamental thing that needs protection and nurturing!
Regrettably the Ambassador chose to introduce me not as who I was but as whose son I was. A first set of brackets comes in handy here: [there is nothing that unsettles me more than someone calling on my father’s laurels to help me move ahead in my own life. It is an inevitable circumstance, and one that I understand and accept when it happens spontaneously because someone remembers out of their own experience, but it is never something I call upon or mention – and least of all, expect to be mentioned by others – as a means to open a ‘door’. I want my work to be responsible for that. That is the ultimate and true key. The only worthwhile Key.]
Instantly, the moment he uttered those words, a sense of awkwardness fell over our small gathering. The gentleman was visibly taken-aback. Awkwardness is always a clear sign that something isn’t 100% as it should be, and if ever there was an awkward moment this was an excellent specimen. Had it occurred in His Excellency’s realm it would have been called a diplomatic blunder. You don’t usually ‘shoot from the hip’ in his world, there’s a whole lot of cautious negotiating that goes on before you ‘confront’ your counterpart with the prospect of making a choice or taking a decision. I mean, put yourself in his shoes, ‘who the hell is this guy I’m being asked to accept in my gallery out here in public’? The question was all over his face. Luckily for me I was under no pressure to respond in a diplomatic way, but I realised on the spot that my response would have to be quick and precede the gentleman’s own reply.
Two things were of importance to me at that moment: I did not want the gentleman to think that I was counting on my father’s connections to impose myself or my work on him and his gallery; And I certainly did not wish to find myself in a position where it would become even harder to deny my father’s correspondence and files in retribution for such an outrageously fabulous, out-of-the-blue-fallen intercession with Portugal’s top gallery owner. Just in case you pretended not to know, such favours do expect retribution.
Cristina Guerra waltzed into the office and we both acted perfectly naturally as if the past ten minutes had not happened. We skipped over them with polite smiles and smoothly negotiated our way through the small talk towards the more serious business that had brought me there. After all, she had no reason to believe I had overheard what had been said, and I understood there and then that I held a wild card in my hand. I knew also which way I was going to play it but I wasn’t about to play it just yet. This time I wanted to take my time, not so much to think things over or fully weigh the pros and cons, I just didn’t feel like saying what I felt had to be said that day. She did most of the talking, mostly empty, forgetful stuff, I listened, restrained from nodding or acquiescing and extracted the only meaningful information I had expected to hear that afternoon [before the bonus she ignored she had handed me]: it would cost me 55% to continue my collaboration with Arcada Gallery. Just as I had expected there wasn’t much to think over, very little to weigh, but I wanted another day before I came out with it. Strangely I felt a feeling of liberation and I wanted to enjoy the excitement for a while longer.
At this moment some of you will be thinking ‘this guy had two perfectly good connections to hang in there and make it big’ and is going to tell us next that he blew them, that he let fear and emotion get in the way and took the first exit off the ‘Autobahn’. But this has nothing to do with fear and wrong emotion. Absolutely nothing to do with not being able to face the challenge, despite everything you will hear from most everyone around you. Listening to your conscience, trusting your gut does not make you a looser.
Sometimes the wolf shows up in sheep’s clothing and you have to be able and knowing to trust what you feel deep inside – to know where it is you are heading and how and when you can best get there… and still be at the helm [or at least in a position on the deck where your voice can be heard]. Sometimes taking the shortcut along the ‘Freeway’ leads you to no-mans-land and the way back to the path you had foreseen takes you a lifetime with little time left to take more than a couple of steps forward. If that is the price and a risk you are willing to take I can accept that, and if you win the bet I’ll be there to applaud. What I am not willing to accept is the moaning and groaning of the ‘lost-on-their-ways’.
Perhaps you think me too harsh. Too lacking in compassion? After all we can never be quite sure of where we are headed. If you think this, than you have missed my point. We all commit mistakes and there is no shortage of wolves to help lead us astray in the Art World we inhabit. I do not question this. But ultimately if we decide to go for the ride it is we who have failed to abide by our better judgement or cared to investigate sufficiently and at the end of the day we alone are to blame if the ride doesn’t end up where it promised. After the courts have dealt with whatever wrong-doing there is to deal with if we can afford it, the agony still remains lodged in our gut and we alone are left to deal with the debris. Whether we can do this alone or whether we need therapy again is beside the point – how we deal with the wreckage is our own personal business, there is no need to impose our bouts of artistic spleen on an already heavily burdened world.
What I want to point out is that conscience is always present, asking us to listen to it and that our gut is seldom wrong about how we are going to feel about that next step we are about to take. Together they provide a good barometer of our inner depths that helps us manoeuvre our ‘selves’ against the onslaught of the increasing madness of superficiality. And again, for anyone who might misunderstand me, I’m not saying we should always follow according to what makes us feel good and never dare to take risks or face the unknown, I’m simply stating that when we listen to our conscience and follow our gut we are less prone to be emptied of our energies and better equipped to face the risks and hard work the topography of the unknown presents us with.
In the first situation, the gentleman I mentioned was Manuel de Brito, owner of the most prestigious Art Gallery in Lisbon, perhaps even Portugal. Before he even had the chance to exhale I thanked the Ambassador for his kind mediation and then turned to Mr. Brito and said that I would never dream to impose myself or my work upon him, that I felt that I had not yet reached the stage in my work where this present moment of our encounter could have been a momentous one for both of us, but that I would be deeply honoured if he would care to follow the development of my work from that day onwards and one day consider it. His answer, however, baffled me and I instantly felt relieved that I had responded with sincerity. He asked me whether I was aware of what I was turning down and that he was [I had hoped, regrettably] more accustomed to seeing artists grovel to be taken in. To this I responded that I had turned nothing down but was merely postponing it, and that I was glad that I was not being perceived as one who succumbed to the general trend. He was not impressed. Neither was I.
In the second instance [and this is something I only know in hindsight] Miss Guerra was in transit between running another gallery in Lisbon and becoming the influential first-lady of our town-hall. When she asked me the following day, not too enthusiastically, whether I had thought things over, I replied that I had decided to remove my work from the gallery. Condescendingly, she tried to point out that I ought to get used to such high commissions if I wanted to get on in life as an artist and find suitable galleries but I, rather rudely, as I recall, snapped and said that given that it were the ‘Right’ gallery I would even part with 60%. Her commission, I told her, was not what motivated my decision, but I did not wish to work with somebody who did not keep up a positive discourse in relation to all her artists, or at least expressed hope of a promising development, and that I definitely did not wish to share with her 55% percent on future sails of my work because she had in no way contributed towards the dynamics that would still make itself noticeable in the months to come. She was not particularly amused, I felt elated.
As I said, I’ve lived at peace with these decisions from the moment I took my stand. Going on almost fourteen years after they took place, much has happened on the outside, but inwardly I don’t regret for once the course I took.
Cristina Guerra has moved on to be the owner and director of a gallery in Lisbon with international aspirations and her conceptual stable-artists are taken to prestigious art fairs and art events all over the world. But I don’t fit in her world and there is no point aiming for that because it is not MY world and I’m glad I ‘saw’ that straight away.Mr Manuel de Brito passed away a few months ago, a tremendous loss for culture in Portugal, but his work was well grounded and his gallery – Galeria 111 – is still the Top Gallery in Portugal. Will my work in the studio ever shape the key that will get me in there? I don’t really worry about that, it isn’t up to me to decide, is it? But I can tell you this, If our encounter could be restaged, today – all these years and all this work later – my reaction would [could] be different because it would be coming from a foundation I know I can stand firmly on: That I’ve reached a point where I feel that I can deliver what the gallery wants without compromising my own growth as an artist.
To my mind healthy success is pretty much a matter of good timing – the ability to spot the right moment and the capacity to grab it. A synchronistic encounter of the hard working artist and the people who can help him, guided by integrity, truthfulness to oneself, from both ends. Harmonious collaboration. I wouldn’t have it any other way… and I won’t.
