year at university. And now …’ She chewed at her lip and ducked her head, shaking the salad dressing ferociously.
I tried moving on to something more neutral. ‘Which bit of art dealing do you like? Selling, or the acquisitions?’
She was definite. ‘The shows. Selling is what I’d do because you have to be able to do it to be able to show, but it’s the idea of the show, putting the works together so that they say something, you know?’
I nodded. I felt like that about editing. But, ‘Wouldn’t there be more scope for that in a museum?’
She looked mutinous. This was, apparently, a point that had already been made. ‘I’d need a PhD to be a curator, another three years at least, maybe more. And then I’d onlybe hired as a junior. It would be years before I could put on a show the way I wanted to.’ She looked at me defiantly, waiting for an argument. Which I had no intention of offering. ‘Absolutely. I see that. You might have a lesser range at a gallery – the artists the gallery represents, and mostly only what they’re doing now – but the hierarchy isn’t there. Or other curators eyeing up the space for their own areas of expertise.’
She looked grateful that I understood, and expanded a little. ‘Frank and Aidan said I could do a summer show, when the gallery is quiet, with some of the pieces they own.’ She must have seen I wasn’t following, because she explained, enjoying the chance to display her expertise. ‘Galleries usually don’t own the work they show. The artist owns it, the gallery shows it, and gets a commission when they sell it. Sometimes they buy and sell on their own – maybe from an auction if they have a client who is looking for work by that artist, for example. But every gallery also ends up with works that they own. They buy works by artists they represent when they appear on the market, to keep the prices up, or to build up for the future when the prices will have risen. Or if they buy an artist’s estate, the artist probably owned paintings by other artists, and they come too. Or they just buy something thinking they can sell it, and then they can’t.’
She stopped, flustered by the blizzard of information she’d produced, but I looked encouraging. It was interesting, and anyway, it meant I didn’t have to go out and mingle. I’m terrible at talking to strangers, so I nodded encouragingly, hoping she’d go on. Bless her, she did. ‘Merriam–Comptonhas some great pieces that never get seen, and Frank said I could do a little show of some of them. The summer shows never sell much – buyers are away, the art fairs take the business – so I think he was glad to have something that would cost nothing to mount, and might even generate some cash flow.’
If I didn’t keep her motoring along, I might have to go and sit with Toby again. ‘What were you planning?’
‘Frank and Aidan thought it would be good if I did something with their Stevensons, so we could pick up some of the publicity the Tate is bound to get with their big retrospective.’
I hadn’t known there was going to be a Stevenson show at the Tate. That would be fun. I loved pop art, and I thought Stevenson’s collages were great, although I’d seen most of them in books, not in real life. I made a mental note to keep an eye out for the exhibition. Then I noticed Lucy’s phrasing. ‘“Their” Stevensons? Do they have lots?’
She looked at me curiously, then shrugged. ‘I suppose there’s no reason you should know. Merriam–Compton are his dealers.’
I looked around again and caught sight of Toby still staring at the carpet. So back to Lucy. I tried to think of something interesting to say, but my tank was empty. I made a stretch. ‘I love his work, especially the book ones.’
She looked blank.
‘There’s no reason for me to know that Merriam–Compton represent Stevenson, and there’s no reason for you to know I’m an editor. But that’s why I like those collages he
I tried moving on to something more neutral. ‘Which bit of art dealing do you like? Selling, or the acquisitions?’
She was definite. ‘The shows. Selling is what I’d do because you have to be able to do it to be able to show, but it’s the idea of the show, putting the works together so that they say something, you know?’
I nodded. I felt like that about editing. But, ‘Wouldn’t there be more scope for that in a museum?’
She looked mutinous. This was, apparently, a point that had already been made. ‘I’d need a PhD to be a curator, another three years at least, maybe more. And then I’d onlybe hired as a junior. It would be years before I could put on a show the way I wanted to.’ She looked at me defiantly, waiting for an argument. Which I had no intention of offering. ‘Absolutely. I see that. You might have a lesser range at a gallery – the artists the gallery represents, and mostly only what they’re doing now – but the hierarchy isn’t there. Or other curators eyeing up the space for their own areas of expertise.’
She looked grateful that I understood, and expanded a little. ‘Frank and Aidan said I could do a summer show, when the gallery is quiet, with some of the pieces they own.’ She must have seen I wasn’t following, because she explained, enjoying the chance to display her expertise. ‘Galleries usually don’t own the work they show. The artist owns it, the gallery shows it, and gets a commission when they sell it. Sometimes they buy and sell on their own – maybe from an auction if they have a client who is looking for work by that artist, for example. But every gallery also ends up with works that they own. They buy works by artists they represent when they appear on the market, to keep the prices up, or to build up for the future when the prices will have risen. Or if they buy an artist’s estate, the artist probably owned paintings by other artists, and they come too. Or they just buy something thinking they can sell it, and then they can’t.’
She stopped, flustered by the blizzard of information she’d produced, but I looked encouraging. It was interesting, and anyway, it meant I didn’t have to go out and mingle. I’m terrible at talking to strangers, so I nodded encouragingly, hoping she’d go on. Bless her, she did. ‘Merriam–Comptonhas some great pieces that never get seen, and Frank said I could do a little show of some of them. The summer shows never sell much – buyers are away, the art fairs take the business – so I think he was glad to have something that would cost nothing to mount, and might even generate some cash flow.’
If I didn’t keep her motoring along, I might have to go and sit with Toby again. ‘What were you planning?’
‘Frank and Aidan thought it would be good if I did something with their Stevensons, so we could pick up some of the publicity the Tate is bound to get with their big retrospective.’
I hadn’t known there was going to be a Stevenson show at the Tate. That would be fun. I loved pop art, and I thought Stevenson’s collages were great, although I’d seen most of them in books, not in real life. I made a mental note to keep an eye out for the exhibition. Then I noticed Lucy’s phrasing. ‘“Their” Stevensons? Do they have lots?’
She looked at me curiously, then shrugged. ‘I suppose there’s no reason you should know. Merriam–Compton are his dealers.’
I looked around again and caught sight of Toby still staring at the carpet. So back to Lucy. I tried to think of something interesting to say, but my tank was empty. I made a stretch. ‘I love his work, especially the book ones.’
She looked blank.
‘There’s no reason for me to know that Merriam–Compton represent Stevenson, and there’s no reason for you to know I’m an editor. But that’s why I like those collages he
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