To Whom it May Concern
What I am about to say is not endorsed by my boss, Ken, and he might freak out if he reads it. So it is important that I stress, these words are my own, absolutely not his.
As you may know on a Friday and Saturday, I work at Tension Gallery in South London. I’m not tagging, but we are easy to find. Ken owns the gallery, pays the bills, and has given me a job I enjoy. I will be forever grateful. Despite his sometimes rough exterior, he is as soft as muck with a heart of gold. He selects artists he likes and respects for our exhibitions. He is the busiest person I know. A plasterer, doing a part-time MFA at Goldsmiths, living two hours from the gallery. I have never had a conversation with him which hasn’t been interrupted by his phone ringing.
I LOVE the gallery and working for Ken. It’s the best job I’ve ever had. However, there’s something that’s really starting to affect my sleeping and mental health.
Before I start, I want to point out that on the Tension website, it states clearly, in capital letters, the gallery does not take unsolicited proposals. Be arsed to read the website before you approach a gallery.
The story I am about to tell is not unusual. My life has become dominated by artists asking me if I can get them an exhibition. I can’t.
An entitled arsehole visited the gallery at 3.30pm yesterday. We were closing at 4pm, when the exhibiting artists were due to collect their work. I politely told him this and made him a cup of tea. It’s his second visit. On his first visit, he invited himself into the office, where I had been happily chatting to a couple of artists about nice things. I went to make him a cuppa (I’m still talking about his first visit) giving him the opportunity to sit in my chair at the desk and dominate the conversation for the next ninety minutes, or so. Meanwhile, knowing that I would now be finishing gallery admin at home that night, I busied myself front-of-house and waited for him to leave. By the way, that’s what happens when you come into the gallery and talk about yourself for two hours. I end up doing the work at home. Ken doesn’t ask me to, I just do. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind looking at your work, in fact I often ask to see, but I don’t have the time to look for two hours. I also don’t take kindly to people coming into the office and taking my laptop so they can show me their website and explain every detail. It’s happened several times. At this point, all I am thinking about, as you drone on, is the work you are preventing me from doing and how that will impact my evening. You have successfully shot yourself in the foot. A large part of my job is welcoming people and discussing the exhibition. I love that and do it well, but that’s not what I’m talking about here. Anyway, back to yesterday and Mr Entitled’s second visit. It’s 3.45pm and I’m attempting to clean the gallery windows. He spends the next couple of hours following me around, watching and talking as I remove work from walls, paint over dirty patches and wash-up. He has an opinion on everything I do. All negative. At one point, whilst I am up a ladder filling holes in the ceiling, he points out that I have mis-numbered the ‘works list’. I don’t show it, but I'm upset. I typed the list tired, on a Sunday, in my own time. But still, I am annoyed with myself for having made the error. The exhibition is over, so the mistake I hadn’t noticed is no longer relevant. I politely remind him that the gallery closed over an hour ago. He finally gets to the reason he came. He was ‘hoping Ken would be here’ so that he could talk to him about his work. I don’t know for certain, but I suspect that is exactly why Ken wasn’t there. He knows he is going to get bombarded from all directions, when all we want to do is de-install the exhibition. Mr Entitled didn’t care about me getting home at a reasonable time. He had other priorities. For the record, I feel massively uncomfortable approaching Ken about ‘your work’. I don’t want to add to the bombardment.
About 80% of the people who come through the door ask for an exhibition. Some in the first five minutes of their first visit. They don’t even pretend to look at the show. Some don’t even bother to visit the gallery at all. They send a private message to my Instagram account. They think we are friends. My real friends don’t ask for exhibitions, and I love and appreciate them for that.
I don’t know how other small galleries work, but I think I know how Tension works. So here are a few tips, if you are hoping for a show in Penge.
Ken must like your work. Look at the website, and read it. Are you a good match? This does not mean your work is bad, just not to Ken’s taste.
Do not ask Ken for an exhibition. It annoys him. He does the asking. There have been forty-nine exhibitions at Tension since it opened and only one was given to someone who asked. That particular artist visited and promoted the gallery for two years before making a move. Mark Wallinger has a solo show in May. Believe it or not, he did not ask for it.
Do not come to the gallery purely to promote yourself. Especially, during a preview. Read the room. These events are not about YOU. I’m pouring drinks and collecting glasses. Putting your phone in my face, or Ken’s, isn’t appropriate. I can’t see without my glasses, anyway. Also, if either of us disappear into the office at any point it’s because we’re knackered. We’ve been there all day setting-up. We won’t be home until very late that night. We need a five minute breather. This is not your cue to follow us into the office to continue your quest.
Don’t ask me to visit your studio. When I politely say, ‘I’m sorry, I’m working that day’ (I work full-time and have family caring responsibilities) don’t reply with, ‘You could come on a Sunday’, because what I’m hearing is, ‘I’m a selfish bastard, and the world revolves around me’. On a Sunday, when I’m finished with all the other life-shite, I make my own art, if I’m lucky. As for Ken, if he wants to visit your studio he will let you know. He hardly has time to visit his own studio, never mind yours.
Be part of the Tension family. Come to the talks and actually look at art (the first thing Ken asks is ‘Did they look at the show?’). Put the effort in. Follow the gallery on Instagram. Comment on our posts. Share our posts. Promote the exhibitions/ talks/ coffee mornings. Turner Prize winners aside, this does help. It gets you noticed. It may not get you a solo show (initially) but you might end up being part of a group show. If this happens and you are a diva, you won’t be back, no matter how strong your work.
Don’t get upset when Ken doesn’t follow back on Instagram. He hardly follows anyone. Play the long game. If you are persistent with your comments (genuine comments about the post, not me-me-me comments) he will eventually look at your feed. If he likes your work, he may get in touch.
Bring us a postcard-sized photo of your work. Write your contact details on the back and a bit about yourself. I keep them in a box and we look at them. At the beginning of 2024 we had an exhibition of a hundred small works. Every invited artist had visited the gallery and left their details, or were Instagram supporters.
The thing is, if you come into the gallery and say you are an artist, we already know you want an exhibition. It’s a given. If you don’t want one, go ahead and ask. Make my day, punk.