My First Solo Show

One Year, 25 Paintings, and One Slightly Overwhelmed Artist: The Making of Unbound Abstractions

There is something very glamorous about saying, “I’m having my first solo show.” It sounds sophisticated. Artistic. Perhaps even a little mysterious. People imagine you standing thoughtfully in front of a large painting, wearing something wonderfully artistic (I actually wore my “uniform” of black pants and white blouse), while someone with a glass of wine approaches you and says, “Tell me about your work.”

What they don't imagine is you standing in your studio surrounded by 25 paintings, three tape measures, piles of paperwork, framing materials, and a growing sense of panic wondering:

“What exactly have I gotten myself into?”

Welcome to my first solo exhibition, Unbound Abstractions, currently on view at the Marblehead Arts Association.

The Beginning: “I Think I Can Do This.”

The idea of having a solo show was exciting. And terrifying. Mostly exciting. At first, I thought, I have plenty of time. That is the first lie you tell yourself when preparing for a major exhibition. A year sounds like an enormous amount of time when you are standing at the beginning. Then suddenly it is six months. Then three months. Then you are staring at the calendar thinking, Wait a minute. Where did the year go?

The preparation for Unbound Abstractions became a year-long adventure in painting, editing, experimenting, questioning, rearranging, and occasionally asking myself why I had not chosen a nice, quiet hobby like knitting. (Not that there’s anything wrong with knitting!) I painted. And painted. And painted some more. Some paintings announced immediately, “Yes! I belong in the show.” Others required a more complicated conversation. There were paintings I loved. Paintings I wasn't sure about. Paintings I loved again. And paintings that spent considerable time leaning against a wall while I tried not to make eye contact with them. Eventually, I had to make decisions.

Twenty-five paintings would be in the exhibition. Twenty-five. That number sounds quite reasonable until you realize that every single one needs to be finished, photographed, titled, measured, framed, catalogued, transported, hung, and somehow made to look as though you had planned the whole thing from the beginning.

The Art of Getting Ready

Of course, making the art is only part of having a show. There is a whole other universe called  “Everything Else.” Inventory. Framing. Artist statement. Bio. Promotional material. Website updates. Social media. Business cards. And approximately one million opportunities to ask yourself, “Did I forget something?”

I discovered that preparing for an exhibition requires many skills that have absolutely nothing to do with painting. For example, I became an expert in moving paintings around the living room while staring at them with the expression of someone attempting to solve a particularly difficult crime. “This one goes there.” “No.” “Maybe here.” “No.” “Wait.” “Yes.” “Actually…no.” Repeat.

There was also the question of titles. Naming an abstract painting is an entirely different form of creative torture. You stare at the painting. The painting stares back. You begin throwing words at it. “Judgment.” “Coral.” “Vector.” “Something Blue.” “No. Definitely not Something Blue.” Eventually, the painting tells you what it wants to be called. Or perhaps you just get hungry and choose a name. Either way, the title eventually appears.

And Then Came the Reception

After months of preparation, the day of the reception finally arrived. And here is where the fantasy and reality once again parted company. In my imagination, I would arrive calm, composed, and artistically serene. In reality, I was checking things. Then checking them again. And then checking the things I had already checked. Because apparently, once you have 25 paintings hanging on a wall, your brain becomes convinced that one of them will spontaneously disappear. I even arrived at the gallery at 10 a.m. on reception day to make sure the tablecloth looked good.  The tablecloth?! Yes, I know.

But then people began arriving. Friends. Family. Artists. Members of the community. People I knew. People I didn't know. People who had simply walked in because they saw the exhibition. And something wonderful happened. The paintings were no longer just mine. They were being looked at, discussed, interpreted, questioned, admired—and occasionally completely misunderstood. And I loved that. That is one of the extraordinary things about abstract art. I may begin the painting. I may choose the colors. I may make the marks. I may even give it a title. But once someone else stands in front of it, the painting becomes part of their experience. They bring their own memories, emotions, stories, and associations. And suddenly the work has a life beyond the studio.

Was I Nervous?

Absolutely. Was I excited? Completely.

Was there a moment when I thought, Maybe I should just quietly pack all of this up and pretend the whole thing never happened? Let's just say there were moments. But standing in the gallery surrounded by 25 paintings that had come out of my imagination, my experiments, my frustrations, my curiosity, and an entire year of work, I realized something. I had actually done it. My first solo show. Unbound Abstractions. Twenty-five paintings. One year of preparation. Countless decisions. A few moments of panic. And an enormous amount of joy. And perhaps the biggest surprise of all? I discovered that the scary part wasn't having a solo show. The scary part was believing that I was ready. Once I stopped worrying about whether I was ready and simply walked through the door, everything changed.

So, if you are an artist sitting somewhere thinking, Maybe someday I'll have my own show, I have some advice: Start painting. Keep painting. Don't wait until you feel completely ready. Because apparently, no one ever feels completely ready. And if you find yourself surrounded by 25 paintings, wondering how on earth you got here…Congratulations. You may be having a solo show. And believe me, it's worth every minute.

Unbound Abstractions will be on view at the Marblehead Arts Association until September 19.  The address is 8 Hooper Street, Marblehead, MA.  Hours are Wednesday – Sunday, noon until 5 p.m. Don’t forget to sign my Guest Book.