Making Print Reproductions of Work

I often find myself debating the credibility of an artist that makes cheap reproductions of their own work. The best kind of art is always an original, while a print is just a cheap alternative that could not be nearly as good, right? Well, yes, original artwork is worth much more, but it does not change the meaning of the work. I am coming to understand that the value of art does not stop at the monetary value, nor does the monetary value absolutely determine the significance of a piece to its audience.

Of course, we often correlate importance with monetary value. The Mona Lisa by Leonardo da Vinci, for instance, is worth upwards of $100 million. It is one of the most expensive singular works of art ever, and so people see it as a significant work of art. That is not to say that it is not significant, and in fact it reached this point because of its significance. It is one of the extremely few paintings made by da Vinci. He was a true Renaissance man, working as an engineer, an inventor, and most notably a drawer. He has hundreds upon hundreds of drawings in the reddish-brown, perfectly proportioned style that is so easily recognized as his. But he is known for his mysterious painting of an androgynous figure. Most likely it is because it is so rare of a thing to find, but maybe it is because no one could figure out if the figure was smiling or not.

Now, why do I bring up the Mona Lisa? Clearly if I were to make a painting that had that much meaning and mystery behind it, I would be set for life. But it is impossible for me to do so because I was not born 500 years ago and I am, for all intents and purposes, unknown to the art world at the moment. There is still much to learn from the famous painting though. It is bought and sold every day, though not for millions of dollars. Instead, it is reproduced in mass onto coffee mugs, posters, and bookmarks to be sold for as cheap as a single dollar. Anyone in the world can own a Mona Lisa of their own, no matter their social standing. This got me to thinking about the way art has been historically consumed.

During the Renaissance, the people to view and commission art were mainly wealthy bankers, like the Medici family in Italy. Later in France came the Academic Salons, which were still mainly for the wealthy, but allowed artists to show their art among other popular and skilled artists. Today we call those juried art shows. To get to the point, for most of art history, art was for the rich. It was not until recently that museums were opened to the public and education on the subject was promoted. That said, the Mona Lisa is an astounding jump in terms of universal knowledge. Taking an image that was likely only seen by a select few people throughout its existence and allowing the world to own it for themselves truly opens up the possibilities of education. There was a lot of money to be made from the decision to reproduce the image of Mona Lisa, but people were willing to pay it to support art and to own a part of something that they may not be able to see in person.

One of my favorite artists is Shephard Fairey. He is another great example in favor of image reproduction. For a time, I thought of Fairey as a sellout. He started off as this punk street artist that was just trying to get a message across, just trying to get his name out there. And once he did, he started making T-shirts, limited prints, and other merchandise. I saw this as a cash grab. He couldn’t just continue to be this rebel spraying stencils across blank city walls, he had to get something extra from it. I don’t know why I saw this as greed, but I did. I thought artists had to be struggling constantly to be heard or even to survive, but we live in a different world now. People enjoy seeing art and they enjoy supporting it. Art is no longer just for the wealthy to enjoy, everyone can participate.

Reproducing the work that was originally created in a different medium does not lessen the value of the original work. It doesn’t make the artist a sellout to want to survive off of what they love, in fact I think it makes them even more of an artist. I love to support other artists, and I personally cannot afford a large painting. So I support in a smaller way, buying small sketches, stickers, jewelry or any other affordable products that other artists produce. I thought I needed to create great original work and live off of that like some sort of jackpot when it sells, but I see now that that can be hard to sustain.

It fills me with joy to know that people want to help support my art. I am now producing prints of my large paintings from the Disease series so that people who were interested before can have a piece of my work without needing to break the bank. To everyone who is supporting me by purchasing one of these prints or even simply sending words of encouragement, thank you.

Solo Show During the Pandemic

The best way to describe having a show during the year 2020 with the global pandemic happening is simply quiet. Everything leading up to the day of the opening was nerve-racking. I felt the need to do something, anything to be somehow more prepared. My parents were visiting just to see the new paintings. At the same time my girlfriend Selena’s parents were driving down to see them as well. Everything had to be perfect. I needed everyone to feel comfortable and welcomed, while also keeping them safe. It felt as though everything was up to me. If I didn’t do well, the show would be a disaster.

My veins were pulsing with genuine excitement from the moment I got off work on Friday. Despite fearing social interactions, I enjoyed hosting. It was a situation in which I had control, and most of the time I become very overwhelmed when I lack control. This was different, though, since my focus was primarily on the exhibition. Selena’s parents stayed with us, which luckily drew some of my attention away from the exhibition. I was beginning to overanalyze the situation and think of all the different ways I could improve the show or notify people of its existence. There is only so much advertising you can do to a small crowd of people to tell them what they already know. Still, I could not stop thinking about it.

The morning of the opening came fairly quickly since we were distracted with loud and long conversations the night before. Sleep was almost nonexistent. I laid awake imagining the different scenarios, and any sleep I did get was filled with stressful dreams of the unknown. I woke feeling exhausted, yet I pushed on knowing there was no avoiding the day I had created for myself. I spent too little time getting ready and too much time anxiously waiting for others to be ready.

After having breakfast by the river with both sets of parents, we spent time chatting at home. By half an hour before the gallery opened, which was noon, I was standing by the door watching the minutes change on the microwave. The gallery was only five minutes away, and I knew this. I also knew that people hardly ever show up to a show on time. Nevertheless, I was ready and I wanted to be there just in case someone showed up early. I ended up being the last one out the door on our way to the show. I had forgotten my business cards. And I changed shoes.

At exactly 12:00 PM, I walked in the door to the gallery with Selena only to see the gallery owner, Deret Roberts. He quickly put on his mask and watched us walk into my exhibition space. It truly is a fantastic feeling to see your own artwork hung by itself on clean walls with only a placard of information beside it. It makes everything finally feel real. The best part was seeing the vinyl lettering Roberts had done. “DISEASE” in bold Black Arial font (at least that was what I assumed having worked with the font in the sign shop numerous times) filling the top left corner of the back wall. There was nothing below it save for the barely visible placard next to my painting, making it feel intentional and powerful. Then, in a thinner style, “DYLAN OVERHEIM” placed over an artist statement just to the right of the same painting. It was simple and not overdone, letting the paintings speak over the loud text. It almost made the paintings seem larger than they were. In a single moment I was proud of what I had accomplished there. I joyfully hugged Selena. It was fleeting, but I felt like I was finally becoming something.

A photograph of the painting Disorder, by Dylan Overheim, accompanied by the exhibition title, artist name, and artist statement.

I told Roberts I was impressed with the vinyl work. He also seemed distracted, but was appreciative of the kind word. My parents were the first to enter after Selena and I. They were happy to see the work up. My parents are very supportive, so I was expected as much. It was still nice to talk with them about my process and where I planned to go with my work next. I get a lot of good ideas just from having conversations with them. Next through the door were Selena’s parents. They were both surprised by the scale having only seen the work in photographs online. I enjoyed talking to them as well. I had no expectations of them, so it was nice to hear them pick up on the themes of my work almost instantly. Either I was too heavy handed with my representation, or I successfully presented my ideas. There will always be differing opinions on that one.

It seemed that most people that came through understood the meaning of my work and the paintings Decline and Disorder were crowd-favorites. The third painting, Deliberation, was complimented for the flesh tones, but it seemed hard for people to look at. It was a long four hours after my family left. I ended up meeting a few people from the art community that I didn’t know before. I introduced one to a friend of mine that I thought could be of inspiration, and one showed me another gallery to apply to. A couple of friends dropped by as well to give me their support, which is always welcome. A few people passed through that I was not familiar with but did not want to talk. The time between visitors was excruciating. I stood silently by my work, unsure of what to do with myself. Around the midpoint, I took a break to go home and eat something. It seemed nothing happened in the half hour that I was gone. After the first hour it was all feeling pointless.

Photograph of Selena Vallejos appreciating the painting Decline by Dylan Overheim.

Right about when I was getting up the nerve to say I was going home for the day, one last visitor came in. He seemed to be a regular at Art Obscura. He was right at home here, talking to Roberts in a friendly tone, holding an air of confidence about him. He walked into the exhibition space and immediately greeted me. It was a bit awkward at first. I introduced myself, saying I was the artist, and he said his name was Tyler. He continued looking as I drifted back to the safety of the nearby wall. I watched as he carefully read the artist statement. Once he reached the last painting I decided I should keep the conversation going.

I asked if he was an artist himself. He said no, that he was an art collector. I kept calm, though my heart was racing. I had never met an art collector before, at least not a self-proclaimed one. I asked what kind of work he collected. He said mostly surrealist work, though he also had some traditional Mexican paintings. I thought I might as well push my luck, when would I ever have the chance for this again? I asked what he thought of my paintings, to which he replied that he found it interesting and he liked it. He said it very plainly, but it appeared as a neon sign in my brain. Was I about to make a sale? It would have been the biggest sale of my life.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, I have not seen the real end of his story intertwined with mine yet!), he did not purchase anything that day. He said very little about my work, though he seemed very pleased with it. As he was walking back to the front counter, I nervously drew a card from my back pocket and asked if he would take one. It was an older card that had a nice painting of mine that had nothing to do with my current work on it. But it was still relevant information. He took it and put it in his wallet. As he was leaving he waved at me at my wall of safety and said I had done good work. I said it was nice to meet him.

Shortly after Tyler left, I thanked Roberts and also left. The opening was done and I was physically, mentally, and emotionally drained. I hardly recall the rest of the day. My eyes were bloodshot a deeper red than I had seen in a long time. It worried Selena a bit. As I floated through the evening I remember feeling pleased with the day despite the exhaustion. I put myself through immense stress, and though it was not necessary, it felt like I had accomplished a great deal.

I think this will get easier. I loved it and I hated it. I realize now that a lot of my stress was unnecessary, so hopefully I can figure out how to relax a bit more. A large part of my stress was with the pandemic. Everyone wore masks, but I know a lot of people that were discouraged by the risk of infection. I enjoyed seeing the people that came, but I was nervous about inviting so many people to a social gathering. Though everything was done with the right precautions, it was still scary. An opening should be a victory, not a trial. I hope to do it again soon, and hopefully there will be less fear of meeting people or getting sick!

A New Solo Show!

I applied to Art Obscura, a local Las Cruces gallery Last week. After a few days of silence from the gallery, I decided to visit to see what it was like with the current state of the world. I was very nervous having very little success with my applications, but I knew that I needed to be seen. Saturday was my lucky day as it was very slow at the gallery and the only person there was the owner, Deret Roberts. He was a very kind and welcoming person. It seems that with the pandemic visitors were a rare occurrence.

Roberts was immediately excited to see me. He told me what I already knew from researching the website in great detail. There was extra gallery space upstairs and a space in the back, both with more art up for view. The main room was where the current artist was showing. I quickly noticed it was his work on the walls from the large vinyl name. There was also a distinct style that was clearly his, though I hadn’t seen anything quite like that from the few images of his work I had found online. They were smaller stencils of retro 50s comic characters on desolate, earthy backgrounds . The brushstrokes of the background were what reminded me of his earlier paintings: rough and gestural with very clear intent behind the color.

I asked Roberts what it was like opening with COVID going on. He said it was actually very exciting and refreshing to have people come in. He mentioned wanting fresh work up, so I told him that I emailed my portfolio the last week. His face lit up. “Oh, are you the painter?” he asked. I said I was and he offered to let me show as soon as possible. The excitement was contagious, I was beaming under my mask, though he may not have been able to tell. Of course, I said yes. He said I could set up that day, so I told him I could do it the next weekend.

After we agreed on the timing, I decided to stay and look at some art. If anything, my plan for visiting the gallery was to at least see some art in person! After I looked at Roberts’ paintings I asked him about them. He was only showing his own work because they didn’t have any other artwork to put up. He made the current series in about an hour a piece. It was impressive, but it was more exciting to me to know that my timing was perfect. He needed something to bring people in and I was part of that solution.

It was a great feeling to have a gallery owner want to show my art. I am very proud of this series and I hope I have a good turnout! It’s a series expressing effects of mental illness that I have experienced and hoped to convey a universal understanding of said feelings. It has had a good response from the small crowd online that I have showed it to, but the real test is a physical show. The paintings in the show can be seen here.