Mary Boone

The Street

When I first moved to New York City I made my living doing freelance interior construction. I was good at it and I enjoyed doing it. Prior to having business relationships, I don't think it is a good idea to paint all the time even if you can afford it. Having too much give and take with your own head can take you to some pretty strange places. I was always happy to return to screwing screws and hammering nails, knowing I would be paid x amount of money after x amount of work. It grounded me.

I didn't even think to approach a gallery for the first two years. I needed to explore the map both in and outside the studio. I needed to find out what was out there and how I related to it before figuring out where I wanted to go.

Having built up a reasonable amount of confidence in my work, it came time to think about showing.

I didn't want to be one of the hundreds of artists approaching galleries cold, dropping off sheets of slides with SASE to a director who probably didn't even open the envelope. I decided to show on the street.

My first show was on Greene Street in Soho opposite the Post Office. One overcast Saturday I borrowed a van and went there with a dozen large black and white drawings mounted under Plexiglas and leaned them against the wall. They were kind of abstract landscapes with writing along the bottom. The people passing by seemed to like them very much. A few of them inquired about purchasing one or two, but I didn't want to break up the series. I still have them.

My second show was in front of The Whitney. I did thirty paintings on Masonite panels and built two slotted crates to store them in. I then made arrangements with the super of a nearby building to keep them in his furnace room along with a two-wheeled cart. For three consecutive weekends I lined the paintings up along the front wall of The Whitney, sat of the crates and collected the names and addresses of anyone who expressed interest. This was during one of their Biennials. The series was called "The America Series".

I had lots of inquiries to purchase them, but since it was a show I didn't want to break up the series until the final weekend. I then offered them for $100 a piece. Sold twelve. I've been painting full time ever since.

One other interesting thing to me was that I met Andy Warhol during that show. He ignored the paintings as he walked by, but when he got to the corner he turned and stared at me. I had a camera, so I snapped his picture.

I've always thought of Andy and I as representing opposite ends of the spectrum. He was all about commercialization and product. I see my thing as being all about heart.

Tim Folzenlogen
MB Modern, March 2001