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After week after week of insanely hot and therefore only moderately profitable shows in MD and NJ,  I was really looking forward to spending three days on the family-friendly Ocean City (NJ) Boardwalk, hoping that the sea breeze would kick in to cool off patrons without putting a damper on sales.  And for the most part, it worked out.

When I began booking my August shows last May, this calendar slot presented a toss-up between two unknowns: OC, or an equally long-running arts and crafts festival in Stone Harbor NJ.  The latter show has a bit higher profile, with an ad most months in Sunshine Artist and a location that pulls patrons from the somewhat tonier shore towns of Stone Harbor and Avalon.  So I did my homework, checking reviews, soliciting opinions for AFI veterans, and (once I got up north in June) asking artists I met on the northeast show circuit.  Although both shows had pluses and minuses, I was somewhat surprised to hear the OC show judged more favorably.  So here I was at 7 AM Friday morning, at the base of the boardwalk on 9th St.: gaze shifting uneasily between my humble hand truck, my overflowing van, and the steep ramp up to a seemingly endless stretch of wooden planks and seaside merchants,  wondering if I'd make enough money in 3 days to pay for the chiropractor.

For the setup is brutal, no two ways about it. It took a dozen (!) trips and more than an hour before booth building could finally begin. Ocean City also allows bikes and runners on the boardwalk every morning, adding an exciting element of danger to the load-in. (There's something about the proximity of the beach that makes people absolutely oblivious to their surroundings.)   At the show's official start time (10 AM), I had only a couple wall pieces hung, but I hadn't poleaxed anyone yet, either, so overall things were going well.  And already, folks were stopping to gaze and ask questions. 

By noon, with the bikers banished, there were already a couple of sales in the till, and the crowd was steady if not spectacular all day.  Most of the booth visitors were year-round or seasonal residents; many told me that they avoid the boardwalk during the weekends.  The early evening, though, was a different story, as weekend visitors poured in to the vicinity.  According to veteran artists of the show, it used to end at 6 PM on Friday and Saturday, but artists continued to stay open to work the early-evening crowds anyway, so the event was extended an extra two hours this year.

It wasn't worth it, at least not for me.  The boardwalk demographic definitely skews younger after 5 PM, and visitors to the booth dropped dramatically. 

Saturday was a good weather day with a moderate sea breeze, and one of the best sales days I've had all summer. Lots of buyers, particularly of my small (8x10 mat) photos, but enough large pieces went out the door to keep me happy.  A line of heavy thunderstorms were predicted for Saturday night, so artists lashed their tents to the boardwalk railing and hoped for the best. 

I had nearly finished my 70-minute drive back to Mt. Laurel when I realized that I hadn't lowered the vent flap on my Trimline.  Without any friends in the area I could call at 11 PM, I called the Ocean City boardwalk police, gave them my tent location, and, as I discovered the next morning, they did just what they said they'd do and lowered them for me.  Luckily, the storm wasn't as bad as predicted. But it ushered in near100% humidity, and apparently, ushered out the buyers, too.  Used to doing two-day shows, I figured anything I got on Day 3 would be gravy.  But I haven't had so little gravy since I was last in line at the Thanksgiving buffet. The few people who stopped in the booth had mild buying interest, at best, and I made one $22 sale all day.

The show closed at 6 PM Sunday, and load-out was a tedious nightmare.  Because of a communication breakdown between show officials and the local police, the parking passes that artists received for loading out weren't worth the paper they were written on because the police said they didn't know about them. My neighbor, who was doing her first art show, parked at the foot of the boardwalk, came back to her booth to begin load-out, and found a cop writing a parking ticket.  When asked about the parking pass in her dashboard, the officer replied that he "hadn't gotten any memo about it", but that he'd "let her off this time."  Imagine her surprise and anguish when she found a ticket on her car after her second trip--this one written by the parking meter police (a separate jurisdictional entity). 

If other artists at other loading areas encountered the same scenario, this was going to be an unpleasant situation. So I fetched the police phone number from my iPhone and dialed them up to explain the snafu.  When the dispatcher wasn't helpful (I'm not sure if the call was dropped, or if he hung up on me), I found one of the bike officers, who promised to call his supervisor, who arrived to talk to me ten minutes later. "Regardless of whether a permit was filed, or if it wasn't, the artists shouldn't be penalized for doing exactly what they were told to do by the show," I explained.    He listened thoughtfully, took a few notes, said he'd look into it, and then report back to me.  And...he did! Not only that, he talked to each of the persons known to have gotten a ticket to make sure they knew who to talk with to get it cancelled.

That crisis resolved, at least for the moment, I was free to resume load-out...this time, through a boardwalk teeming with families, toddlers in tow, and 'tweeners who were texting, heads down, as they walked. Ten trips later, I was done--again, without casualties or other collateral damage.  I noted the time as I drove off: Nine forty-five.  The post-show adrenaline hung on just long enough to get me home by 11. 

Postscript to the parking crisis:  I followed up with the Ocean City Art League, leaving a message that night and the next morning.  They did, in fact, file the necessary permit, and as we spoke Monday had already scheduled a meeting with the police chief to discuss the breakdown.  And there was, they said, at least one person on site Sunday night: They had provided artists with a contact phone number with the information packet they'd supplied, but unfortunately mine had blown away in Saturday's overnight storm so I didn't have it available.  To my suggestion that it would be a good idea to have trained volunteers or show officials at each of the load-out locations, they agreed, but noted "we never have enough volunteers."

I'm not sure what the bottom line for this show is.  Like so many other shows in this down economy, it's struggling to make ends meet.  Show officials are well intentioned but understaffed, and an aging population isn't able to provide the volunteer support they might have 10 or 15 years ago.  Municipalities that host shows don't drop their fees because, after all, their coffers are nearly bare and they need the revenue themselves to pay for police presence, cleanup, and all the nuts and bolts they're responsible for. 

To the OC Art League's credit, they are keeping show fees incredibly low (only $125 for a single booth at a three-day show) to help artists offset the high costs for parking ($16/day in the municipal lot I chose over the "incessantly-feed-the-meter" alternative) and lodging (over $140/night and up). Despite the low fees, they still offer an awards program (I was fortunate enough to win an "Award of Excellence" and a nice check). And from what I saw, there's still a surprising amount of community interest in the show. 

The Ocean City show definitely has some work to do: updating the content and presentation of a '90s-era website and show brochure, and determining whether it is better off as a two-day show, with or without extended hours, just for openers. The post-show survey we artists received suggests that all these options are in play for the future. 

Despite all the hassles, I like this show and the people who host it.  I'm hopeful that they'll come back stronger in 2012. As for me, if I return it'll be with a Caterpillar-sized hand truck and some 20-year-old muscle in tow.