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Tequila or no tequila, I'm writing a review of St. Pete's ArtScape affair last weekend, as Nels Johnson--blogger extraordinaire and publicity arm of the famed husband-and-wife prizewinning pair--promised I would do. (No pressure--gulp!--here).  And what an adventurous experience this turned out to be. 

This first year show had a foundation more solid than most of its ilk.  The plan: Introduce a fine art show that will leverage the success of the four-year-old Florida Craftsmen’s CraftArt show, which runs on adjacent blocks of Central Avenue in St. Pete's downtown arts district (home of the Salvador Dali Museum and a number of galleries both tony and funky).  Solid corporate backing, strong local sponsorship, a full staff of volunteers, and a hefty $20,000 in artist awards to be handed out at a Saturday night artist dinner...what could go wrong? 

Pre-show communication was top-notch.  Organizer David Frutko of Events St. Pete delivered timely and regular communication through Zapp mail to all the artists; the show specifics, directions, and map were clear and concise.  Setup began at roughly 3 PM on Friday; the St. Pete police cordoned off the streets in a timely fashion, I heard reports of some logjams among the early arrivals (who, no doubt, wished they could have started sooner since the sun goes down at 6:40 these days). But by the time I landed at the well-marked registration booth around 5 PM things were running smoothly.  A quick hello, explanation of the well-stuffed artist's packet, a cheerful run-through of the food menu in case I wanted to pre-order boxed lunches to be delivered to my booth, the ritual donning of the name badge, and I was parked a street-width from my booth site in less than 5 minutes.  Wow, I thought.  This is artist treatment worthy of a Top 10 show, let alone a first-year event. I began feeling special.

Folks could stay late to set up if they wished, but I hate hanging my photo canvases by miner's lamp, so I erected the tent and trappings, stashed the gear, and came back early Saturday morning.  Light breeze, high overcast, a lovely day for a festival. A nice surprise to find that one of my neighbors was Ellen Marshall (lovely and charming wife of the aforementioned Nels, who--as we say at the sports bar--definitely out-kicked his coverage in the marriage department.) Saunter down to the artist's café for some fresh-brewed java and sumptious sweet potato muffins, greet a few friends old and new, and back at the booth just in time to welcome the throngs of show-goers. 

At which point, there arose the first inkling that things may not be what they seem.  No throng.  A bit more than a trickle, perhaps, but my dog-eared Thesaurus is out for re-binding so you'll have to extrapolate.  However many they were, they sure weren't early buyers.  My neighbors--Ellen on one side, Dick on the other--were largely chairbound all morning, while I--fueled equally by coffee jitters and an impending mortage payment--chatted up all comers, to little avail.

Luckily, fortunes turned--for me, at least--in early afternoon.  First, large prints began to move out of the browse bins.  By mid-afternoon, a couple of canvases were off the walls, and my new, uber-large canvas--payment for which was responsible for the angst I was feeling about the mortgage payment--was attracting lots of attention.  And yet, most of the folks in my vicinity weren't moving much artwork, and I didn't see a lot of bags.  As shadows fell, I was happy with my nearly four-figure day, but, as one artist commented, "there weren't a lot of success stories."  Weary from long hours of telling nature stories to my customers--or maybe it was just caffeine crash--I headed to my hotel room on St. Pete Beach, forgetting entirely about the dinner at which the roughly $20,000 in artist's awards (per the pre-show publicity) in seven categories would be handed out.   

Or...not.  Because as it turned out (and this, dear readers, is where the tale turns ugly), the judge kinda forgot about the artists, too.  At least, those of us unfortunate enough to carry cameras around our necks, or make art that is in any way--dare I say it?--digital.  For the judge, playing her "Judge's Discretion" card, chose not to award prize money in the photography and digital art categories.

I do not know how this all went down at the dinner itself.  I know only that I hadn't walked 20 yards past the entry gate on Sunday when I was hailed by one photographer after another--some of whom, it should be noted, who have won national and international awards--filling me in on the slight.  Opinions were spouted; options weighed.  Does a judge have a right to withhold a category award?  Or is she (or he) ethically bound to award them, regardless of her (or his) personal standards and biases?  And what would become of the unawarded prize money? 

Who was the judge, anyway, we wondered, and what were her qualifications, particularly in the two categories she'd snubbed? I had not seen her, nor had anyone else I asked.  These questions, and more, were pointedly and repeatedly posed to the show director as Day 2 commenced.  I had the kind of unfairly-treated, kicked-in-the-gut feeling that I hadn't experienced since, as a seventh-grader, I got aced out the lead in the class play when my brief audition was interrupted by the 3:30 school bell.  But mom's not waiting at home with milk and cookies this time, I reasoned, and I've got customers to see. So I unzipped the tent and got to it, awaiting developments.  I didn't have a hunch they'd be positive ones. 

And then, a few minor miracles ensued.  The half-marathon event that, perplexingly, ran right across the show until 10:30 AM on Sunday wrapped up, and the barricades parted.  Neighbor Ellen, wife of Nels, was the winner of the Drawing category, garnering a $2,000 check, which brightened my mood a little.  My other neighbor Dick had three nice buyers for the artwork he was selling, putting him solidly in the black.  And darned if the large canvas hanging on the center back of my booth didn't come off the wall, and two more besides--neatly paying this month's mortgage and next month's, too. 

Those were preludes to a bigger miracle, at least in my eyes.  David Frutko, show director, did the right thing.  Unbeknownst to many of us--heck, perhaps, all of us--he sent around another judge, who (however belatedly) made good on the missing category awards: Nels picked up a $2,000 check for his photography, and an artist in the digital category did the same.  Frutko also personally hand-delivered a letter in which he stood by the original judge's credentials and decisions, but apologized for the upset those may have caused and for several lessons learned--among them, not having a show committee member escort the judge around, and (a minor point, in my eyes) for not making sure she was introduced to each artist during the judging process.

So, lots to digest in this post, and some questions still hanging in the wind: Does a judge have a right to withhold a category award?  And if so, should that decision be based upon his/her personal standards, or upon broader "commonly accepted standards" within the art community?  My take: If the category is announced, it should be awarded unless there are compelling circumstances that make it inappropriate (i.e., a winner is found to not have made the winning art).  And if I'd been in Mr. Frutko's shoes, I'd have said: "If you awarded only five-sevenths of the awards, you'll get only five-sevenths of your paycheck.  Go finish your job." 

I'm speaking only for myself in another opinion, too, and perhaps here I'm being overly charitable. But when I step back and look at Mr. Frutko's "body of work" as a director of a first-year show, I see a lot to admire in the communication and the overall show organization.  The judging brouhaha was an egregious misstep, to be sure, and no doubt the torrent of criticism he received was justified.  As a gallery owner who, I understand, is new to the outdoor art festival scene, he probably didn't see it coming.  But he didn't disappear, and he did what he could to rectify the situation as quickly as humanly possible, and I'll give him a boatload of credit for that. 

What's the bottom line?   Among the 15 or so artists I spoke with Sunday afternoon, most weren't happy with their sales, though a few did well, and some (mostly local) were happy to have covered  expenses.  The crowd volume never got to "brisk" (there, my Thesaurus must be back from repair!) but at least the flow, especially on Sunday afternoon, was a little steadier. The city powers-that-be certainly seemed to support the show. And everyone seemed to appreciate the amenities. 

But overall, the show reminds me of the old joke that ends with "Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the play?"  Some long-running shows have been dealt severe, and sometimes fatal, body blows because of mishaps around prize money awards. Many artists use prize money as a major determining factor in assessing whether or not to apply for a show or not.  And for the artists talented enough to win them, it may mean the difference between a show that's profitable and one that's not.  So in many respects, prize monies represent the ultimate test of ethics and trust between artist and promoter. Despite the corrective actions, it remains to be seen if the reputation of a first-year show can rebound from this. 

What do you think? Did the judge fulfill her obligation to the show and the artists? Were the promoter's efforts to make amends sufficient?   Does St. Petersburg ArtScape deserve a Year Two? And if so, what must they do to ensure they get it?