The emotional business of art

Much has been written about the clean and minimalist appeal of ArtInformal Gallery’s second branch in Makati. AI2, as it is referred to (the original ArtInformal Gallery in Greenhills would be AI1), has been praised for its pristine white walls and concrete flooring—a Jagnus Design Studio-conceived setting that is meant to put the spotlight (one designed and set up by WE Design creative director Mark Wilson) on the art.

When I visited the gallery last Thursday, however, there were no artworks on the wall and the place was in chaos. Everyone at AI2 was elbows deep in preparation for the gallery’s second show, a three–exhibit presentation that would feature artists Mark Valenzuela (Cheap Tricks), Angelica Harris-Faull (My flesh whispers an urgent story), and Alycia Bennett (Buy 1 Take 1, together with Valenzuela). There was welding going on in the second exhibition hall, and the office at the first floor was cluttered with framed artworks waiting to be hung.

The show, by the way, was scheduled to open two days later.

Brisa Amir’s Slow Painting series at AI2’s second exhibition hall

ArtInformal founder and creative director Tina Fernandez seemed to take it all in stride, though—or at least, she was resigned to the stress of having everything come together at the last minute. “[The artworks for] this exhibit should have been installed by today, but that hasn’t happened yet,” she complained good-naturedly. “I always say I’m used to the stress of putting together a show, but in truth, I’m not. I still panic.”

A cycle of inspiration and depletion

It’s quite the feat to still feel anxiety before an exhibit, given that AI1 was established in 2004. But Fernandez says that working for nearly 15 years in the gallery business brings its own cycles of alternating inspiration and what she describes as “the feeling of being in a limbo”—a state that almost kept AI2 from coming into being.

In 2015, when Mara Coson, daughter of SM Malls scion Tessie Sy-Coson, first offered her space for a second ArtInformal Gallery at what eventually became The Alley at Karrivin, Fernandez had been experiencing a profound lack of motivation. “I was kind of lost, kind of sick and tired of the gallery business,” she admitted. “I go through stages where I’m excited to work, then there are stages where I don’t feel like doing this anymore, usually whenever I get too emotionally involved with the work. I’d go, ‘You know what? Fuck it, I don’t want to do this anymore!’ So I had to tell Mara sorry, because it wasn’t the right time for me to even think about investing in a new gallery.”

“People don’t realize how complicated gallery operations are. It’s not just a matter of hanging artworks on the walls and calling that a show. ”

Worried about her loss of interest in and even taste for art (“I didn’t like any artwork I’d see, across the board”), she asked help from a therapist who recommended attending a Carl Jung workshop about understanding one’s self through personality archetypes. Fernandez followed the advice, “and on the second day of that workshop, a light bulb just went on in my head. I knew exactly what I wanted to do.” She immediately got in touch with Coson, months after she had rejected her initial offer, to inquire about any available space left in Karrivin Plaza. It still wasn’t for AI2 at that point, though. Rather, it was for Aphro Living Art & Design, the 126 sq.m. gallery/furniture and curios store that was also designed by Jagnus Design Studio.

“Once I realized certain things about myself and why I go through the cycle of losing interest in things I usually love, I got to understand how I could keep that from happening, or at least how to react should it happen again,” Fernandez reflected. She had discovered that her female archetype is Aphrodite—hence Aphro—and her male archetype is Zeus. “That’s why the store has these giant stairs; it’s meant to look like a temple.”

“Always something new”

People may scoff at the New Age-y idea of believing in archetypes, but Fernandez’s light-bulb moment makes a good case of picking up a valuable lesson from it. As the goddess of love and beauty, Aphrodite has the enviable (if a touch self-deceiving) capability to be “reborn” at the end of every love affair or sexual encounter. “After she makes love to a man or a god, she goes back into the sea and comes back up as if she were a virgin again,” Fernandez explained. It’s a self-sustaining form of replenishment of love, desire, sexual attraction, and all the other values that the goddess holds power over, a replenishment that Fernandez saw as something she could do for herself.

A slide and another set of stairs flank Aphro’s giant steps

This is reflected in Aphro’s display and the many, many pieces it features, which foster the promise of infinite creative possibilities. Opened in 2016, it is Fernandez’s happy place. “Whenever I’m going through the emotional stress of working in the gallery, I go there, and immediately feel better. I may still be dealing with the same artist, but at Aphro, it would be under different circumstances; there’s an automatic change in temperament.”

That change isn’t just with Fernandez but also with the creatives she deals with. “Some of the artists like hanging out at Aphro and they’d ask if they could do something for the place. ‘It’s great what you’ve done here,’ they’d say, and they’d offer some of the pieces they created in their studios simply out of fun—pieces that they could never put on exhibit.

“So the stuff we have with Aphro are mostly one of a kind. When people go there and see something they like, I tell them to buy it immediately, because it might not be there anymore the next time they visit; something else would be on display.”

And then there was AI2

It had been barely a year since Aphro’s opening when Coson approached Fernandez with yet another offer of available space. This time, it was a 412 sq. m. two-story space that used to house a dance studio and a recruitment agency. “I said to her, ‘Wait, I haven’t recovered financially yet from Aphro!’” Fernandez recalled with a laugh. “She said it was up to me, that I have the right to first refusal, so I thought, ‘Fine, whatever happens happens.’”

AI2’s second gallery on the second floor

AI2 officially opened on February 15 with an all-women show featuring solo exhibitions from artists Brisa Amir, Tosha Albor, and Christina Dy. Its second show, which opened on March 17, will run until April 14. “The shows here in our Makati gallery run for about a month,” Fernandez acknowledged. “With our Greenhills gallery, I want to give people who live in the south, who don’t get to trek often to Greenhills, more chances to visit there whenever they have free time, so the shows at AI1 run for two months.”

Another difference between the two galleries are how their respective shows are produced, though AI1’s program is also used at AI2. “We have three exhibition spaces here in Makati so our chosen artists can have solo shows,” Fernandez explained. “Meanwhile, in Greenhills, the shows are curator-based. For AI1, I want powerful exhibits of various artists that were put together by a single curator with a strong concept. I plan our shows there two years in advance.”

Two galleries, two different show cycles. It can get exhausting, even to someone who has been working in the art world as long as Fernandez has, and she acknowledges the work that her staff puts in to pull everything together. “It is hectic, but I’m lucky to have good team. They work behind the scenes and do things that collectors, viewers of art, and even artists don’t see.

The gallery’s backroom, which also serves as a VIP lounge as well as a storage area for artworks, that features a JC Jacinto painting that depicts what the space had looked like post-demolition in the process of turning into AI2.

“People don’t realize how complicated gallery operations are,” she continued. “It’s not just a matter of hanging artworks on the walls and calling that a show. A lot of preparation and communication go on between the artists and our staff who oversee the operations. Plus, different artists have different personalities and different work habits that we have to adjust to.” She waved in the direction of the welding that was going on in the next hall. “Some artists are used to getting things done at the last minute, insisting that they can meet the deadline. Sure, they can do that, but the gallery can’t because we have to document the artworks properly and photograph them before a show opens. I also have to approach my loyal collectors before the show and present 3D images to them, because we have to sell to keep the gallery going.”

The necessity of galleries

Fernandez brought up a time in the local arts scene when galleries were closing one by one. “This was in the ’80s. Artists had begun selling directly to collectors, who would comment, ‘I didn’t know galleries take this big of a cut from a sale. I’ll buy directly from you instead.’” But, as she reasoned, putting together a show costs a lot of money, hence the necessity of a sizable cut. “Our overhead each month at AI1 is at least half a million. Attending an art fair abroad and bringing an artist with us easily cost us Php3.5 million. So what would happen when we don’t sell?”

She pointed out the consequence of having galleries close shop: “The artists eventually become invisible.” While there are people who are capable of patronizing an artist’s career, it’s reasonable not to expect them to provide an artist financial support all throughout their lives. “Also, after a while, there’ll be a new name that they might like more, so sorry to the artist that gets left behind, right? No gallery will then accept them, knowing that they sell directly to buyers.”

The benefits of being part of a community

Despite the headaches (and heartaches) that running two galleries inevitably brings, Fernandez’s drive to show local audiences something they might not have seen before keeps her in the business, along with a healthy dose of self-care thrown in. Being part of the Karrivin neighborhood also adds another layer of inspiration.

The bar at AI’s backroom

“It’s nice to be part of a community where people get along well like family,” she said. “Work is something that you should love to do, and it’s such a bonus if your neighbors also become your family.” The people behind the other shops and establishments at the Karrivin Plaza hang out socially, “and when they saw the backroom of the gallery, they declared it to be the new hang out space for drinking after work,” Fernandez said with a laugh. “That’s why there’s a bar here.

“The people here appreciate art, but I think the community that we have here would not pay so much attention to it if it weren’t for our relationship. They come to the gallery because of that relationship, they go around and look at artworks, and when they see something they like, they purchase it. Maybe they’d feel intimidated in another a gallery, but here, they feel comfortable talking to me about the works they like and even the kind of art they don’t like. I’d like to think that the community here wouldn’t have become this much closer to art if AI2 weren’t here.”

After the long, emotionally and mentally taxing road it took to finally have AI2 up and running, Fernandez acknowledges how nice it is to see everything coming together. But then again, the work never ends: There’s always the next exhibit, and then the next one, and the one after that, plus all of the people she has to deal with every time. “I don’t know,” she concluded, but with a smile on her face. “I think I need to attend another workshop because I think I need a refresher course.”

A version of this story was published in March 2018 on the Garage Magazine website. Main image is by September Grace Mahino. All other images are courtesy of ArtInformal Gallery.