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Jenny Jaskey
Owner, Director, Jaskey Gallery
I was always entrepreneurial as a child. While other children were pushing the typical fare of lemonade and cookies, I had more ambitious plans. Friendship bracelets, mysterious bath products, hair bows, and painted rocks were just a few of the items for sale at the end of my driveway.
One of my earliest ventures gave me a taste for my now- current profession as an art dealer. It was also my only foray into full-fledged door-to-door sales. Using my 64-pack of Crayolas and a big piece of newsprint, I composed a large drawing. Then I put on my best outfit and bravely rang the bell of our neighbors, the McRoys.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. McRoy," I said in my most professional tone. "I have a business proposal for you. May I come in?" Mrs. McRoy, a delightful Southern woman, welcomed me inside, offering to talk over a glass of sweet tea and cookies.
"Mrs. McRoy, I have completed a wonderful work of art," I said confidently.
I showed the drawing, which pictured a house with a chimney and billow of smoke. There was a tree in the front yard and a yellow sun in the corner of the page. A family of four were holding hands and smiling in the driveway. Not terribly original, but full of earnest effort. She complimented my attention to detail with the brickwork on the house.
"The drawing here is only a sample of the work that I can do for you," I explained. "I am now taking commissions to personalize this drawing for your family."
I went on to describe how I could alter the number of people in the picture, their gender, hair color, and clothing, and that I could make it a summer or winter scene. Knowing that gardening was important to Mrs. McRoy, I offered to throw in some bushes or flowers of her choosing. After getting a good response, and the 25 cents I requested for the piece, I went around to the rest of our neighbors selling my wares. I got three commissions and was elated.
My current gallery began as another entrepreneurial project I had during graduate school. When considering career paths, I decided that I wanted to be Gertrude Stein. Live in Paris, throw elaborate dinner parties, and hang out with the likes of Picasso and Hemingway. Maybe write a few literary works on the side. While Paris wasn't an immediate possibility, the spacious home of some friends in West Chester, PA was offered up for a Saturday evening salon. I jumped at the chance.
My career as an artist had ended at the age of six, so like Gertrude I called on friends who were starting out art careers and wanted to show their work. That first party went surprising well, given my relative inexperience at selling work, and the constraints of hanging a show in a house where I was told very firmly by the owner, "No new nail holes."
Fortunately the hosts had figured out the secret to success in the art world and had supplied enough alcohol to take us into the early morning hours. When it was all over, I was hooked. I held a few more salons and eventually found my permanent physical space in Northern Liberties.
I still aspire to be Gertrude. I have always felt that white box galleries create an intimidation factor for people who aren't used to looking at art, and they inevitably set you up for seeing works as commodities. In a home, there is an immediate invitation to look, to talk, and to relate. The art serves as a stepping off point for community in a way, because if it's good, it connects to our humanity; we can't not talk about it, and we can't not be affected. So although I do have a white box, I actively look for opportunities to practice hospitality and to begin dialog in it. And true to my ambitions as a six-year-old, thoughtful dialog has led to the sale of a few commissioned works since opening. Crayon on newsprint isn't a hot item for me yet, but perhaps with time...
Jaskey Gallery
