Gallery Exhibits and Festivals 2008 to Present

NOW OPEN!

STRANGER IN THE WILDERNESS GALLERY at 39 West Broad, Cookeville TN 38501

Valerie has finally taken the plunge! It has been over two years since she had a studio where she can paint, meet the public, enjoy life in the arts community. So, coming this October, she will open her studio/gallery at 39 West Broad Stree, Cookeville TN 38501. Just walk in the front door and make your way up the flight of stairs on the right. She's on the right at the top. Open hours for her studio will be from 1pm to 5pm of Fridays and from 11am to 5pm on Saturdays and Sundays. Also by appointment for Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. She will not only be producing new works, but also exhibiting current works and offering all kinds of fun items with her works one them: note cards, mugs, prints (upon order), totes and more. At last, a real place to bring out all the fun!

New experiences flow from the will to step out of the comfort zone and meet new people. When I met Jerry Stout at the DelMonico Winery event in July, I knew I'd join the Upper Cumberland Arts Alliance in a heartbeat. So, I did, and he contacted me just a few days later asking that I bring six paintings for the space in the Sutton General Store Gallery in Granville, TN. Driving there created a moment for me to the beauty of Middle Tennessee that existed just a few miles from my home.

One steps back 100 years or more as one enters the Sutton General Store. In fact, the whole town of Granville seems steeped in history and nestled among the hills in a place where Time has kept the modern hustle and bustle successfully at bay. Slower pace, kinder people, and the sense of calm we all could use more of today escapes from every building in the town's main street. There is no stranger here. Even a newcomer is as welcome as the old-timers. So, I was delighted to put my works on the walls and leave with a sense of accomplishment. The other artists exhibted there bring a vibrant glow emanating from their own visions of the world they choose to paint or draw or sculpt. Go to Granville, and you will learn to see the world through a different prism.

FAT TAIL GALLERY OPENING, October 11, 2008 Denver, Colorado

When I arrived at the Fat Tail Gallery in Denver, Colorado, I felt all the nerves every artist in any media feels the first time they walk into a gallery where their work is visible. Doubling the already high anxiety was the fact that I knew not a soul among the hundreds of interior designers invited to attend the opening that evening. The featured artist was Joni Lynn Tomasetti, but several of the other artists represented in the gallery were also in attendance, so I was not alone in the sense of being a part of something larger. However, I was the only out-of-towner. Everyone else lived in or near Denver and had family, friends and colleagues who would arrive at some point to see their work.

Valerie in front of four of her paintings.

I flew in on the early morning flight from Milwaukee with no one else to accompany me. That's okay. I love meeting new people. But nothing prepared me for the flush of pride that came over me as I walked up the stairs to where my paintings hung. There is nothing like that first glimpse, that first moment of recognition when the thought, "Yes, perhaps you really are an artist," is accompanied by the reality that the work is emerging from obscurity and appearing on the walls of a beautiful, high end, professional art gallery. It felt really good. I am thankful to Kristi Haynes for inviting me to send thirteen paintings for inclusion in the show. The speed of interaction created a whirlwind of names and faces, but everyone was in a good mood, welcoming and open, friendly and talkative. I had a great time listening and learning and came away hopeful that at some point, perhaps when the economy recovers, someone will want to hang one of my works in their home or business.

As the evening progressed, the gallery became crowded with people. Maybe crowded isn't quite the right word. There were so many people grouping together, wine glass in one hand, delectable hors d'oeuvres in the other, chatting, squeezing up and down the narrow stairway between the upper gallery and the main floor gallery, that there was little room to navigate. Sardines comes to mind. This is a good thing, and on the cold, misty evening of the first breath of winter blowing down from the mountains, the variety and beauty of the art warmed the ambiance to a balmy almost tropical feel.

2008 Fall Show and Main Street Gallery presented by the Cedarburg Artist's Guild

Eagle Above the Clouds and Barns, exhibited in the Main Street Gallery at the Cedarburg Cultural Center.

The Cedarburg Artists Guild's Fall Show began September 2nd and ran through November 2nd 2008.

Valerie exhibited two paintings: Togolese Women and Snowy Rocky Mountains.

June 2008 Strawberry Festival and the Storm

The first morning of the 2008 Strawberry Festival in Cedarburg, Wisconsin, dawned sunny and cool. A perfect day for an outdoor event. The air was calm as my husband and I drove northward to the site where my booth would stand. I felt elated. Happy to be trying the festival world again, having done so in the 90's with my hand-carved block prints. I remembered the sunny days and the need for a tent. So this time, I had done it right, and my EZup tent fitted with my banner would be a good temporary home for my paintings as I offered them to the patrons of this very well-established and popular event. In spite of a delay waiting for a parked car to be removed from my booth's place on the Columbia street section of the fair, by the time the patrons were strolling by my temporary home, I was just putting the last zip-ties on the backs of the paintings to keep them from falling off the lattice walls. Every little breath of wind caused the walls to flex, which annoyed me at the beginning and which I realize saved my tent by the end of the day. People smiled happily as they looked into my booth. Some came in to see the paintings up close, and others lingered to flip the pages of the portfolio to see the paintings I hadn't brought with me. All seemed right with the world, until by 2:30 pm or so, the first clouds of the front peeked over the buildings to the west. White and unassuming at first, the first sign of the coming storm was the subtle increase in the breeze. Long gusts of stronger intensity foreshadowed what was to follow.

Undaunted by the need to constantly reset the walls of the booth, I kept getting up and sitting down in my own dance of the festival until the clouds changed. The fluffy white billows gave way to gray shelf clouds, unassuming but indicative of the force coming behind them. The winds rose, while across the street the umbrella stand laden with wind chimes began to shake in a cacophony of urgent warning. Tents shook, contents fell to the ground, people began to run in all directions as the storm approached and then engulfed the town. I secured the tent side facing the coming storm, but had no more time to put on the other two sides. The cloth acted as a baffle, but also as a sail, and the wind rose higher, shaking the booth with a violence I could not have expected.

I was all alone in my booth, hanging onto one of the front supports of my tent. Two women, no bigger than I am, came running toward me. "How can we help you?" they shouted above the din.

"Grab the front poles and hang on!" I shouted back, "I have to get the paintings off the walls!" I scrambled in panic to snip the zip-ties off the backs of the artwork and began to stack it on the card table. I tried to avoid damaging the canvasses, but I was losing the battle with the wind. One of the women helped, as I snipped, she grabbed the paintings and stacked them. But not familiar with how to do this, she was stacking them so the frames could cut into the paintings.

"Here, you cut the ties, I'll stack the paintings," I shouted. Together we got the paintings off the walls, but there wasn't enough room for them on the table and on the chair. And then, the rain began. "Thank you for your help, but you can go, get out of the rain. I'll manage," I called to the women. Just then, into the booth came Jason and Anna Sadjak. Jason is one of the maintenance team at our town-home complex. They had been to my booth earlier, and when the storm began, they ran to help me. I learned all this after the event, of course, but without them, I could never have saved my paintings.

My husband called, "The storm has just taken down the power lines on Buntock. There's a fire on the pole. I'm on my way!" He was clearly frantic to get to me.

"I can't talk, I'm trying to save the paintings!" I shouted into my cellphone. "Just get here fast!" I was still panicked, trying to keep the paintings off the street, now flowing with the deluge. The winds blew stronger. We all tried to keep the paintings dry. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the winds died down, and the rain paused. The crowd had disbursed, and there were only half-crazed vendors, trying to save their wares and their tents. The storm had flattened many, and the paramedic ambulances screamed their way through the streets to help those who had been injured.

I couldn't think. Never before had I felt so exposed, so helpless. Even with the good hearts of caring people who had come to my aid, I realized just how powerless human beings are in the face of Nature's ferocity. I have always loved watching storms from the windows. Never afraid. But this first hand communication with the elements left me shaken. My husband arrived, and we managed to get all the paintings and some of the equipment into the car before the rain began again. Jason and Anna stayed with me as he drove away. We all carried what remained of the contents of the booth to my car, just a block and a half away. The sun returned as we arrived at my car. Wet, calmer, and sure to get home in one piece, I thanked them for staying with me, and we all hugged each other, laughing at the whole scene. As they walked toward their car and I drove away, I decided to take this as a warning. I spoke aloud to myself. "I'm too old for this kind of thing. It's a good lesson, and I'll just have to realize I can't do outdoor festivals in tents."

By the time I got home, the sun was shining and the storm had gone eastward over the lake. As I unpacked Mike's car, I inventoried the paintings. One had a tear. Just a small tear. Something that could be repaired. All the rest were fine. The booth was still on the street, still standing, and when we went back later to retrieve it, one thing became very clear: The walls had been flexible, and that was why the tent didn't crumble. The remains of other tents littered the street, and one vendor had just set up his wares off the back of his truck and was still selling his beautiful, hand crafted fishing lures. A gust of wind blew down the board, flinging all the lures into a tangled mess on the ground. He just laughed. "At least I sold nearly a thousand dollars worth before the storm!"

"You're in the right business," I said. "I sold $15 worth of greeting cards for my trouble. This isn't the place for me!" And maybe that's true. One torn painting, one battered tent and one lesson learned.

Day two of the Strawberry Festival dawned sunny and cool. I stayed home. By the way, as I wrote this piece in the afternoon, the clouds and wind  returned. I'm glad I wasn't on the street in a tent.