Saratoga Dreaming

I got a call from a friend of mine the other day asking me if I wanted to go to Saratoga this year. My reply was, "Do birds fly?"
Saratoga! The word has the power to immediately transport me back to the days of getting up at five in the morning to catch the workouts on the Oklahoma track, putting on my Wellies to cut large swaths of Loosestrife for the gallery, sketching yearlings at the sales pavilion, and watching the current year's champions compete in a seemingly endless parade of top Grade 1 Stakes and Handicaps.
Turkoman, Personal Ensign, Curlin, Storm Bird - the names conjure up wonderful memories of equine beauty, strength and power. Those horses knew they were special! You could see it by the way they walked, the way they held their heads - some serenely calm, others full of fire, nostrils flaring and grooms trying to hang on.




The excitement of catching a glimpse of Summer Bird stepping on to the Oklahoma track late one morning, incognito in blinkers and an unmarked saddle cloth, the only clue to his identity - his "exercise rider", or watching a set of Jonathan Sheppard's jumpers schooling on the infield, or seeing a future champion going through the sales ring as a yearling, is all part of the magic of Saratoga.

I first visited Saratoga in the late 70's. I was told I should go at least once, since I liked horse racing. I went for the weekend. I discovered the Racing Museum and all those art galleries filled with wonderful paintings of horses. Richard Green and other top-notch galleries all had places right on Union Avenue next to the racetrack. It was my introduction to a Saratoga tradition which continues to this day - the fine displays of the best sporting art of the last two hundred years. The seed was planted.
In 1983, shortly after seeing the Munnings' exhibit at the Wildenstein in New York City, I decided it was time to get serious about painting (see my first post, March 5, 2016). I had been working as a commercial artist since graduating high school, and it seemed as good a time as any to take the plunge. I cut my baby teeth painting and photographing the hunt meets along the East Coast for the National Steeplechase and Hunt Association (NSHA).

Jonathan Sheppard gives Flatterer a final blowout before
 the 1987 Championship Hurdle in
Cheltenham, England. I took this photo on foot!

My entrée into the steeplechase circuit was Joan Hopewell, a British ex-pat who was jt.-MFH of Old Dominion at one time. I had gone down to Southern Pines for a few weeks of warm weather and some foxhunting. Joanie had a nice steeplechase horse named Running Comment and she wanted someone to go to Camden, S.C. with her to watch him run, so I offered to tag along. That little outing to South Carolina in 1984 sparked a lifelong love of the jump races.

Flatterer, Watercolor, 16" x 20"

My timing was impeccable. A historic duel between Flatterer and Census was just heating up. It was steeplechase's equivalent to the legendary rivalry between Affirmed and Alydar. The years between 1984 and 1986 are arguably some of the most exciting ones in the NSHA's history. Flatterer went on to race in England and Europe as well. It took me a while to realize I'd probably never see the likes of him (or Census) again.
Next, I set my sights on the big New York flat tracks - Belmont, Aqueduct and Saratoga. It seemed like a good place to start since I lived in New York City and all the big horses came to Belmont. I soon discovered it was a tough nut to crack. Getting access to the NYRA tracks was entirely different than the hunt meets. I remember seeing an artist I knew from my days at the Art Students League - who shall remain nameless - in the paddock at Belmont before a big race. I asked him how to get a pass into the paddock. He just shrugged and said he didn't know. Okay! I guess don't blame him. Why help the competition? He was one of the first artists of that generation to paint backstretch scenes. He cut a sweetheart deal with a famous landmark hotel in Saratoga. For thirty-something years, no other artists were allowed to exhibit there. Fortunately, there were many other venues for up-and-coming artists at the Spa.

My first "exhibition" in Saratoga was at the Saratoga Gallery of Art. I don't remember what year it was. Like so many galleries in Saratoga, it came and went. Roger Hyndman, the owner/proprietor, was a school teacher the rest of the year. He was a nice enough fellow, but he was a small fish in a big pond. I was one of maybe thirty other artists, and my work was hung on the stairway up to the gallery. My next venue was a bigger gallery. The owner was an innovative sort, who tried various locations in town including a movie theatre, temporarily converted into a gallery! Eventually the owner found a private house to rent on Union Avenue. Every inch of available wall space was hung with paintings. Even the kitchen, stairwells, bedrooms and bathrooms had paintings. My paintings were hung in the bathroom and on the stairway. Dissatisfied with the limited space I was given, I sent inquiries to other galleries and was finally accepted to one of the top galleries in Saratoga. When the former gallery owner, a figure straight out of a Wagnerian opera and not one to be trifled with, got wind of this, she unceremoniously dumped all my paintings on doorstep of the new gallery! I suppose I could have handled it better, but I've never subscribed to the idea of "exclusivity", which prohibits an artist from exhibiting their work anywhere else within a certain radius. All the galleries in Saratoga demand it. It seems patently unfair to me that a gallery can limit an artist to only one gallery, while they're free to take in as many artists as they like, all painting the same subject. I can understand the expectation of loyalty if the gallery is heavily promoting an artist, but not if they're just one of the herd.


I enjoyed what can only be described as modest success in these galleries. I came to the conclusion that I could do a better job of selling my own work. In 2003 I decided to rent a space at the Prime Hotel on Broadway. Frost & Reed held their annual exhibition there, as well as Quest Royal, so I was in excellent company. I operated the gallery as a co-operative artists' space the first year, charging each artist a share of the rent, but there was very little cooperation going on, as is so often the case with artists' co-ops. I became sole owner the next year. It was tremendous fun. I met many wonderful people. Many of my clients became good friends. And I sold a lot of artwork.


The inaugural Saratoga Exhibition poster. I couldn't afford much advertising,
so I hung these posters in all the shop windows up and down Broadway.
It brought in quite a few customers. And sold the painting as well!

All good things must come to an end, I suppose. Within five years the hotel was sold (yet again), this time to the Blackstone Group, and a decision was made to focus on the convention business during the racing season. With one or two food & beverage turnovers a day in the conference rooms, plus suites of rooms booked for convention attendees, it was the kiss of death for the art galleries. We were considered deadbeats for monopolizing the conference rooms for the entire racing season. Frost & Reed was the first to leave. They saw the writing on the wall. What Blackstone (Hilton Group) failed to understand was what an asset the galleries were to the hotel, and what an integral part art and artists play in the Saratoga scene.
I've noticed that the number of galleries fluctuates greatly from year to year, much like a microcosm of the stock market. It seems to go in cycles. Some years there's a glut of artists and galleries, and other years there's just a handful. I think it's the law of supply and demand. When there are fewer galleries, sales go up, which in turn, encourages more galleries to open the next year. There's the inevitable bust (every six years or so), when the supply is far greater than the demand and only a few galleries can weather the economic downturn. Then the cycle begins again.

But back to dreaming about Saratoga. I haven't been there in at least six years, maybe longer. I no longer subscribe to any horse racing periodicals, except Joe and Sean Clancy's excellent online magazine, "This Is Horse Racing", www.thisishorseracing.com. I wonder if I can get up to speed after being away so long. It's such short notice. It's already April. I should have rented a house by now. And I should have been painting all this time. I need to dig out some photos and choose a subject. I don't know where to start. It's exciting to be planning something this big for the summer. I'm thinking of all the old friends I'll see, all the new horses on the track, the yearling sales, the backstretch. I just hope I'm up to the task! I'm not getting any younger. Saratoga, here I come!
CMC
Note: My memory, usually pretty sharp, has failed me for this post, which is surprising. For example, I thought I went to Aiken, not Camden with Joan Hopewell. I looked through many thick books of slides sheets and NSHA yearbooks to check dates. The year was 1984, not 1981 as I had previously stated. Nor do I remember the first year I exhibited with the Saratoga Gallery of Art. It had to have been in the mid-eighties, but I can't find a scrap of paper anywhere with a date on it. I'm finding lots of inconsistencies while writing this blog, which is why it's taken me two days to write it. I'll update this post if I find any corroborating evidence.