The Joys of Selling Art on the Street in Soho. Not.
A couple of years back, I began painting various random dogs I saw on the street throughout the New York City area. My initial idea was to sell these paintings on the street in Soho; that, however, proved to be much more trouble than it was worth. In fact, this was such a troublesome undertaking that I thought I'd outline the intricacies for any artist who might be considering this exciting career path.
Setting Up Your Display / Not Getting Hassled By The Cops
First of all, you have to have some sort of setup for displaying your art. Not as easy--or as cheap--as it sounds. I ended up with a funeral home wreath easel and one of those cheap vinyl grid things you buy to hang pots and pans from (both of which I found in the garbage). It was a crappy setup, but it essentially served its purpose of getting everything off the ground. You can't display your art by simply laying it out on a blanket on the ground for two reasons: one, people will walk on your art, and two, the cops will give you a ticket for being a vagrant. While my cheap setup didn't cost me anything, most everyone else selling art on the street had some kind of expensive-looking custom-made display setup that was nicer than my apartment. I just didn't have that kind of money to invest (therefore the selling-art-on-the-street part).
Getting A Spot / Getting Yelled At In Russian
In order to get a "spot" on the main drag (West 4th Street), you have to get there around 6:30 AM. This not only involves getting up super early on Saturday and Sunday (yay), but it also means lugging all of your paintings and display equipment down there on ye olde subway. Fun fun fun. Now, even if you succeed in finding a vacant spot, this doesn't mean you're out of the woods-- when the stores open at 10am, there are many shopkeepers that don't want artists in front of their storefronts. They'll chase you away, and you will essentialy be totally screwed because it's too late to find another spot. The other problem is other artists--they're extremely territorial, and I can't tell you how rudely I was treated on more than one occasion because I unwittingly set up in someone's spot. On one occasion I was cursed at by a WWII Veteran who sold historical photo reproductions, and on yet another occasion I was literally chased away by a vicious Russian woman who spoke little English. She followed me down the street screaming in Russian at the top of her lungs despite the fact that I didn't argue back at all and politely left immediately. It was quite a scene.
One Step Above Homelessness / Find a Place to Pee
Once you succeed in getting a spot, you are then set for the day. This is an experience not unlike being a homeless panhandler on the side of the street (only you get to go home and take a shower afterwards). You're there from 6:30am until the sun sets--usually around 6:30 pm. This is a loooong time to spend on the sidewalk, let me tell you. Unless you are capable of bringing some kind of small chair (for me it wasn't possible with all the other stuff I was lugging around), you are relegated to sitting on the bare sidewalk or standing the entire time. It's also often very hot out there, which causes two problems: #1, you need to find something to drink, which means leaving your spot and leaving all your stuff unattended; #2, if you do manage to get some fluids in you, you will eventually have to pee someplace (and we all know what a challenge that can be in New York City). Well, realistically speaking, you'd have to pee someplace sometime anyway, but the best/closest place I could find was a local coffeeshop whose restroom was located on the third floor and looked as though it were frequented by every diarrhea-addled vagrant in downtown. Do yourself a favor and bring your own toilet paper.
Talent Means Nothing / The Joy of Meeting Other Artists
Make no mistake about it, everyone is down there for one reason and one reason only: To make a buck. And not unlike the gallery scene, taste and talent have absolutely nothing to do with who is successful and who is not. After a few weeks of hopping from place to place, I eventually settled into my own spot (and joyfully cursed in Russian at anyone who tried to take it). Each week I set up next to this older couple who sold ceramic sculptures of muppet-like hands holding various occupation-themed objects; for example, the "gambler" hands held cards and poker chips, the "doctor" hands held a stethoscope and prescription vial, and so on. Now far be it from me to bash anyone else's art, but well, okay, I'm going to have to just say, these sculptures were hideous--yet lo and behold, they sold like hotcakes. Hell, they even successfully sold pictures of these lame sculptures. This couple was also quite interesting in many other ways; they had a teddy bear that they referred to as their "child" and they dressed it in children's clothing. They also insisted on "feeding" it every day at lunch, and would go about sticking a ham and cheese sandwich in its mouth 9which only really resulted in a mayonaise-smeared teddy bear baking aromatically in the sun). I suppose the worst part of all of this was the fact that their teddy bear had his own chair--with umbrella--while I sat five feet away on the hot sidewalk. Good times.