By Benjamin Leatherman
By Robrt L. Pela
By Katrina Montgomery
By Robrt L. Pela
By Kathleen Vanesian
By New Times
By Ray Stern
By Eric Tsetsi
In fact, the juried exhibition at the Sette says more about the gallery's skill at marketing and presenting art than it does about emerging styles or new and exciting faces on the Phoenix art scene. In this exhibition, the art is secondary. It's the gallery, the staff and Lisa Sette herself that are the show.
Located on Marshall Way, right smack in the middle of Gallery Row, the Sette Gallery does everything right--especially if your definition of "right" is the traditional, New York concept of a gallery.
What makes the Sette Gallery so successful? Partly because Lisa Sette shows the right kind of artists. The gallery is only five years old, but it already has an enviable track record. Since the gallery's inception, Sette has shown the work of William Wegman, a New York artist famous for photographs of his dogs Man Ray and Fay Ray. She's shown James Turrell, a world-renowned conceptual and environmental artist who is now working on a mammoth crater project in northern Arizona. And she recently exhibited the works of Luis Jimenez, a painter and sculptor included in this year's Whitney Museum Biennial.
Sette, however, doesn't just show big names from New York. Her stable of regularly exhibiting artists includes a large number of artists from Arizona or with Arizona ties. Mark Klett, a respected photographer who teaches at Arizona State University, shows there, as does Kevin Berry, a young sculptor noted for his large bronzes.
Impressive exhibitions, though, aren't all Sette has going for her. She is also the consummate gallery owner, the perfect balance of no-nonsense and sophistication. Her short, dark hair is practical yet stylish, and her signature black dresses combine Puritan severity with art-world chic. Plain-spoken and humorous, she can curse with the best of them. But she never speaks too plainly or tells too much. She gossips, but only when she knows it's to her advantage. At heart, she's a savvy businesswoman who knows that when she's presenting herself, she's presenting her gallery.
And in her gallery, Sette knows how to make art look good. When you walk into the Sette Gallery, everything whispers restraint and tact. The floor is bleached wood, practical yet unassuming. The walls are a softly inviting white, and the ceiling is too high to notice. In fact, after a moment, everything at the gallery quietly recedes, and the art on display silently slips to the forefront. As you walk around the rectangular main space, it's easy to think that the art is all you're seeing.
It's not. The walls, the floor and the ceiling are still there, gently wafting the room with discreet good taste. And Sette and the staff are there, too. Every employee at the Sette Gallery, in particular Sette's assistant Peter Wirmusky, is a master of that delicate balance between cordiality and reserve. After a brief initial greeting, they retire to the gallery's back rooms and leave you to ponder the profundities of art on your own. But ask a question and they're there, ready and willing to answer, without a hint of snobbishness or reproach. Viewing art here is like entering the world of the privileged, in which every need is anticipated and every want fulfilled.
It's also like entering a world where you're subtly but constantly being manipulated to a desired response. Sette and her gallery want you to perceive her art--her merchandise--in a certain way. She is not only selling art, she is selling taste, sophistication and elitism. She's selling an image.
The Sette isn't the first gallery, of course, to effectively exploit presentation. Nor is the linkage of merchandise and presentation a new concept. Every store from K mart to Neiman-Marcus sells an image. It's just part of business.
But the relationship of marketing and presentation to art, and to our perception of art's value, has become a hot topic in the last several years. Artists, museums, and gallery owners have generally considered themselves above crass commercialism, and they've always wanted to see their products as pure vessels of culture, somehow outside of and above the realms of mere merchandise.
But art, ultimately, is an elite consumer product. And a new wave of artists like Louise Lawler and Fred Wilson, through photographs and installations, is exploring how lighting, furniture, labeling and location affect our perception of the value and quality of that product. Lawler's photographs, for example, show art within the larger environment of collectors' homes, surrounded by the usual stunning array of antiques and objets d'art. In the process, she emphasizes the role of art as a decorative commodity, another piece of furniture for the very rich. And African-American artist Wilson creates minimuseums with primitive religious artifacts and archaeological relics to show how, in that sanitized environment, they become just more beautiful objects, devoid of any spiritual or historical connection.