555 E 2nd Street, Unit 1
Boston, MA 02127
857-496-7234
555 Gallery specializes in bringing the work of a growing number of emerging and established fine art photographers to collectors and buyers in Boston and internationally. In 2013, the creation of 555 Gallery in Boston came from Susan Nalband’s personal admiration for the work of the many talented artists evolving in this new era of contemporary photography.
Nalband has over thirty years of experience as a photographer, a serial entrepreneur, an installation director and an art consultant. She was raised in Minneapolis, and was heavily influenced by her family’s love of art and artists and the Walker Art Center’s collection of the work of the 20th century art giants.
Photography is best seen and enjoyed in person. Online images are fleeting and easy to click through. But to have the opportunity to see the work as a finished expression of the photographer's vision and glimpse at the world as someone else sees it, can be a transformative experience. -Susan Nalband
555 Gallery is the newest gallery in Boston dedicated to contemporary fine art photography, endeavoring to bring interesting, meaningful exhibitions and events to the area while supporting the work of talented artists.
The gallery is located in South Boston, where old industrial and new residential meet the Seaport and Innovation Districts. The gallery resides in 2000 square feet of a renovated 1950s manufacturing plant.
You know, I don't really do that much looking inside me when I'm working on a project. Whatever I am becomes what that film is. But I change; you change.
―Steven Spielberg
I've recently been offered the chance to volunteer time at the 555 Gallery here in Detroit, Michigan. It’s a great place to be. The mission of the 555 Nonprofit Gallery is to strengthen communities through the arts (and, as a corollary, to strengthen artist communities). My work is to be directed mostly towards promotion. As a result, I’m spending an ever increasing amount of time surrounded by other artists.
One of the conversations I’ve been having is the discussion of an artist’s inspiration. One of the ideas I posited (and must take no credit for creating) is that an artist’s first serious project is often the culmination of everything he or she has been trying to do in his life up to that point. Following this, of course, an artist is expected to do it again. But this time, instead of 20 years to prepare in one way or another, the artist has 1 or two.
This is, of course, dependent on several things, including the type of art, experience, resources, and work ethic of the artist. I don’t know how long it takes to produce a sculpture, for instance. Or how many paintings a painter can paint in a pai—er, I mean, in a year. But I do know that an artist’s first work is often their most raw. This is, in my experience, because this is when the artist is the most passionate. We’re learning how to do the thing we’re doing and drawing from every experience we’ve ever had.
Comparatively, that next piece of work might not ever be as personal. It might not be as raw. The artist may be more comfortable. We may be less naive. We may have a better grasp of our skills and how to apply them to get our image produced. We may now have a completely different vision than we started with. We may not have the same drive we did before. We may not be able to draw upon those same experiences we did the first time around. Please note those “mights” and “mays” because it might be important later. Maybe.
Having this conversation, I can’t help but to think about the task I’ve undertaken, writing this first book. I, of course, have ideas for other books I plan to write. But this carries along with it the fear of “shooting my wad,” so to speak, on this first book.
For instance, every idea I’ve ever had about putting together a story I’ve tried to put into this book. Everything I’ve wanted to try, from the multiple first person narratives (Thank you, Hornby), to the scene where everyone’s seriously shooting each other (Thanks, FLCL, Community), to the part where Mike is staring down a devil (Thank you, Constantine, Devil May Cry). Every single one of those tropes I always wanted to avert or subvert (protagonist does not equal hero, for instance) is going in here. So, what am I going to have left for when it comes time to write the next book? How does one overcome becoming a peak-too-sooner?
The obvious answer, I think, is that you don’t. You put everything you’ve got into that first project. It’s the culmination of your life’s work. All those things that made you want to do what you want to do, all those things that make you, must go into it. Once that project is done (and, trust me, you’ll have to let it be done once it’s finished. Let’s talk about not letting this drive us crazy next time), it’s hopefully well received. And when it comes time to do it again, well, you do it again. Because it’s those things that you brought to that first song, or image, or story, that make your work yours.
I think the second project should draw from the same things as the first, but also include the first. That is, you’ve grown and learned from the first, and you add that experience to what you added to the first project as well. That’s the thing about experience—it’s cumulative. You can use it more than once and, hopefully, you will.
Then again, not everyone’s going to like where you take the next thing. An audience, often (not always) wants to limit an artist to particular area. (I could go on about labels and boxes right now, but I won’t. I think you understand.) But this same thing held true for the first book/album/image/sculpture/building you attempted to build. So, what’s the harm?
Well, the harm is that you could alienate the entirety of the audience you’ve also been working your entire life to build. Which is legit, don’t get me wrong. And scary to boot. Especially for that second project, when the fear of losing what audience you have could spell the end of your career.
The obvious inspiration should be to stay true to oneself. Do I write because of my fascination with words or because I wanna get rich? (We’ll ignore, for the moment, the likelihood of the latter happening.) It must be the former, because we wouldn’t have this 1,000 words otherwise. For me, it’s the discovery of what can be made on the page. “What would happen if this guy met that guy?” “What would the dream I had look like in real life?” “How many times can I say fuck in a paragraph before people don’t want to read it anymore?” These are reasons I’m writing. And I believe if we hold true to why we’re creating in the first place, this will hopefully be translated to our audience. And if not, well, if we are meant to create, we’ll still create. We won’t have a choice in the matter.
This mural, by British graffiti artist Banksy, was found on the Packard Building earlier last year. From there, a lawsuit spawned, trying to designate just WHO owned the piece. After months in storage, the mural is finally set for public display as earlier as November in Detroit. 555 Gallery, the studio which now takes ownership of the piece, will be moving to Detroit's east side, where the mural will take public precedence.
I can't help but be saddened by the hands that have moved this piece. One paragraph in the article says,
"Some sided with the gallery artists who argued that the mural should be protected and preserved at all costs, while others said no one had the right to move it and that the meaning of graffiti art is so intrinsic to its location that to relocate it is to kill it."
