We recently connected with Michelle Brandt and have shared our conversation below.
Michelle, looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. One deeply underappreciated facet of entrepreneurship is the kind of crazy stuff we have to deal with as business owners. Sometimes it’s crazy positive sometimes it’s crazy negative, but crazy experiences unite entrepreneurs regardless of industry. Can you share a crazy story with our readers?
I became aware of an elderly artist named Al Newbill who was living in Ohio, but had quite the storied career in NYC in the mid 1950’s. His last known address was in a small, one stoplight, one bar town about 75 miles northeast from my gallery. I made my way to the town, but he was no longer living at the address. I walked into the bar across the street from the apartment and asked around. The bartender said she used to see his light on in the window into the wee hours of the night while he painted away, but that she had heard he moved to an assisted living facility about an hour away. I, of course, got back into my vehicle and drove to the facility. I went to check in, and they would not permit me to his room on the third floor because he wasn’t expecting any visitors. So, as I was leaving the facility, I noticed a back staircase and decided to find his room on my own. I knocked on his door several times. He did not answer… although I was positive I heard jazz music coming from his apartment. I was walking back toward the stairs to leave when my gut told me to give it one more try. I knocked, waited, and he opened the door, suspiciously greeting me, “Who the hell are you?” I told him my name and that I was an art dealer from Columbus. He responded brashly and cantankerously, “I don’t like art dealers!”
I don’t remember exactly what was said, but after a few minutes he decided to invite me in to his place. As I entered through his hallway, I recall being awe struck by the large oil canvases hanging on the wall. It was almost as if I was enveloped in a deep saturation of midnight blues and greens, The white line work in each painting was minimal, but dynamic. He offered me an O’Douls beer and lit a cigarette.
We chatted awhile, maybe at least an hour or two. He shared stories of studying on the GI bill after his military service. He had much to say about his time in New York in the mid to late 1950’s, studying under Hans Hoffman and keeping fires going in abandoned buildings so that he and his peers could paint. He had nostalgic stories of throwing down beers with Jackson Pollack at the famed Cedar Tavern and shared that he had shown with Leo Castelli Gallery alongside Franz Kline in 1959. For someone who didn’t like art dealers, he sure shared a lot with me. I often wonder if he just needed someone to care about his art practice so many years after pretty much becoming a recluse.
Before departing that afternoon, he shared that dozens of his paintings were being stored on the second floor of an old barn in the town I had originally went looking for him. I asked if there might be a chance I could see them at some point. He declined my request, but I left my business card with him as one does when they’re hoping for someone to change their mind.
It was maybe about ten days later when I received his call. He wanted to show me the work in the barn. I was elated! I drove back to the area and found the barn several miles outside of the town. There was only an old wooden ladder that led to the second floor loft area of the barn where the paintings were being stored. The owner of the barn was there and held the ladder as I climbed. To my surprise, Al was behind me. I shuttered to think this 89 year old fragile man was also climbing up to this loft, but he was determined to do so. I can’t articulate exactly how I felt when I saw the dozens of large-scale canvases leaning against the barn walls, sitting in mice feces and somewhat deteriorating due to the lack of temperature care. I turned the first few around and remember tears swelling in my eyes. I knew what I saw in many of those works was as good as any abstract expressionist piece I’d seen in any museum.
Those tears quickly dried and my demeanor changed to one of fear. As I was carefully walking to see another painting, a large wood plank in the floor gave way. My left leg had slipped through the floor up to about my knee, tearing my jeans. I could see the farm machinery below through the plank and wondered for a moment what it would be like to lose my life while looking at art in an old barn. I look back now and giggle a bit about my fear, but in that moment I was pretty frightened. Al became very distraught at my slip and insisted we go back down to the first floor.
He agreed that day to let me take a few canvases back to the gallery. I sold the first one and called him. He acted a little indifferent, but I sensed he was actually quite pleased. I worked with Al and sold his work for about another two years before he died at the age of 91. I continue to work with his estate, although not many works remain. I personally own three of his works, one large scale canvas from 1959 and two smaller works on paper. I see them everyday and remember Al fondly… his cantankerous nature and all.
Michelle, love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?
I am the founder and director of Brandt Gallery and Pecha Projects in Columbus, Ohio. I also serve as an art consultant to private collectors and pubic corporate clients. I have owned and operated Brandt Gallery, formally Brandt-Roberts Galleries, for the past fifteen years and will soon launch Pecha Projects in spring of 2025.
Since 2010, Brandt Gallery has actively engaged with a diverse group of Ohio and national artists. Our programming goals consist of sharing exhibitions from multi-generational and inclusive perspectives. We aim to bring our audience contemporary works that are rooted in both traditional subject matter, and increasingly, works and ideas that address present day social narratives.
Pecha Projects, my newest endeavor, is a curatorial focused art space that will prioritize culturally significant exhibits and projects. I’ve always marveled at spaces in which artists have the opportunity to expand on their mediums and create experiential components that broaden and contextualize their work. By giving artists and curators the opportunity to expand their artistic focus, including deepening how a medium is pushed and how an audience engages with an exhibit, we hope to broaden the connectivity of the arts both within our community and on a wider scale. By enhancing the artistic experience for our viewers with installations, performances, culturally significant exhibits, and elevated curatorial narratives, my desire is for Pecha Projects to leave a lasting imprint.
Pecha Projects was born from a vision of creating a space that encapsulates all the connectedness and healing I have felt and lived in the arts. After visiting my mother’s birthplace in Michoacán, Mexico, and witnessing a cultural ceremonial festival of the Purépecha indigenous people in the town square, I knew I wanted the project space to encompass all of the compelling elements I experienced. From the long satin ribbons braided into hair, the colorful and elaborate headdresses, the singing and dancing in unison, to the vibrant hand-embroidered textiles—it was a visual and auditory feast. In a moment of reflection, I realized that such an experience is what I desire Pecha to encapsulate: a place where the intersectionality of arts and culture can flourish. When an opportunity arose to expand Brandt Gallery’s physical location with an adjacent space, the possibility of Pecha became more tangible.
I grew up in a small town in western Ohio, and as you might imagine, exposure to the arts was not particularly plentiful. However, I had parents who were supportive of my artistic endeavors, although not always sure how to direct me. I was very fortunate to have several art educators who recognized my talent and exposed me to the history of art through museum visits. I majored in Art Education at The Ohio State University, mainly because I wasn’t sure of other career paths that were available to me in the arts. After graduate school, I took my first job as a middle school public art teacher in Charleston, SC. By chance, I met a friend who was working for a fine art gallery in Charleston, and I started to visit her on Saturdays. I was really intrigued with the work she was doing there, and after some time was introduced to another gallerist in the city who hired me to work with his clients. It was a natural fit for me. I liked working with artists and realized I was pretty good at sharing their work with clients in a way that made sense to them. I also had a decent business acumen, so the gallery business began to take shape for me.
After five years in Charleston, SC, I moved back to Ohio to start a family. While my sons were young, I continued to stay involved in the arts, working part-time for a few galleries and teaching art at a community center. An opportunity presented itself to open a gallery in the Short North Arts District of Columbus with a business partner, ironically one of the gallerists I had worked for part-time upon returning to Ohio. This was the beginning of Brandt Gallery.
I’ve also always had an inclination for community work, so I’ve naturally worked hard to become a respected and dedicated arts leader and advocate in the city of Columbus. I served for six years on the Short North Alliance’s board of directors and as the Short North Art’s District’s public art chair. I have juried numerous public exhibitions, including the Columbus College of Art’s Design’s Biennial Art Fair, the Springfield Museum of Art’s Annual Juried Members Exhibition and the National Afro-American Art Museum and Cultural Center’s Art of Soul exhibit. In 2020, I curated an exhibition of 50 veteran’s portraits from 50 states at the National Veterans Memorial and Museum. In addition, I have served as a steering committee member for the Ohio State University James Comprehensive Cancer Center Art Gallery, a mentor for the Latina Mentoring Academy (ELLA), a juror for the 614Beautiful city program, and the newly announced Zora’s House public mural. Most recently, I served as the artist’s liaison to internationally-acclaimed artist Janet Echelman in the installation of the monumental public work, titled Current, installed in downtown Columbus.
Learning and unlearning are both critical parts of growth – can you share a story of a time when you had to unlearn a lesson?
I had to unlearn how to be in control, and thus learn how to ask for help! In 2018, I found myself with a diagnosis no one ever wants to confront… stage 4 colon cancer with a 13% survival rate. I had been struggling for some time with not feeling well, but never could have imagined I would be fighting for my life, let alone to keep my gallery doors open. I embarked on a grueling battle which included surgeries and six months of aggressive chemotherapy. On the days I had enough energy to visit the gallery, in between my treatments, I had to acknowledge it was barely hanging on financially.
I had to relinquish control and let one staff member and several volunteers basically run the business. Up until then, I probably didn’t confront the fact that I was essentially a control freak (with the gallery and also other areas of my life). We didn’t announce my illness to our clientele at first or make any kind of public announcement, so I often wondered where people thought I was during that 18 month period. Honestly, it was basically a shit show that somehow miraculously held on. To say we were close to shutting down is an understatement.
It took my years to recover physically and financially. In learning to ask for help and to lean on others, I’ve come to realize I can’t solely make all the magic happen, nor should I ask that of myself. It used to feel like a weakness to ask for help and it never came naturally to me. But the gallery is so much stronger when my team is able to work within their strengths and offer their perspective on matters and decisions. I trust them implicitly and feel indebted to them for continuing to believe in the work we do.
How’d you build such a strong reputation within your market?
I’ve always just tried to be really authentic and genuine. The word authentic gets thrown around a lot, but I do believe most people can see through the pretentiousness that sometimes plagues our industry. People do business with people they trust, and sometimes you have all of three minutes to establish trust when a patron walks through your doors. This was a lesson I was taught years ago, and believe it to be absolutely true, particularly in small business!
Over the past fifteen years, I’ve strived to make the gallery about our artists and their work and not about me. Approaching my relationship with my artists as a partnership helps me to recognize the need to be available to them as a sounding board, open for studio visits, willing to write reference letters, etc… I am the first to congratulate them on a sale, and they always get paid in a timely manner. This isn’t to say that I never disagree with an artist or that they don’t tire of me pushing them and asking for more. Not more in the way of quantity, but more from them in terms of evolving their practice. I have high expectations of myself, so naturally have high expectations of my artists.
I think besides entrusting me with their business, my clients also trust me in terms of my eye. Probably to a fault, I can get engulfed in all things art. From reading about the arts, to listening to weekly art podcasts, to scouring a lot of art online. I didn’t always trust my eye over the years, but I am grateful very much that I do now. It’s about recognizing talent and also knowing your market for that talent. This takes years to establish.
I am very fortunate to do a lot of repeat business with our gallery clients. Building rapport and trust with your clientele is paramount. We would not be in business for fifteen years if we approached selling art as purely transactional. We do very much enjoy working with new collectors and learning what they gravitate to, and it is equally fun to watch our seasoned collectors be surprised by something they would have otherwise overlooked early on.
Finally, I’ve recently started to consult on larger public art projects. These kind of large scale public works intrigue me in a way that gallery works do not. One is not necessarily better than the other, they just offer a different kind of engagement for the viewer. I don’t believe I would be in a position to consult on larger public works without spending those early years honing my eye. I didn’t always get it right in the beginning (and will surely still make mistakes). However, I don’t ever consider any of it as failure, rather a redirect that’s allowed me to reach the place I am now.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://brandt-gallery.com
- Instagram: @brandtgallery
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/brandtgallery1/
- Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/michelle-brandt-58052970/
Image Credits
1st photo-Tim Johnson-Columbus Monthly