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The most visible thing a gallery does for an artist is sell their work.
It may not, however, be the most important thing.
A painting hangs on a wall. Someone falls in love with it. Money changes hands and the painting goes off to a new home. From the outside, it can look as though that is essentially what a gallery does.
But behind every sale there is often a great deal that nobody sees.
Knowing the work
One of the most important parts of my job is knowing the artists and their work.
I need to understand how something was made: the difference between an etching and a collagraph, a reproduction and an original print, the materials, processes and techniques involved.
But I also need to know the stories. Why does an artist keep returning to a particular landscape? Where did an idea come from? Why has their work changed? What matters to them?
Most of the time the artist isn't standing beside their work when somebody encounters it. I am.
Sometimes that conversation is what turns I like that into I understand why I like that.
Remembering people
Gallery work involves an extraordinary amount of remembering.
Someone bought a small print three years ago. Someone stood in front of a painting for ten minutes last summer but couldn't afford it then. Another customer collects hares. Someone has finally found the wall for an artist they've admired for years.
These aren't simply entries on a database. They are relationships built over time.
So when new work arrives, I often already have people in mind. Sometimes encouraging a collector is as simple as saying, I thought of you when this came in.
The conversations nobody sees
A surprising amount of gallery work happens nowhere near the gallery walls.
It might be talking to a greeting card agent because I think an artist's work would translate beautifully into cards. It might be suggesting someone to a magazine, writing a press release, making an introduction to a museum, or saying to another gallery owner, I think you should look at this person's work.
Over my 33 years at the gallery I've helped artists secure greeting card contracts, illustration work, public and private commissions and other opportunities.
Sometimes nothing comes of these conversations. Sometimes something does. Occasionally a small introduction becomes an important part of an artist's career years later.
Helping people live with art
Selling a piece isn't necessarily the end of the job.
We advise customers about framing, hanging, conservation and looking after work. We explain techniques and materials and help people understand what they are buying.
We also help people feel confident about buying original art.
For a regular collector, walking into a gallery may feel perfectly normal. For someone buying their first piece, it can be surprisingly intimidating.
Part of my job is to remove that intimidation without removing the specialness.
Believing in artists
Not everything sells immediately.
Sometimes you believe strongly in an artist whose work takes time to find its audience. You continue showing it, include it in different exhibitions, talk about it, find different ways to introduce it to people and give it time.
That's where trust and commitment come in.
An artist is trusting me with something they've spent years developing. I'm committing space, time, money, reputation and energy to putting that work in front of people. Neither of us can guarantee what will happen.
A good gallery relationship has to be built on that two-way trust.
Making space for an idea
Curating exhibitions is another important part of this.
Sometimes I see several artists approaching an idea in different ways and think, there's an exhibition here. At other times I can see a particular fascination developing in one artist's work and know they need the space to explore it properly.
Those conversations can begin years before an exhibition opens.
An artist may spend a year or two developing a body of work around a landscape, story, technique or obsession. An exhibition gives them a reason to go deeper, knowing there will eventually be a place where the work can be seen together and understood as a whole.
My role is partly to recognise those possibilities: to see the thread, encourage it and eventually build the right context around it.
Visitors see the finished exhibition. They don't see the years of conversations, experiments, emails, studio visits and ideas that came before it.
Sometimes a gallery doesn't simply find an audience for work that already exists.
Sometimes we help create the conditions in which that work can come into being.
Knowing when somewhere else might be better
Artists change, and sometimes helping an artist means recognising that they need something your gallery can't provide.
Someone who began making small, intimate pieces might start producing enormous work that I simply don't have the walls to show. Another might develop a project that belongs in a museum, public building, art fair or completely different kind of gallery.
After three decades in this world, I've accumulated a lot of knowledge about galleries, exhibitions, organisations, art fairs and networks. Inevitably you acquire a certain amount of inside knowledge too: which opportunities might genuinely suit someone and which probably won't.
I think a gallery owner has to be generous with that knowledge.
Sometimes the most useful thing I can say is, Have you thought about talking to these people? I think they might understand what you're trying to do.
That isn't losing an artist. It's doing the job properly.
Watching the longer journey
All of this means that gallery relationships can become very long ones.
There are conversations about prices, presentation, editions, exhibitions and what might come next. There are moments when an artist needs encouragement and others when an honest conversation is more useful.
A good gallery shouldn't try to turn an artist into an easily saleable product. Artists need room to experiment, change direction, get things wrong and surprise us.
At its best, the relationship is reciprocal.
The artist brings the work, ideas, skill and years of practice.
The gallery brings another kind of knowledge: of audiences, collectors, exhibitions, opportunities, presentation, markets and networks.
Somewhere between the two, things can happen that neither could necessarily have made happen alone.
And then, sometimes, we sell something
Of course sales matter. Artists need to earn money and galleries need to earn money. Without sales, neither can continue.
But it's easy, particularly now that an artist can put an image online and sell directly to someone anywhere in the world, to imagine that a gallery is simply a physical place where a transaction happens.
After 33 years of running Masham Gallery, I don't think that's the job at all.
A gallery is part shop, part exhibition space, part storyteller, part matchmaker, part advocate and sometimes part travelling companion.
We hold work physically, but we also hold knowledge about it. We introduce it to people. We remember who loved it. We encourage artists when work takes time to find an audience. We create exhibitions around ideas that deserve exploring. We make connections and sometimes help artists find the next place their work needs to go.
Most of this happens without anybody seeing it.
There isn't a red dot for the conversation with a greeting card agent, the email to another gallery, the introduction that leads to a commission, or the exhibition that began with a conversation two years earlier.
Perhaps that's the unseen work of a gallery.
Not simply selling an artist's work, but believing in it, advocating for it and helping to make a place for it in the world.
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Every year, thousands of people choose to spend their weekends peering into workshops, climbing stairs into spare bedrooms turned studios, squeezing into garden sheds full of clay, paint and half-finished ideas. It raises an interesting question.
Why do we love Open Studios so much?
Partly, if we're honest, because we're curious.
We get to go behind the scenes. We see the mugs of cold tea, the shelves full of experiments, the tools, the sketches and the things that didn't quite work. We see artists as people rather than names on labels.
When visitors come to an Open Studio, they're not just looking at an object. They're connecting it to a person, a place and a process. The work carries something different once you've seen where it came from.
There's also something deeply satisfying about seeing work in progress. In a gallery, you're often looking at a finished piece. In a studio, you might see the ten versions that came before it, the abandoned ideas, the materials waiting to become something else.
Sometimes the work itself is different too.
Studios often contain pieces that will never make it onto a gallery wall. Early experiments. Collections of sketches. Personal projects. Objects that are too large, too strange, too unfinished or simply too close to the artist's heart to fit comfortably into an exhibition.
Visitors often tell us they enjoy seeing this wider picture. It helps them understand the finished work in a new way.
A good studio visit shows you where the work comes from.
A good gallery helps you see what the work has become.
Galleries create a space for reflection. The work is given room to breathe. Pieces are placed in conversation with one another. Lighting, scale and context all help tell a story that may not be obvious in a busy working studio.
And galleries can take risks too.
While a studio is often where the work is made, galleries are often where new connections happen. They introduce visitors to artists they may never have encountered before. They commission exhibitions, champion emerging makers, and create conversations between different artists and disciplines.
At their best, galleries are not simply places that display finished work. They are active participants in the creative life of a place, helping ideas, relationships and opportunities grow.
Artists need both environments.
Studios are places of making, experimentation and risk. Galleries are places of presentation, connection and discovery.
For many artists, galleries also provide something less visible but equally important: year-round advocacy. Introducing new audiences to their work. Sharing their stories. Looking after sales, marketing and relationships with collectors. Creating opportunities that continue long after Open Studios weekend is over.
Likewise, galleries benefit enormously from Open Studios. Visitors return with a deeper understanding of artists' practices. They make connections between the person, the process and the finished work. They often discover artists they might never have encountered otherwise.
The two are part of the same ecosystem.
One lets you step into the workshop.
The other invites you to step back and really look.
This year, as part of North Yorkshire Open Studios, we'll be opening some of the spaces behind Masham Gallery.
Visitors will be able to see work by ceramic artist Charlotte Morrison, painter and printmaker Ian Scott Massie, and my own work as artist and storyteller, alongside sketchbooks, works in progress and some of the things that don't usually make it into the gallery itself.
It's a chance to step beyond the exhibition rooms and see a little more of how ideas develop, how different artists work and what happens before a piece reaches the wall.
And yes, there will be cake.
We hope you'll come and say hello.
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But if you walk slowly and look carefully, you’ll also notice small creative surprises along the way. Pieces of art that sit quietly in the landscape and become part of the experience of walking here.
The Oak Leaf Sculptures
Along the riverside paths and green spaces around Masham you may come across a series of carved oak leaves set into the landscape.
They feel almost as though they have fallen from some enormous tree. Made from solid timber, they weather gently and settle into the grass around them.
Children climb on them, walkers pause beside them, and over time they have become part of the town itself — sculpture that simply lives outdoors.
The Swift Sculpture Trail
Masham is also home to the Swift Sculpture Trail, a series of small artworks that celebrate the swifts that return here each summer.
Once you start looking for them you begin to notice more than the sculptures. The sudden high calls of swifts overhead on warm evenings, the speed of their flight, the way they circle above the rooftops.
If you step into the church, you can also see the real birds at work. At the back of the church there is a video screen showing a live feed from the swifts’ nests in the church tower — a small window into a hidden part of Masham’s summer life.
Art, in this case, simply helps us pay attention.
Art in the Landscape
Sometimes the creativity in the landscape becomes something you can take part in.
At Happy House in Masham we run an experience with artist Ian Scott Massie called Art in the Landscape. Small groups head out walking through the town and nearby paths, gathering natural materials along the way — leaves, stones, sticks and whatever the season offers.
Together these become temporary sculptures and small artworks, made quietly in the landscape and left to return to nature.
It’s a gentle way of looking at a familiar place differently.
What I like about these small creative moments is that they don’t feel like attractions. They’re not something to queue for or tick off a list.
Instead they encourage a different kind of walking. A sculpture half hidden in grass. A bird you might otherwise overlook. The way the town slowly opens out into fields and river.
Masham has always had a creative spirit. Sometimes it appears in galleries and studios. Sometimes it turns up quietly outdoors, waiting to be discovered on an ordinary walk.
All you really need to do is set off and see what you find. However if you want a map for these trails it can be found at Masham Community Office.
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One of the pleasures of living and working in Masham is being surrounded by people who are making things.
Not in an abstract way, but in the everyday sense. Cooking, drawing, blowing glass, curating shops, running galleries. You see each other in the square, talk about the weather, borrow tools, and realise that what everyone is doing helps shape the place you share.
For visitors, it also means that a short walk around the town reveals an extraordinary concentration of creativity.
Creativity isn’t something distant or rare here. It is simply part of the everyday landscape. The gallery is one small part of that wider web, one door among many where people are making, imagining and sharing their work with the world. If you spend a little time wandering Masham, you will soon find them.
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Amongst them you’ll find painters, an illustrator, a musician, a film director and an actor, all commemorated on Masham’s streets. We’ve also included four of Masham’s much-loved local characters from the past, whose stories still bring a smile to those who remember them, and even a wildcard — a fittingly peculiar addition that perfectly captures the playful spirit of the trail itself.
While we can’t include everyone just yet, these thirteen plaques mark a vibrant beginning — a celebration of the creativity, individuality, and community spirit that continue to define Masham today. Follow the trail, and you’ll discover not just history, but the heartbeat of Masham’s creative ancestry. Maps are available from Masham Gallery and Masham Community Office as well as other places around town. You can see the interactive map here https://visitmasham.com/discover-masham/our-peculier-town/peculier-walks-tours/
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MG: When and how does your working day start?
CM: I’m not a morning person but I always push myself to be in the studio around 9. I certainly prefer working in the afternoon and evening. I must always start the day with a good cuppa tea or two.
CM: Regular tea breaks through the day and, if I've got time, I like to head out in the morning for a walk to start the day.
CM: Afternoons and evenings I feel most creative. As I'm not a morning person I find it takes me till then to wind up into the day and feel I'm most productive and creative then.
CM: Yes, early on in the year is a restful, but creative, time after the busy Christmas period. Late spring is a hive of activity in the studio preparing for shows starting in late Spring/Summer. This generally continues through until winter and only calms again come December.
CM: Handbuilding around 15 -20 pots. A good glaze firing with not too many cracked pots or seconds.
CM: The basics for me that I couldn't live without would be porcelain clay and my trusty oversized rolling pin.
CM: I find inspiration from nature and landscape around me, places like Hackfall Woods.
CM: I work from my garage and home, a little place in Aiskew near Bedale. It has a small but delightful garden which backs onto peaceful fields and a group of trees used as a rookery. The feeling of bine enclosed by nature and not overlooked by houses is very important to me and comes through in my work. For example, the Rookery set I make is inspired by the trees around my current home and my meadow pattern pieces are inspired by the fields around my childhood home near Masham.
CM: Gardening, walking or a glass of something, or perhaps another cuppa tea.
You can check out Charlotte's work in our A Particular Place Exhibition.
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Pam Grimmond
MG: When does your working day start and end?
PG: My first thought when I saw this question is that it’s not a 9 – 5 job! Then I remembered a quote I’d seen recently about being an artist is part of your identity, rather than simply your profession, and I thought, Yes, it’s who I am as much as what I do! So, in a way, what I’m trying to do is to define my working day. I’m thinking about my work all the time but the nitty gritty bit comes when I’m actually sitting at my desk upstairs in my studio, drawing or cutting a block ready for printing, or else downstairs at my printing press, actually printing!
PG: I love printing. This takes some working up to: first I have to have the blocks ready to go, then there’s choosing and cutting the paper/s. I then prepare the press, ie. getting the registration ready, and finally, choosing and rolling out the different colours and so on, until the fabulous moment of removing the paper from the block to see what is there. Then there’s a whole new set of problems to think through! I’m totally working in the moment when I’m doing all this The mind can go off on a tangent of its own, planning and plotting other avenues to explore.
PG: I’m lucky enough to have an old one up, one down outbuilding in our garden which I use as my studio. It’s also a utility room and there’s a bed settee upstairs, where my sister sleeps when she comes to stay in August. I love the peaceful atmosphere of my studio but especially in the Summer months when it’s warm and doesn’t actually need heating. Downstairs it’s always cool, except on the hottest days, but the double doors open onto the garden so I’m glancing out and seeing the flowers and hearing the birds. Obviously in Winter it can be quite difficult because the lino is hard and the ink takes quite a lot of rolling out. No one bothers me here as there’s a ladder to climb so people aren’t passing through. I like to have it quiet but sometimes I’ll have the radio on.
PG: I used to pore through books on Edward Bawden as his linocuts are so well thought out and there is so much to learn. Also, contemporary printmakers such as Mark Hearld, Emily Sutton and Angie Lewin. As my work has progressed and changed I’ve enjoyed looking at the work of Mary Feddon, Jo Self, Gary Hume, Ellsworth Kelly and many, many others. At the moment, as my plant studies evolve I’ve been looking at the macro photography of Karl Blossfeldt and am feeling really inspired.
MG: How do you define success as an artist?
PG: This is a tricky one and it would be easy to say that success is defined by whether your work sells or not, whether it is popular. It’s hard to let go of that and sometimes it can feel like a lonely road, breaking out and trying new ideas, following new threads. My M.A. in 2018 really helped with this and in many ways, it taught me how to work by keeping an open mind and moving on, always being curious.
PG: A difficult question: It has to be to do with communication and it must help people to grow emotionally. Exhibitions, galleries and workshops provide spaces where we can all be creative and connect with others. Viewing and creating art go hand in hand: artists are instrumental in helping us to see our lives from different perspectives and to consider other possibilities. It can engender joy and healing.
MG: Thank you very much Pam for sharing your day with us.
You can check out Pam’s work in our A Particular Place Exhibition.
Hackfall Woods, Linocut by Pam Grimmond
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Michael Atkin
Michael's work depicts quiet corners of Mashamshire - and the famous Druid's Temple folly. He has created a wood engraving and 2 etchings with aquatint for this show. We thought we'd shine the spotlight on Michael this month in our (fairly!) regular What this artist does all day feature.
Michael's Albion platen press, with another Columbian press in the background, just two of his five printing presses that he owns.
MA: I’m an early riser, so my day starts anytime from 5.30 a.m. depending on what I’m intending to do. As I work in three different print mediums, etching, lino prints and wood engravings, I often have several images on the go at any one time. Yesterday, I had printed the first background colour for a lino print, which thankfully had dried, so today a second layer of ink will be overplayed, and will take longer to dry. So first job of the day being to print the second colour, usually 35 copies which are hung up for drying.
I'll then go to my etching workshop, where I'll immerse the etching plate I'm working on into the solution for 10 seconds, on third bite into the aquatint, wash and dry the plate and paint out the section I want to remain this tone. Next I'll cut the next block for the Lino print.
MA: Evenings are spent in the house where I have a table for cutting wood engravings, which are small (in comparison to other mediums) and take far longer to cut. I often have three or four different wood engravings ion the go at the same time. When I’m not working on my own images I print for other artists/institutions who require editions to be printed, either wood-cuts or etchings or engravings.
MA: Decaff coffee is the staple drink, as and when I need them, breaks occur between processes. Whilst waiting for stop out varnish to dry, or cooling the plate after laying an aquatint. Ink to dry, there are many times I take a break, including when I need to walk Bob our dog.
MG: What is your favourite kind of day as an artist?
MA: Working on three or four images at the same time, often three etchings and two Lino prints along with four or more wood engravings.
MG: What marks a successful day?
MA: When the bite on the plate is good, or the ink layer for a Lino cut prints well, or even a trail proof from a wood engraving shows promise.
MA: Just about everywhere, many of my images are sourced from expeditions into the surrounding countryside. For example, I've been inspired by our village and am embarking on a project to produce a book about interesting houses within the village, hopefully with a comprehensive historical history of the houses concerned. Another book about ‘A treasure hunt’, especially for my grandchildren, all four of them. Another long time project being an Alphabet of dogs.
I'm also inspired by other artists including Eric Ravilious, Stanley Spencer, Paul Nash, Gertrude Hermes, Tirzah Garwood.
Towards Healey, Wood Engraving, limited edition of 50 by Michael Atkin.
MA: There isn’t a particular time of day as I’m involved with image making every day, I often have ideas whilst woking on an image of another, then the difficult bit, finding a location that fits the narrative I want to portray.
MG: What couldn’t you live without in your studio?
MA: The four antique printing presses from the 19th century that I own, and my Rochat etching press [seen below], which I had made for me in 1976.
Do check out Michael's work in our latest A Particular Place exhibition.
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JANE BEVAN
Jane, a Derbyshire-based artist whose studio is the ancient woodland she wanders daily. With a keen eye and a deep respect for nature’s overlooked details—thorns, feathers, bark, and acorn cups—Jane transforms these humble materials into finely crafted vessels, sculptures, and collages. Her work is a quiet homage to the natural world and draws inspiration from museum collections and heritage sites like the Pitt Rivers Museum and the Yorkshire Sculpture Park.
A first-class graduate of the University of Derby’s Crafts BA and recipient of the University Purchase Award, Jane now exhibits her intricate, hand-stitched creations in galleries and craft fairs across the UK. Come with us as we step into her world and see what an artist really does all day.
JB: I do love a slow start to the day and it takes several cups of tea to get me out of bed. I like to ease gently into the day wherever possible and I usually leave a simple but pleasing job from the day before, ready to tackle first thing and to get me warmed up to more challenging tasks.
JB: I have a large studio space at the back of my house but it's incredibly cold and draughty in winter so I need to speed up and take more tea breaks. In summer I have the door open to the garden where I can see only greenery and trees and hear a wide range of birdsong too.
MG: What couldn’t you live without in your studio?
JB: I have a large tray of tools to choose from including some very old and vintage hammers, tin snips and bradawls, but my most essential item is the 10 year old dremmel with its selection of tiny drill bits to make holes in just about anything!
Bark, wood, slate, shells...
I am also hopeless without the radio and a regular dose of Radio 4 everyday
JB: My inspiration comes from the natural world around me in Derbyshire...the tiny details of nature I collect each day. The more you look, the more you notice the tiny, unique details such as a fallen leaf, lichen from a tree, a lone piece of grass, all items which can be so easily overlooked or ignored.
The Japanese philosophy of ‘wabi-sabi’ celebrates these same temporary, impermanent moments in nature and I enjoy researching this through books and collections. I also like to follow the Japanese ideas around forest bathing or ‘shinrin-roku’ with its role in health and well being and ‘kintsugi’ which celebrates and values the cracks and tears to objects as they are used and grow old.
Jane walking in her local woods
JB: I live in a small village next to some ancient woodland so walk everyday in the area with the dog called Mouse and a foraging bag. I like to collect things that catch my eye such as feathers, twigs, seeds, peeled away bark and leaves, to take back to my studio to use.
JB: I run creative workshops in my studio and in health care settings and galleries nationwide. These days are such a delight when a small group of people come together to sit around the table and make work together. People share their skills, their nature stories, gardening tips and more, creating a very generous and warm coming together of like minds. Always a day full of positivity, joy and laughter!
JB: The evening is my best time for being creative when there is a certain type of calm and quiet in the air and I feel relaxed after the day’s jobs are done. That does mean I often go to bed thinking about pine needles, bark and seed heads but that is an excellent way to get a good night’s sleep.
MG: Thank you for joining us today Jane!
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FRANS WESSELMAN
FW: I tend to get up quite early, make Hazel a cup of tea, have a shower and usually do a bit of work before breakfast. As I am a printmaker as well as a stained glass artist and painter, this often is of a preparatory or other not too taxing nature.
After breakfast it is time to get going with some serious work, the time to try out new ideas, work on new designs or, if necessary, print a run of linocuts. This is also the best time to get on with a painting as the light is best. Any of these things can take more or less time, creativity flows better some days than others, printing can be easy or more complicated, as can the glass painting. Lunch at about one, then carry on with the job in hand. I get out on my bicycle for an hour virtually every day, do the shopping if it is my turn to cook, or just go for a ride.
Morning Tea, an etching by Frans Wesselman
The Far Horizon, woodcut by Frans Wesselman
FW: In the summer I spend time at the allotment, sometimes really early in the morning, a lovely time to be there, or in the late afternoon or early evening. As there is less to do there in autumn and winter, I get my recorders out again. I am quite deaf, so these days I just play on my own. Cook, look at the emails, maybe finish off some work, then get on with my book, I read quite a lot, and am usually in bed at about ten.
FW: A good day is when I think I have created something worthwhile, but often my opinion changes in the following days. And sometimes I get really nice comments, like one from a lady in London who emailed me out of the blue to say she still really enjoys the painting she bought thirty years ago.
Having had a family to support by my work, supplemented by teaching the odd short course here and there, has been one measure of moderate success. Now I don’t really think about that anymore. My painting, drawing, stained glass is what I am, I have enjoyed doing those things and being able to continue to do them is what excites me and keeps me content. That there can also be a financial reward is a bonus.
Frans Wesselman's studio
FW: As all my work starts with a drawing, I would be really at a loss without my pen and ink. I have a nice glass pen holder that a friend bought for me in Venice, it has been with me for twenty years now.
MG: Thank you Frans, for giving us an insight into your day and perspective as an artist. I hope you have a fruitfully creative day!
Frans at work in his studio in Worcester