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An artist's new way to connect

The patronage of art - or the art of patronage - is an age-old idea. The rich and powerful, whether czars or kings, popes or rajahs, always had artists at the ready, crafting fanciful works exclusively for their delight.

"Dice" is a screen print created by Andrew Jeffrey Wright,one of the cocreators of Space 1026 on Arch Street.
"Dice" is a screen print created by Andrew Jeffrey Wright,one of the cocreators of Space 1026 on Arch Street.Read more

The patronage of art - or the art of patronage - is an age-old idea. The rich and powerful, whether czars or kings, popes or rajahs, always had artists at the ready, crafting fanciful works exclusively for their delight.

Philadelphia artist Andrew Jeffrey Wright - punky, independent-minded, and devoid of convention - has turned the idea on its head.

"My drawings and paintings have all become too expensive for people who don't have much money," he says. "But I still want poor people to be able to buy my art if they want it, and my screen prints are really affordable. I love poor people, and not just because I am one - I think poor people have great style and taste."

So Wright has launched a low-cost subscription series for fans who pay a yearly fee for what he has to offer. Beginning in January, his "patrons" have been getting one of every colorful screen print he produces for the calendar year 2010 - more than 12 prints, guaranteed. The domestic subscription price starts at $300 and includes shipping and handling.

"It creates a fun connection between me and the people who really like my work," says the artist. "Plus, it's a great price."

Wright is one of the cocreators of Space 1026, the communal gallery and studio that was launched as a 10-year experiment in 1997. Since then, the collective, at 1026 Arch St., has become known for its innovative and sometimes bizarre works in photography, video, animation, painting, drawing, collage, zines, performance, sculpture, T-shirts, and screen printing - all of which Wright does handily, with zeal and humor.

"I think everything I do is tied together by the mark of my personality," he says. "If I have an idea and I think it may be worthwhile bringing into existence, I try to do so, and I don't feel the need to stay within the constraints of a single medium."

Wright, 39, was born in Florida, grew up in Southeastern Pennsylvanian, and attended Philadelphia's University of the Arts. In 1995 he moved to Providence, R.I., just in time for the birth of the influential, if short-lived, Fort Thunder art-, noise- and music-making gallery scene. On his return in 1997, he and fellow artists Ben Woodward, John Freeborn, Jeff Wiesner, Adam Wallacavage, Max Lawrence, Don Khalor, and Luis Payan launched Space 1026.

"We didn't know we'd start something that was going to last nearly 13 years so far," he says. "We just wanted a spot to work on art, have a gallery and a skateboard ramp." The ramp lasted only two years, but 1026 still has the gallery and studios, the big crowds for openings, and bragging rights to stretching Philly's art scene beyond Old City.

Wright says three things inspired his subscription series. The first was Space 1026 water-cooler talk about a print subscription several years ago. He bounces off the walls envisioning what that might have been like. "It would have been insane, what with so many screen prints coming out of here in a year - subscribers would have been able to wallpaper their entire house!"

The second was Los Angeles gallery owner Justin Van Hoy, who'd bought Wright's work at 1026 but worried about keeping up after leaving Philadelphia. "He wanted to know what he had to do to get subscription to my prints."

The third was the example of his zine-making friend Mark Price, whose zine-of-the-month club was so successful that New York's Museum of Modern Art subscribed.

Wright figured he'd give it a shot, doing his normal print runs - each edition has 20 to 75 prints - without cutting costs. "I'm not using inks that disappear after three years or anything like that - it is all top quality as usual."

Ten subscribers signed on immediately, including Van Hoy. "It's great for screen printers who are working a lot," he says. "Being on the opposite side of the country, it's not as easy to keep tabs on what people are creating, so the subscription can take some of the stress out of missing prints you might want."

Now he knows there's a "holding pen" for the screen prints - some created exclusively for the series, some not - at prices a third to a quarter of what Wright would normally charge. And he knows he'll like them: "Andrew is one of the creatives I've met that has no end to his work - always clever and funny."

Subscription art has become a trend among a small cadre of artists involved in magazine-based projects. Canadian illustrator Kirsten McCrea's Papirmasse is a monthly art-and-text edition featuring limited-edition prints. Compound Gallery in Oakland, Calif., sends out Art in a Box - original pieces - at $50 per month. The Thing Quarterly bills itself as a periodical in object form.

David R. Brigham, president and CEO of the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, cites as precedent the 18th-century British naturalist/artist Mark Catesby, who beginning in 1729 published a large-folio book on the flora and fauna of "Carolina, Florida, and the Bahama Islands" in parts and by subscription.

"His intention was to publish 20 prints with text every three or four months at 10 parts, for a total of 200 prints and a map," says Brigham.

Catesby's patrons were nobles and royals but also physicians, botanists, and other collectors. The complete work took nearly 20 years and stretched to 11 parts, the last an appendix. (An original set is in the University of Pennsylvania rare-book collection at; another is at Winterthur.)

"The advantage to the artist is that it gave him a guaranteed income, without which this spectacular book would not have been possible," Brigham says. "The advantage to the buyer is that they had their names published in the front of the book, adding prestige to their own reputations as collectors and benefactors of the arts."

Wright says he can't quite live off his monthly earnings yet, but he sees no downside.

"There's no feeling of loss even though I am selling my prints for a lot less money. It creates a connection between me and people who dig me."

And, he adds, "if they feel they are receiving way too many screen prints, they could use some as currency - go into a five-star restaurant and pay for a meal. Or book a trip to Paris."