There’s a hesitation outside an unfamiliar event.
You saw the post. The art looked interesting. You remembered to leave the house. And now you’re outside a studio thinking, “Is this a thing I can just walk into?”
Do I need to know somebody? Am I supposed to buy something? Is everyone going to recognize that I have no idea what I’m doing?
An impressive amount of overthinking can happen between the sidewalk and the front door.
But you don’t have to be an artist, a collector, or someone with strong opinions about sculpture to be interested in what people are making here. You just have to be curious.
That’s enough to start.
There are real people behind all this stuff
One of my favorite sentences lately is that my business partner, Maurice, and I are officially trading cards.
Our buds behind Barista Brawl asked us to become characters in their coffee-shop card game. It’s built by real baristas, with hand-drawn work by real artists. Seeing yourself as a game character is a trip. Seeing something your friends dreamed up become something people can hold and play is even better.
But creative work doesn’t live exclusively on gallery walls.
Sometimes it’s a card game. Sometimes it’s a poster for a band you’ve never heard of, a piece hanging in a coffee shop, or something on a maker’s table that stops you mid-conversation.
The interesting part isn’t the finished object. It’s finding out who made it, what they were trying to do, and how they figured it out.
You don’t need an art vocabulary to ask about that.
Find your version of interesting
“Get involved in the arts” sounds like a big assignment.
“Go see how someone makes that” feels more manageable.
Start with something you like. Music. Photography. Weird little drawings. Clothes. Coffee. Objects made out of materials you didn’t realize could become objects.
There are plenty of ways in: a reception, a demonstration, an open studio. An open studio might let you see someone’s workspace and ask about what they’re making. A reception might put you in front of finished work with the person who made it standing a few feet away. Neither requires you to arrive with a thoughtful speech prepared.
If you’re visiting, something like that can give you a way to meet people who actually live and make things here. If you’re local, it can interrupt the very convincing story that you already know what’s around you.
A reception is not a test
Some event descriptions could use a little translation.
An “opening reception” generally celebrates the start of an exhibition. An “artist talk” puts more attention on hearing about the work. An “open studio” offers a look at the place where someone makes it. A “workshop” is more likely to put you to work, so check whether you need to register or bring supplies.
The names are useful clues, not complete instructions. Read the details.
A listing might say an artist-and-curator meet-and-greet is “free with admission.” That last part matters. Free programming doesn’t necessarily mean free entry.
Check the cost, timing, age restrictions, and whether you need a ticket. If seating, stairs, noise, or another practical detail will affect whether you can enjoy yourself, ask about it.
None of that needs to become a research project. You’re just trying to avoid arriving at 7:30 for the thing that started at 6 and required registration.
And if the announcement leaves out something important, “Hey, I haven’t been before—how does this work?” is a reasonable message.
You can just ask a normal question
You don’t have to say something profound about the relationship between light and memory.
Unless you want to. I’m not stopping you.
But “What is this made out of?” works.
So does “How did you get started?” Or “What was the hardest part of making this?”
I spend time helping people turn ideas into something real, and I’m still interested in the figuring-it-out part. The material that didn’t cooperate. The version that went sideways. The unexpected decision that made the whole thing better.
Those are human conversations, not expert conversations.
Give people room if they’re busy, and ask before photographing their work or handling something. Otherwise, you’re allowed to be interested without already knowing the answer.
You’re also allowed to look quietly. Not every outing has to become a networking event.
Support doesn’t have to be a whole production
I come back to this a lot in business, too: Not every interaction is a sales pitch.
Sometimes you’re introducing yourself. Sometimes you’re saying thank you. Sometimes you’re just letting someone know that a thing they made caught your attention.
If something fits your budget and you love it, great. Ask how to buy it. If it doesn’t, you can have a genuine conversation, follow the artist, or tell a friend about work they’d enjoy.
If you share it online, get the artist’s name right. Give people a way to find the person who made the thing, not just its picture.
Small efforts can be meaningful. They don’t need to come with a grand declaration about supporting the creative economy.
“I saw this and thought of you” is a great place to start.
Familiarity starts somewhere
You don’t have to become a different kind of person to participate in Reno’s creative community.
You can be the person who stops in for 20 minutes. The person who asks how something was made. The visitor who takes home a small piece with a story attached. The longtime resident who checks out the place they’ve driven past again and again.
Go to one thing that sounds interesting. Ask one honest question. See what happens.
You might find an artist you love, a new place to spend an afternoon, or someone working on a wonderfully strange idea.
Sometimes you end up as a trading card.
About Pitch Black Printing Co.
Born from DIY, built for bold print: We started as a band, a basement show, and a box of shirts that made a dollar each. Fifteen years later, we print for artists, galleries, makers, and brands who would rather be remembered than blend in. If it needs to be seen, remembered, and talked about, that’s the kind of thing we want to print.
2011, the basement show: Back in the olden days of yore, Maurice and his band ordered some shirts from a buddy’s shop in Portland. After printing, shipping, and selling the shirts at a basement show, the return on investment was about a dollar per shirt. Not a great ROI.
So we bought our own press: Deep in DIY culture, the group picked up a six-color screen press with all the fixins, and with it, a decent printer.
Word got out: Artist friends soon found out Maurice had this printer and started saying things like “I have a gallery submission, can you print this photo?” or “Can you make a few prints of this painting?”
The dumb mistake: Maurice then made the dumb mistake of telling Megan this could turn into something that actually helped artists. A way to get work out into the world in a form that could be seen, touched, sold. Maybe a small retail space to sell these art prints. Megan, who was looking for a change of pace from the daily electrical grind, took the idea and ran with it.
Today, a 50/50 shop: Art reproduction was originally the only thing we planned to offer. Then artist clients started asking for more commercial items for conventions. Banners, business cards, stickers. Today, Pitch Black Printing Co. is roughly a 50/50 split between artist services and commercial printing.
We draw in commercial clients because we approach every project from an artist’s point of view. In crowded industries where everyone’s fighting to be noticed, we focus on telling a clear visual story and helping people actually stand out. We’re really here to make you unforgettable.
Pitch Black Printing Co. is located at 700 E. Fourth St., #A. Call (775) 476-2003, or visit pitchblackprintingco.com.