This wood pattern made me gasp, and also shined that little light at my feet.I love this series! (Learning to See) And yes, I reread my older articles often, because a) I forget that I wrote them, and b) I often have to relearn my life lessons. (Thank you for the fabulous quote, Melinda LB!)*
Today’s theme is a familiar one: Me trying to figure out every project production step in advance.
Guess what? That has never, ever worked for me. (Surpriiiiiiiiise…)
I’ve had a project in my heart for years. The theme is “migration”, and I want to use it for my horses, bears, oh, and fish. (Okay, I don’t think bears migrate, but maybe they used to…?) (And “migration” is a more beautiful name than “rambling around the continent in a bunch.” Shorter, too!)
Originally, I saw these as herds mounted on long, narrow planks of wood, even imagining them as museum installations that traveled around corners.
Now, I’m collecting driftwood from the California coast, and grapevine wood from vineyards. (Grape wood is actually kinda hard to find, because it’s the heart of the grapevines that produce wine. And the pieces you can buy for reptile pets are pretty pricey.)
I’ll drill holes for metal or wood rods to hold the critters, arranged to create a pleasing composition. (Which I know will drive me crazy: How many? How close to each other? How tall?? OMG WHAT AM I DOING???) But that’s down the road.
Because I was caught up in how to position the driftwood.
Both sides look good, but which side will be up? At first I thought, well, the flatter side, of course. But it turns out a) very few of my pieces even have a flat side, and b) both sides will work, and be stable.
And that’s where I got stuck. Again. (Or as we say in my family, “Uh-gain”, when my now-adult-but-then-toddler son back in the day requested me to sing the same song over and over and over and over while riding in the car.)
After delaying for a few more years, I finally decided to simply start cleaning, sanding and Briwax-ing the wood chunks.
And that’s when today’s “aha!” moment happened:
One piece that really baffled me (beautiful on both sides) gave great clarity, because the colored Briwax I use to color and wax wood, revealed a beautiful wood pattern I couldn’t see before.
And that side was obviously going to be the “up” side!
Once again, once I can get moving forward, with trail-and-error and wait-and-see, I find more insights and easier decisions to make, by simple starting.
I hope that if your personality is anything like mine–tending to ‘perfectionism’, holding back til the entire path ahead is clear, trying to solve problems in your head instead of simply experimenting–then I hope you find a little clarity and support here today.
Sometimes the project of our heart does need to be set aside, until we can do better, get clarity, hone our skills, figure out what went wrong. Sometimes, it can take years to understand our life journey more fully, to view our “bad” decisions now seen as fortuitous ones, our hardships teaching us powerful insights that can take a looooong time to get clear on.
And sometimes, we just need to start. As Anne Lamott said in her book, Bird by Bird, all we need is a little light shown at our feet, so we can take one step forward in life…
This wood pattern made me gasp, and also shined that little light at my feet.
And in the work of our heart.
*Melinda shared this with me when I shared how embarassed I get when I have to rediscover something I’ve already gotten clarity on: “I love my life lessons! I love them so much, I learn them over, and over, and over…”
Horses were my symbol for courage, to pursue the work of my heart. Now maybe I need a fighter pilot to protect it….!
For some reason, I have had a lot of encounters with angry people in my life.
I used to think it was something I was doing wrong. I would try everything I could to “correct” the situation, apologize, explain, etc. And nothing ever worked, until I would finally go along until I could get away.
I realize now that’s a habit/strategy from my childhood that never worked. I had no idea how to set boundaries, stay safe, etc. (I’m getting better!)
My latest was an exchange with a former gallery manager who used to carry my work, until they had to shut down at the beginning at the pandemic. They sent me my final consignment check.
Which I set aside and forgot about, until two years later. (As in, last month.) It was a sizeable check, too, for me. Drat!!
The check was “stale”, of course, but I tried to reach out to see if they would still honor the payment with a new check. After many, many unanswered attempts, they finally wrote back.
And the resulting conversation(s) were so toxic, I couldn’t believe it.
Their first response was, “Sorry, you messed up, not me. So too bad.” I responded with, ‘okay’. I thought that was the end of it.
I then checked with a few other galleries I’ve been in/am in, and asked them what they would do if a consignee hadn’t cashed their check. I did NOT tell them I was the person who had to be notified.)
Every single one said they would reach out to the person, to make sure they’d gotten the check, to make sure they were okay, and to make sure they deposited the check.
I thought the story ended here. I didn’t hear back from this person….
Until weeks later, when they asked if I’d gotten their replacement check. Wha……??
Yes, they’d finally sent a check. Did I get it? No. Because rather than contact me, they found the address to my STUDIO on my website, and had mailed the check there. Where we can’t receive mail.
There was a terse bit of back-and-forth, and of course, more blame assigned to me. But they finally sent a second check to my home address, which I provided them. With the $30 stop-payment fee deducted. Okay….
But the card had quite the toxic message.
I had “messed up” by losing the check. (Yes, I know.)
I had “failed to provide a proper mailing address.” (Um….no. They never even told me they were sending a check, or I would have given them my home address. And they HAD my home address at some point, or I wouldn’t have gotten ANY of their consignment checks.)
They found an address on my website, but it was the wrong one. (Um…yeah. For the record, a LOT of artists who are women/women living alone/jewelers working with precious metals and gemstones, avoid giving out their home address, and yes, I have the backstories for that. My website has my STUDIO address.) (I have added my mailing address, though I still worry about visitors mistakingly coming to my HOME.)
So it was “my fault” the second check got lost, and so it was on me to pay the $30 stop-payment (for a new check I never was informed about.) Both the card and the check had a “FINAL SETTLEMENT” note on them. (Okay……)
In my research about this person, I contacted a few friends, and got confirmation this person’s ethics, processes, etc. were slightly off. It was a relief to know my suspicions were confirmed. No, this person was not playing fair….
Fortunately, I had a meet-up scheduled with a dear online friend of mine who mentors artists. And I got clarity about what was really going on.
This artist friend and I both had a similar toxic encounter with someone similar years ago, and they came up in the conversation, too. My online friend’s insights helped me heal from that incredibly toxic encounter, they shared some of their more recent experiences, and they gave me more clarity about why/how we get caught up in these entanglements.
They said these people are someone with “The Dark Gift”:
The ability to see our tender places, and to use them to demean and destroy us.
“WE are the real thing!” they said. “And they attack us because they want what WE have. And when we don’t see our own value, we can’t see their envy. And so we tend to blame OURSELVES for their anger and agression.”
Wow. WOW. This explains soooooo much.
Another dear friend shared a similar insight years ago when I was struggling with another, very famous toxic entity. The person was so successful, and internationally-reknowned for their work. Why were they constantly trying to take me down??
This other friend shared a similar encounter they’d had, and then said, “When someone at that level tries to take you down, they have raised YOU to THEIR level.”
It was restorative, and combined with these new premises and insights, it was a (BIG) breath of fresh air. And comfort. And a huge “Aha!” moment.
Keep these words in your heart the next time someone blames you for issues they have created.
Constructive criticism can be helpful. Destructive criticism serves no purpose, except to that person with “the dark gift”.
It’s hard to recognize our value, especially at our most vulnerable, when certain people let us know they DON’T value us.
But then, those are exactly the people whose words and actions we shouldn’t take to heart.
And now for the “if’s”….
If you know someone who might need this, pass it on!
If you’d like to share it, please be sure to share my name and appropriate links–THANK you!!
If someone sent you this newsletter and you found it helpful, sign up for more at my webiste LuannUdell.com
I love love love these! Colorful, lightweight, unique, and upcycled.
I know, I know…Yet another holidary shopping event.
This one is the Holiday Markett at Sebastopol Center for the Arts this Saturday and Sunday, Dec. 3 & 4, from 10-4.
What’s different about this one? I’m having a sale!
I’ll be there my upcycled jewelry: Vintage buttons and resistors, transformed into colorful earrings and necklaces, with antique and vintage trade beads. I’m discounting them about 40%-50%, so get ’em while you can! (Pic of resistor earrings below my signature stuff.)
Oh, and my freshwater pearl jewelry, too!
The weather is supposed to be lousy, but no worries if you can’t make it, especially if you live anywhere except Northern California….
…Because I will offer these for sale on my Etsy shop after the event!
Hope to see you there!
And now for the ifs….
If you know someone who might enjoy this, pass it on!
If you’d like to share it, please be sure to share my name and appropriate links. Thank you!!!!
If someone sent you this newsletter and you found it helpful, sign up for more at my website (at the top of the home page): LuannUdell.com
This article was originally posted on my Radio Userland blog on Sunday, October 2, 2005.
This summer, I created a special “artist’s table” for our local coffee house, Prime Roast. The owners, John and Judy Rogers (who also happen to be our good friends!) commissioned artists who were also regular customers to create “art coffee tables”. When the final table is completed, there will be a grand reception. I hope to post images of my table soon. (UPDATE: See all the images of my table at the end!) (Yeah, they’re out of order, so you could start from the bottom and work up…)
Last night, we had friends over for Bad Movie Night, a tradition where we find a terrible movie, invite friends over, have tacky (but yummy) snacks (jelly beans! caramel corn!), and talk and joke about the movie as we watch.
They had seen my table, and loved it! We got to talking about where I got the inspiration for it. (Bear with me, this is a meandering journey!)
It’s a real building, with exhibits, in a strip mall in Culver City, CA. I hope to visit it someday. (UPDATE: We DID visit it a few years ago, and it’s even more fascinating than I imagined! If you go, go with an open mind, no judgement, and READ the exhibit information. Jon is pretty sure he saw Mr. Wilson while we were there!) It’s a fascinating mix of real and faux scientific exhibits, and inspired the “History of Coffee Part I” collage tabletop I made for John and Judy. (UPDATE: Judy told me a few years later that a customer came in regularly for weeks, sat at “my” table, and read every entry. Then they announced that everything on that table was false. I told Judy to tell them that almost 3/4 of the entries were TRUE!)
The first essay on the author’s musings about Johannes Vermeer (Girl with a Pearl Earring artist) and his world, juxtaposed against Weschler’s coverage of the War Crimes Tribunal judging the atrocities committed in Bosnia in the 1990’s.
Now, scroll down that Amazon page to the customer reviews, and read the review by G. Bestick of Dobbs Ferry, NY. (UPDATE: That review can’t be found anymore, and I’m so grateful I captured it here!)
This passage especially caught my heart. Weschler writes about a war crimes judge who retreats daily to a local art museum to restore his soul after gut-wrenching court sessions:
“Weschler shows us that Vermeer’s greatest achievement was to imagine a world of stillness and serenity at a time when all of Europe was being torn apart by national hatreds and religious persecution, and then to will that world into existence through his art. Those magnificent paintings are more than technical triumphs; they are triumphs of the human spirit. The distance between Vermeer and the murderers, rapists and torturers on trial is heartbreaking. Weschler makes us see Vermeer in a new light, and makes us feel in a new way the unique burdens of being human.”
Just a beautiful essay, one that speaks deeply to the artist in me today.
Art can be beautiful, but not always.
Art can inquire, and expose, and provoke. It can arouse us to look and think deeper on the world.
It can also offer respite and restoration, and peace.
It can ask, “What if?”
What a delightful journey Google and Amazon took me on today! I’m ordering the book now.
Second story from an article originally published in The Crafts Report (now known as Handmade Business) in July 2010. Backstory now included!
(Phone rings)
(Operator): Craft 911, what is the nature of your craft emergency?”
(Caller #2): “#*@!?(@*!!%!”
(Operator): “Sir, that kind of language is not helpful. Please state the nature of your craft emergency.”
(Caller #2): “Oh, sorry. I’m just SO MAD!! I set up my booth at this high-end indoor fine craft show, and there’s half an empty space on each side, and somebody says I’m in their space! The show floor is laid out wrong! These show organizers are brainless, stupid, #*?@*!!$#!!”
(Operator): “Seriously, buster, knock off the foul language. Okay, I think I know what your problem is. I want you to lift the corner of your booth carpeting and see if you see some lines of tape on the floor underneath. Go ahead, I’ll wait.”
(Caller #2): Yes, there are tape marks under my booth.”
(Operater): “Sir, by any chance are those marks running down the middle of your booth, from front to back? Right down the center?”
(Caller #2): “Why….yes! How did you know??”
(Operater): “Just an educated guess. Sir, you need to enlist the help of some sturdy people. I’m sure the show organizers would be happy to shut you…er…help you out. Have them grab your entire booth frame and carpet, and shift it halfway to either the left or right. Heck, there might even be a little marker on the floor with your real booth number to guide you.”
(Caller #2): “You’re right! I found my booth number! Thank you!!”
(Operator): “It’s what we do sir. Have a great show.”
Backstory: This is a true story!
Back in the day, I did several major fine craft shows, retail and wholesale. At one I did every year (sometimes twice a year!) for awhile, I got to meet many other creatives, and some became good friends. (Thanks to social media, it’s easier to stay in touch, too.)
I also got to know many of the show organizers/employees, and grew to appreciate their wisdom, their integrity, their skills, and their support.
And one year, an exhibitor did this exact thing. Set up their booth halfway in their space, halfway into their neighbor’s space. And then they complained loudly and often to everyone within site and range, especially the show managment. (They had been a pretty cool person before this incident, so we were all kind shocked at the awful things this exhibitor said about the show personnel.)
Especially when, later that day, from the staff that it was NOT the show peeps’ fault. The exhibitor had set up their booth in the middle of TWO booth spaces, despite the very-easy-to-see tape markings outlining their booth space.
The show staff handled it with kindness and efficiancy. They didn’t even tell the exhibitor that the EXHIBITOR had messed up their set-up, not the booth layout team. They just got the booth moved to one side, and reassured the exhibitor that they were always there to help.
Later, I learned more about the exhibitor’s personal backstory, and complicated family matters, and had empathy for them. But it still changed everything about how I viewed them as a professional creative, and as a grown-up.
Yes, there are jerks in every organization, every group, etc. But most show organizers DO want you to have a GREAT show! Most professional service providers are pretty good at their job. And obviously, in this case, they set aside the unfair attack against them, and simply fixed this person’s problem without adding to that person’s stress.
I thought that was pretty amazing! Still do.
What I learned:
It’s okay to be (understandably) frustrated when things go wrong. We all mess up, other people sometimes mess up, etc.
But making assumptions without exploring the “why” behind what happened, asserting blame without knowing the whole story, and telling complaining loud and long to everyone and everybody, is not okay.
And that person never owned their own goof. I asked the staff later, and no, that person never apologized, or even admitted to others that it actually wasn’t the staff’s fault.Either the person never realized that THEY had goofed up, or it wasn’t part of their nature to accept responsibility for their errors.
The temper tantrum was really, really hard to forget, too.
That totally changed my opinion about them and all the “professionalism” they claimed to bring to their career.
Short story: We all make mistakes.
But it’s never okay to blame others for ours. And being the only booth out of hundreds of booths, to be out of alignment? Shoulda been a clue….
And you can see MY listing there, too! I’m #63 on the tour. #61 is Cynthia Jackson-Hein, painter of quietly-aging landscapes, in the building across the parking lot (Studio Santa Rosa, bldg. 32), and #62 is Serena Hazard, abstract artist extraordinaire, on the 2nd floor of my building, 33Arts, bldg. 33 at 3840 Finley Avenue. (NOT the community center, we’re in the buildings formerly known as “the Barracks”, the housing units left over from a former Naval air base.)
Yep, I’ve been out of the picture for awhile. Several severe health issues took me down and made my life miserable. (Not fatal! Just painful and exhausting as all heck.) Now I’m on the other side, grateful for everything and everybody who helped me get through.
So my studio is even messier than usual, but don’t worry, I kinda like it that way! Some artists like to make their creative space look like an art gallery, or museum. Me? Not so much.
I work in a mess, I create in a mess, and I’m never sure exactly where I’m going with each new work of art. Sometimes all the options are overwhelming, but eventually, I get to where I want to be.
It’s my process, and that’s never gonna change. What I love about it? You get to see EVERYTHING involved with making my artwork: The equipment, the materials, even my process. (I have a couple works-in-progress.)
There’s no single way to be an artist, a creative in the world, and I’m living proof!
So come on by, say hello, explore, open drawers, pick things up, try things on,ask your questions, and have a good time!
Hope to see you there!
And now for the ifs….
If you know someone who might enjoy this, pass it on!
If you’d like to share it, please be sure to share my name and appropriate links. Thank you!!!!
If someone sent you this newsletter and you found it helpful, sign up for more at my website (at the top of the home page): LuannUdell.com
Luann Udell, artist/writer
“Ancient stories retold in modern artifacts:
Jewelry, sculpture, fiber works inspired by ancient art.”
Visit: Studio: 33Arts 3840 Finley AVE (Bdg 33) Santa Rosa
Can you tell I’ve been feeling saggy lately? Go figure (says the rest of the world who are also feeling saggy.)
Last week, something happened that made it worse.
I got my husband his dream Christmas gift this year, a little Sharing Library. (It’s like a Little Free Library. Ours is from the same family but a different company, hence “Sharing Library.) It’s been up for six months, and we restock it every week or so. It had just reached the point where people were adding as many books as were taken. Yay!!
Then one morning, my husband sent me this picture while I was at my studio:
No more books :-{Yup. Someone had taken ALL of our books. (Turns out the two remaining were actually left by a neighbor’s kiddo, who saw that they were all gone and generously added two of theirs. Love love love you Nova!)
My heart went to a sad place. Who would do such a thing?? And WHY???
I checked in with NextDoor, and with a Facebook group of fellow Little Free Library members in Santa Rosa. At least two other people said this had happened to them, too. People shared their thoughts:
Was it someone with a mental health issue?
Was it someone who thought “free” meant “take ’em all!”??
Was it someone who realized they could resell them to a used bookstore???
Fortunately, I’d stockpiled some books to move on, and half-filled the library again. But it left me in a bit of a huff. As in, do something kind and look what happens! Ugh.
And then the light poured in.
Someone in the FB group offered to bring us more books. Someone else did, too. Soon we were swamped with offers of books.
One person brought theirs over immediately, and totally restocked the box. I met another person who meant to do the same, and gave me their box to store. More people did the same. Soon people from NextDoor chimed in, too.
Dozens of people offered books, brought books, left books on our porch, and left books on THEIR porch for me to pick up.
We now have enough extra books to fill up that library for months!
So one tiny act of greed/misunderstanding/poopiness resulted in hundreds of words and actions of kindness and generosity.
So what do I want to hold onto this week?
An empty giving library?
Or a little world of good deeds?
Yup. You guessed it!
If this lifts YOUR heart today, too, then I’ve done my work for the day….
Something happened that triggered me. Maybe in a good way, maybe in a bad way.
It might have been something I read. It might have been something someone said.
It might have been directed at me, or had nothing to do with me.
Or I may be feeling “something” today: Feeling down. Feeling ‘left out’. Feeling ‘less than’.
Or maybe I’m feeling uplifted, relieved, happy.
Maybe I experienced a lovely little miracle, a moment of synchronicity, something that made me pause and go, “WOW!! I needed to hear/see/experience that today!”
In almost every case, writing that post was a way for me to find clarity. Or humor. Or simply peace in my heart.
And whenever that happens, I’ve realized that, if that’s what I experienced today, writing that post was my way of working it through to my highest, best self, again.
And it my words got ME there, then maybe someone, somewhere in the world, would find the same reassurance, the same clarity, the same grounded-ness, for themselves.
Even when I’m feeling down, miffed, angry, sad, scared, left out, unseen, unnecessary, I still want to believe I have a place in the world. That my creative work matters, IF ONLY to help me be a better person in the world.
Sharing those thoughts, those steps, may help someone else feel the same way.
It’s not about the likes, the numbers, the followers, the sales.
It’s not about having an audience. It’s about have a voice in the world.
I am reprinting an article I wrote a few years ago (July 13, 2019), because it’s worth repeating. AND should be in this series. What a coincidence that I came across it on Pinterest. And an hour after I read all the bitter, disappointed comments collected for our recent open studio event, Art at the Source.
Creating our artwork takes time. Getting good at it takes time. So does an open studio! And giving up after one slow event–especially in these strange times, when EVERYONE is struggling….well, I’ll just keep my mouth shut. For now.
If money is your only measure of success, you may be missing out on the longer game…
I learned years ago that even a “bad” art event has its value. I had to learn that the hard way, by having a lot of poor sales at shows, exhibitions, fairs, open studios, even high-end fine craft shows across the country.
It started when I first did small local art fairs and craft shows. I never did well enough to go back, if my work wasn’t a good fit with other vendors.
But at each show I would a) have one good sale that paid all my expenses, b) made connections that grew, and c) always got a good tip, insight, experience, that convinced me not to give up.*
I began to realize it took time for folks to “get” my work. It wasn’t painting, it wasn’t pottery. It didn’t fit into any “box”. Almost every visitor did, and said, the same thing. They would stop, come in my space, and gaze at my work for several minutes. When they were ready to talk, they all said a version of the same thing:
“I’ve never seen anything like it, and it’s absolutely beautiful.”
So the work was good enough to pull people in, but different enough that they had to really think about it. I realized I was laying groundwork for something bigger, and better, down the road.
It kept me going, and eventually, I leaped into bigger, juried shows. Those people began to show up for other events: Open studios, art tours, art walks, etc. Gradually, my audience grew. I started doing wholesale fine craft shows, and was juried into a major fine craft show (retail) that same year. I did both shows for years and a couple of open studio events. My audience grew every year, until I left for California in 2014.
I’m still relearning those same lessons over and over.
Last month, I joined another open studio tour, as the guest of another artist. Attendance was good, but sales were not.
It would have been easy to feel sorry for myself. Heck, I didn’t even get that many newsletter sign-ups.
But I realized I had accomplished my main goal: Introducing my work to a brand new audience. I had rich conversations with amazing people, who I know will come back. Only few dozen people signed up for my email newsletter during the event. But I gave out a ton of business cards and postcards, which paid off.
When I checked in after the event, I found a LOT of people had signed up online. (I think they wanted to see more, and liked what they found!) And I had the rare opportunity to get to know my host artist, and their other two guest artists, better. They are all remarkable people! (We drank a lot of Prosecco at the end of each day.) (A LOT of Prosecco!)
A few days ago, I was at the kick-off meeting for this year’s Sonoma County Art Trails open studio event, (Both tours are under the same umbrella organization, but focus on different areas in our large county.)
I was sitting at a table with the new manager of this particular 35-year-old tour. I mentioned that I had few sales at the other open studio tour the week before, not even covering my entry fees, but I was satisfied with it, all-in-all.
Then the new manager said the magic words that summarize this entire article into seven truth-filled words:
“Art events aren’t about making money TODAY.”
Perfect! “I’m gonna write about that!” I exclaimed as I scribbled her words down before I could forget them.
Maybe my very own experience of making something positive out of the ordinary made me realize this early on. How to share the essence of this with others in seven words? Thank you, Tenae Stewart!
Art events are about introducing our work to an audience, especially if it’s a new audience. It’s about inviting our visitors and attendees into our world. Open studios are especially powerful, because they see our work and our environment in full. (Well. It’s a little less messy, but I never get my studio perfectly clean anyway. Artistic mess, people!)
It’s like what a friend told me once, at my old studio space, when I complained about how few people actually came by my studio on an average day. They replied, “It’s not who comes by, it’s who comes BACK.” And as I look back, I see that the most amazing people DID come by, often when I wasn’t there. But my studio’s sidewalk window let them see a sample of my work, and they did indeed come back.
Now I’m on a crusade, encouraging artists who, for many reasons, don’t like open studios. They may believe their studio is not interesting/too small/too messy/not “professional enough” to open to the public. They may have tried it once, then gave up because it wasn’t worth it.
It’s hard to gear up for an event we didn’t have much success with. But there are events we need to give a second, or even third chance for.
I share my own experiences, how very small open studios tours back in New Hampshire grew from one visitor my first year, to scads of visitors during the second year, who didn’t buy anything, to folks who came in droves the third year—and bought enough to rival my sales from major shows. (And I didn’t have to drive anywhere or set up a booth!)
I share how powerful it’s been to give people permission to “go deep” in my making space. I share how I give them the chance to look while making myself easily available for their questions: (“Hi, I’m Luann, and I make all the artifacts that look like carved bone and ivory. It’s okay to touch my work and pick things up. And if you have any questions, I’ll be right over here!”) Rather than saying, “No thanks, just looking”, people say, “Oh, THANK YOU!!!!” and dive in. When they’re ready to talk, they ask their question, and the conversation begins.
I recently encouraged another artist in my new building to open their studio during our first major event here. They made the usual disclaimers: Their studio is too small, it’s too messy, they don’t have a body of work yet, they’ve never sold a painting, etc. etc.)
I told them their small space might encourage some visitors to realize they don’t need a huge room to do their own creative work, just a spot they don’t have to clear for dinner. They will love looking at that work in progress. It will captivate them, with the photos, preliminary studies, the rough sketches, and the work-in-progress. They will love the subject. Best of all, this artist is comfortable talking to people. They are full of energy and enthusiasm without being overbearing, and visitors will love that.
And last, I said, “Bruce Baker once said, “To regular folks, artists are the people who ran away to join the circus!” Other people wonder and dream about doing their own creative work. To see someone actually doing that work is powerful medicine for all of us in our torn and tattered world.
Open studios aren’t for every artist. Some galleries restrict their artists from participating in them, perhaps for fear they will lose sales, or the work will be undersold. (If you are represented in stores or galleries, NEVER undercut your gallery prices.)
Some artists have privacy or safety issues. (Ask a friend to keep you company, and safe, or ask another artist to participate with you.)
Some see them as too much work. (Me? It’s like having company for dinner, it forces you to clean up a couple times a year!)
Bottom line, art events are essentially about connection: You with your potential audience, them with you, and with your work. Sales certainly help! But know that sales usually follow after laying the groundwork for a mutually-respectful and satisfying relationship.
Don’t worry about the sales you didn’t make today. You’re laying the groundwork for something bigger, tomorrow!
I’ve made very few “people” figures in my art. But my handprints appear all over the place!
“Happiness is the only thing that multiplies when you share it.”
I was thinking about my dad today.
Yeah, partly because it was Fathers Day. And mostly because of the grief I’m reading/hearing about how unsuccessful people were with our recent Art at the Source open studio event this month.
My dad was a diligent worker. He took over the family business (a dairy biz, processing milk into ice cream, cream, and…well, milk), incorporating a dariy bar, and eventuallly a family restaurant. (My first job was washing dishes there, when I was in…4th grade??) Then he sold the biz and became a state dairy inspector. (He sure liked cows.)
He also loved flowers. Our house was surrounded by rigid rows of organized, meticulously-spaced flowers. In the spring, he would give each of us kids a soup spoon, and we would dutifully plant daisies, marigolds, and petunias. He diligently watered all our houseplants daily, too.
But when he retired, he also took up woodworking. He spent days in his garage workshop, planing, mitering, sanding, staining. He made furniture for me and all my sibs over the years.
And if you expressed delight or sang his praises, he would also diligently point out every error he’d made in the making. (It helped me to NOT do this with my own work!)
What does this have to do with having an open studio?
I don’t believe he ever sold a single piece of his work.
He’d made his money WORKING all his life. His gardening and woodworking was for FUN–relaxation and enjoyment. He called it his hobby.
Hobby, vocation, and avocation. What’s the diff??
I used to have a distinction between avocation and hobby, but the older I get, I can’t remember. And it doesn’t matter so much to me, either.
Here’s what my dad taught me: Find a way to earn a living. You can be an artist when you retire.
What I taught my kids: Do what you love, and the money will follow. (Robin and Doug, I apologize from the bottom of my heart. Love, Mum)
What I wish I’d told my kids, and what I’m telling you today:
Do the work that supports your lifestyle. At best, it’s work you enjoy. Hopefully, you don’t hate it, or at least don’t dislike it too much. Hopefully, it’s something you’re good at, that you’re proud of, and it’s wonderful if it pays well, too.
But if it’s not the work of your heart, make room for THAT in your life, too. It will help you manage everything else.
My dad never sold a single piece of his woodwork. They were always gifts, or filling requests for furniture–coffee tables, sofa tables, display pedestals, coat racks, etc.–for friends and family.
In my art career, financially, I had some good years, some really good years, and some years that totally tanked. Most of those tank years were obviously the result of events totally out of my control: 9/11, war in the Mideast, inflation/recession, pandemic. We’re right back there, today, and there’s no escaping the consequences that affect our entire planet.
And yet, I was surprised at how much people complained (in an online forum) about their open studio event this year. Surprised at how many people are considering not joining next year. Astonished at how some people are considering actually walking away from their art-making. “What’s the use?!” (Why can’t I make that shoulder-shrug emoji??)
TBH, I was a little down that last day, too. Until I started to write about it. Writing helps me sort out the dust bunnies in my brain, and get to center of my (he)art.
What helps YOU get centered again? I’d love to hear!
My take-away:
There is no figuring out exactly what will make us rich. I can’t even figure out how to cover the cost of my materials anymore.
Won’t stop me.
There is no single, sure path to fame and fortune.
I’m pretty sure I don’t even WANT to be famous anymore.
It takes time to build an audience, especially when our work is really out-of-the-box.
I tried through shows (wholesale and retail), art fairs, and open studios. I learned that it time and engagement for people to really see what I was doing, what my story was, and how labor-intensive my process was.
Open studios are the best at this! See my workspace, look at my tools and materials, let me show you what inspires me….
I stepped away from wholesale shows, and eventually made all my income from one major fine craft show in New Hampshire, and two open studio tours. They, too, started out slow. My visitors steadily grew, though there were still set-backs, dips, etc.
Then I moved to California, and had to start all over. Again.
How do I feel about that?
I’m actually okay.
Today, I can sell my work online, though it’s almost always to current customers and people who have followed my work for YEARS. (Again: Connection, achieved by outreach and availability.)
Today, I can easily share the backstory, my creation story, my inspiration, process, and animal stories. especially in my studio.
Today, I am reminded of my most recent open studio event, too. Yes, a little disappointed in the number of visitors, and that my sales were low.
And then I remember the blessings in my life:
I HAVE A STUDIO. I can do the work of my heart.
I have people who love my work. Maybe they can’t afford to buy it. Maybe they’ve downsized, and don’t have room for it.
But they can still come and look at it, and marvel, and engage with me.
I can encourage people to make room in their life for what brings them joy.
And I can write about it, hoping to do the same for YOU.
The good part in that forum thread: Some people griped, but when they realized so many other people were feeling the same way–in other words, it wasn’t just them–they got more clarity.
They, too, found the good stuff amidst the pile of disappointment. They got their mojo back. They will continue to make their art. Yay!
I think of my dad. I’m sure he would have been happy to make some money from his late-in-life hobby.
But that wasn’t WHY he did it.
He did it because it kept him busy (he hated doing nothing). He did it because he could make something for people he loved. He got better at it (because he was a bit of a perfectionist.) (DAISIES AND MARIGOLDS ALL IN A ROW.) It was flexible: He could work all day, or he could stop at any time and go for a drive with my mom.
It made him feel like he still had something to offer the world.
In my open studio, I listened to people telling me about their new life paths, their new interests and pastimes, their latest life disruption, their still-painful losses and sorrows.
My creative space became a safe place to share stories of hope, dreams, sadness, and joy. And healing.
My creative work carries stories of how every person has a place in the world. Including me. Including you.
I just realized my studio is my own unique version of a miniature Lascaux Cave.
The art of the Lascaux Cave was not about achieving fame or fortune.
The Ice Age was coming to an end, and so a people’s entire way of life was, too. They didn’t gather to start a war, or to assess blame. They gathered as a community, hoping to find a way through to the other side. And each handprint represents a single person present.
I can’t even imagine putting a price tag on that.
Today, try not to measure your sucess with only money.
Today, see your true value in the world, made with the work of your hands, and of your heart.
It’s not about having an audience. It’s about having a voice.
They discussed why some people are wealthy. It’s because they made a decision to purchase stock in a new company 20 years ago, instead of spending the money on eating out at a restaurant. As in, wisdom and foresight vs. random self-indulgence. Long-term value over short-term amusement.
They compared to to getting a grilled cheese sandwich today, or being able to get two grilled cheese sandwiches next week. As if the people who invested in Google in 2004 are smarter/better than the people who chose to go out to dinner instead. Twenty years later, the dinner is forgotten, but the shares are worth thousands of dollars.
I get the point (I think.) It takes time for money to grow, and not much time at all to spend it on worthless/useless/petty things instead. The people who are willing to wait, gain more.
Or is it?
It sounds like the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment in the 1970’s, when 32 children were given a marshmallow, but told they would get TWO marshmallows if they didn’t eat the first one. The study declared that the children who could wait, were more successful in life, their SAT scores were higher, etc. Repeated studies seemed to support the power of delayed gratification.
This is the simplified version, of course, but the one we’re most familiar with: People who have self-discipline do better in life.
Until newer studies found the major flaw in these results:
Children of “lower” social class, who were more vulnerable to food insecurity, whose families were struggling, were the ones who “couldn’t” wait for that second marshmallow.
Not because they aren’t as smart, not because they had no self-discipline, or because they were less patient.
It was because they had already learned to grab what was available when it was offered. Because that second “reward” might NEVER come.
I never truly believed in the original findings. Something just felt wrong. It felt more like an issue of trust in the people running the experiment than the ability to “go without”. In fact, these kids that “failed” were probably already “going without”. Without the same support, advantages, opportunities that wealthier families offer.
And about stock options vs. a dinner out….
Yeah, we might forget the dinner out, twenty years later. It might be a better choice to invest in our future.
And yet….
What if that dinner is the first date with a person who became our partner? Or the one where our partner asked us to marry them?
What if that dinner was a celebration? A birthday, a milestone reached, a graduation?
What if it was the last time we were able to spend time with a loved one or a dear friend?
What if it was the dinner where you had a huge fight, and realized that was NOT the person you wanted to be with for the rest of your life? A decision you would never regret?
The article probably has a valid point, and maybe it just landed wrong for me today. We’ve all made poor financial decisions we wish we could do over.
And yet…
Investing money has always been a gamble. Some people make good investment decisions, yes. But a lot of those decisions aren’t. We never really know which ones will pay off, and anyone who says otherwise is either very very lucky in theirs, or they’re full of bullshit.
Sorry, I don’t know where I’m going here. Except even gentle criticism about people not making smart decisions about the future drives me crazy. I still remember a coworker 40 years ago. She and her parter had the perfect investment/retirement plan in place with her husband.
But her husband died suddenly way, way before they got there. And she had to keep working long past her retirement years to support herself.
Her greatest regret? That they had put off all their travels and good times, so they would have a rich, perfect retirement.
And then they never had the chance to enjoy it, together.
My own favorite “predicting the future” story is the year where the price of oil skyrocketed (our heating fuel in New Hampshire), and we had to decide whether to prebuy at the current prices, or hope that they would fall before winter. My husband said, “If only I knew what the price of oil was going to be in six months!” And I said, “You and ten billion other people.”
Yes, it’s good to be frugal, and set aside money. Yes, it’s good to have hope in our hearts that things will work out, that everything will be okay, that we will always be safe, that we have everything under control. It’s good to wait, and get that second marshmallow as a reward.
But it’s bad to blame people who have less, who strugle more, who battle discrimination, ridicule, distrust, disgust, and who are never seen for anything more than their gender, skin color, nationality, religion choices.
Only when ALL people have money to invest, when ALL people don’t have to worry about where the next paycheck will come from, when ALL people can have an income, health care, respect, love, when ALL people can feel safe and cared for….
Then, and only then, will I take that investment advice seriously.
I posted on Facebook mentioning that my first weekend was rather slow, with a pic of a necklace I made during the lulls. Another participant shared their studio visitor numbers, which were higher than mine.
Here’s why that didn’t bother me at all:
First, numbers come and numbers go. The first two years I did an open studio in New Hampshire, no one came. (I was the only participant in my neck of the woods.) It was a little discouraging but my studio was clean, and I got a lot of new work done.
The third year, my studio was filled to the gills with visitors, and it never stopped until we left New Hampshire.
Second, an original founder and long-time AATS participant (30 years?) who’s well-known in these parts, and whose work is popular, said numbers come and go, rise and fall, over the years, and usually for no discernible reason. “I don’t worry about it,” she said. “It is what it is, and I’m comfortable with that.” Thank you, Sally Baker! (She’s a true grown-up.)
Third, though my numbers were low, those visitors were amazing, each and every one. One woman brought me a box of beautiful abalone shells!
My last point is one that just came to me today:
My visitors created their own in-house community, in my studio, during the tour!
Somehow, I ended up showing two visitors the lovely gift of abalone shells. They were so amazed, I ended up giving each of them one! It just felt like the right thing to do. They were delighted. I know they’ll be back someday.
One long-time fan came in, we had a nice chat, and she gave me an idea for one-on-one mentoring/tutoring with polymer clay. While she was still there, another long-time fan and her studio-mate came in. The three of them hit it off. I offered them comfy chairs, and they sat in a little circle and talked avidly for awhile. (It was still a slow day, people could get around them easily, and I was totally okay with that.) It was wonderful to see new friendships created, right there in front of me!
Another visitor talked about losing a sibling last year, and then the tears came. On impulse, I opened one of my storage drawers and gave them an older bear artifact. Then I gave them a card with the bear’s story: “Be strong when things get hard. Listen more. Think slow. Love deep.”
(No, I don’t just hand out free stuff to people randomly. There’s just something inside me that says, “They need this….”)
It took me a few days to see what was happening.
These people all had at least one thing in common: They like my work. Some LOVE my work.
They felt safe enough in my sacred creative space to open their hearts, to my stories, to my work, to me. And also to others in that space.
It was amazing.
I’m still unwrapping that, figuring out why it affected me so deeply. But in the end, I can just say I’m glad this all happened.
Oh, I also made a few sales, enough to restock new supplies for my next projects. Some weird questions got asked, some people weren’t interested and left quickly. Tomorrow’s going to be really really hot, and I don’t have any thoughts about what that will look like.
But I’m not worried.
I’ve already had my share of beautiful little miracles. And I’m grateful for them all.
It’s not always about numbers.
It’s not always about the money.
It’s about using our creativity to bring out the best in ourselves, and in others. We are truly blessed to be able to do this with the work of our heart.
Yeah, I could worry constantly about theft. But I actively try NOT to.
Hah! I TOLD you a series is rarely ever “done”!
Just before our latest county open studio event (LINK), an artist reached out with a terrific question: What if someone were to steal their work?
In this case, it was a portfolio of very small “studies”, their way of experimenting before taking on a large project. These studies could easily be pilfered. Should they be worried?
Yes. No. Maybe?
Unless we make huge stone sculptures that have to be hauled away in a wheelbarrow (or similar), yes, we are all potential victims of theft. And you know who is the MOST vulnerable creative/maker for theft? Jewelers, especially those working in precious metals/gemstones. When they do major shows, they often take down their ENTIRE INVENTORY every night. And set it up all over again the next day. OMG!)
But making that the biggest issue with opening our open studio is a sure-fire way to unconsciously let every single visitor know you do not trust them. And that will destroy the very reason open studios are so powerful:
Our visitors want to know more about our work–and US.
Treating each person as a possible thief, destroys any potential connection. Which defeats the entire purpose of inviting them into our creative space.
How do I know? This happened to me, as a studio visitor.
In this case, the person was open to my previous suggestion, ideas for having samples, tools, etc. that are okay for visitors to touch or hold. People are extremely experienced about being told NOT to touch in so many environments. Providing a display, something they CAN touch, is powerful!
Hence this person’s idea of presenting a portfolio of small studies, which they would hate to lose.
Here were my thoughts. (Be sure to add yours in the comments!)
Fears of having our work stolen cements everybody to the ground, as in, a bad way. We all worry about such things. In my lifetime, I don’t recall a single thing being taken, but I have so much stuff, I probably wouldn’t notice if it were missing
If the worry about losing your portfolio is giving you nightmares, consider a way to display it so that it’s not a small thing somebody could pocket easily.
I’m not a painter, so I don’t know if you’re talking about individual sketches, first drafts, or illustrations in a notebook, etc. You can send me more details and we can figure out a way to keep your work safe.
Maybe only exhibit a few of the pictures you were experimenting with, or have all of them on display in a case, or hang on the wall.
But what’s more important than that is being comfortable with people in our sacred creative space.
I have not had any (okay, not MANY) issues with people being rude, aggressive, sneaky, etc. and I’ve learned over the years that being afraid of these things create anxiety. And that anxiety can destroy our ability to connect with other people. Yes I have a story about that!
I visited someone’s studio who was obviously afraid of me stealing something. I loved their work, but their suspicious demeanor and them trailing me around their studio made me very uncomfortable. I finally left as soon as I could.
People meeting us in our studio, seeing our work in person, engaging with us, learning more about our process, our inspiration, our techniques, our story, is the single most powerful way for us to gain an audience.
I don’t want to dismiss your fears as being totally unnecessary, but the chances of someone stealing something major from you are pretty slim.
And your fear of having something stolen will create a barrier between you and the very people you want to connect with.
So for your sake, try to set your fears aside.
Consider some of the suggestions about securing your portfolio so no one can just simply walk off with it.
If you can, it’s always nice to have an assistant available, someone who can take care of processing sales, wrapping and packaging, someone who can keep an eye out and help allay your fears.
Yes, they wrote back to let me know they found this helpful. Yay! In fact, it’s not something that’s been an issue in their own art career. Just something that popped up and got stuck in their head. And they already had a helper lined up, and came up with a display plan that worked for them.
And of course, after talking to them, I began to worry about MY work being stolen! (Fears are an easily-transmissible disease with no vaccine….) (Okay, there IS a vaccine: Embrace it, tell it we know it’s doing its job–keeping us safe–and say “Thank you!” Then tell it to scram until it’s time for dinner….)
Next article: How to prevent visitors from throwing cake at our artwork. (JUST KIDDING!!! I have no idea how to stop people from doing that. Apparently, neither does the Louvre….)
How have YOU secured your valuables, and still provided a comfortable place for visitors to engage with you? I’d love to hear your thoughts!
Creativity is part of our heritage. Almost everyone has it. It’s just that our definition of creative work has grown more narrow.
When most people talk about “real art”, they’re usually caught up in the work of white European male artists from the last 150 years.
What if our definition of creative work were broader, richer, deeper?
I now define it as any work that we care deeply about, that we pursue with all our heart, because it makes us happy, lifts our spirit, encourages us to be a better person.
And when we share it with the world in any way, it makes someone else happy. And makes the world a better place.
I now see people who take up work that heals, teaches, repairs, restores, caretakes, feeds, nourishes, work that brings joy, laughter, care, forgiveness, and understanding to our world, to be creative people. Whether it’s our professional, vocation, or avocation, whether we earn a living from it or not, if we, and others, and the world are better for it, that’s creative work.
We humans, and our creative work, don’t fit into tidy little boxes. We have a whole universe to fill!
Yes, you read that right. Usually we’re trying to get people into our booth or open studio, so we can sell them our work. But sometimes it’s just as important to get them out of there, too.
There are many kinds of visitors who will come to our open studios. the person who has no intention of buying anything, but is distracting you from other customers.
And okay, I’ll admit it–the title is provocative. You don’t necessarily need to, nor should you, boot every non-customer out of your studio! Not every transaction is about money, and not every comment is meant as a slam, not by a long shot. Revisit “the stupid question”, for example.
But no one needs “bad transactions”, either. There are indeed times when someone is being a jerk, a downer, a whiner or simply an energy-vampire. (I wrote this before the TV series, “What We Do In The Shadows”!) If they aren’t driving other customers out of your studio, they are practically driving you out of your studio.
You must contain and deal with that negative energy. Not only your sales, but your peace of mind may depend on it.
To save myself some time this morning, I’ll just point you to a wealth of information on this topic that I’ve written about for years: How to get people OUT of your booth
Short story: Not everyone is your customer.
That’s okay, of course. Most open studios and other events are as much about creating connections as they are about sales. Our open studio events are the most powerful, as we are on our home turf, in our sacred creative space. They get to see who we are, and hopefully learn what our artwork is all about.
And for the same reasons, this is why we can’t let people s*** in our space, either.
But there will be people who may go beyond all boundaries, from slightly-aggressive to downright boring as all get-out. The people who know, deep down, that we are a captive audience.
I get as annoyed as anyone when this happens. And yet, when I take a moment or two (or a thousand), I can get back to my happy place. Maybe they are lonely. Or lost (figuratively.) Or desperate for attention. Or need to one-up me because they are envious. Maybe they are wistful, wishing they could have a studio, a creative outlet, work that they put aside, a decision they regret but can’t fix.
“Yes, after the show I’ll be able to offer classes, so add your email address to my sign-up form so I can let you know.”
“I’d love to grab coffee and catch up with you after the show, when I’m not so busy!”
“Yes, I’m happy to share the info of where to learn more about polymer clay, email me after the show.”
You are setting boundaries while still remaining available emotionally for people you care about (and those you don’t), people you want to be available for (or not), when you can be available.
And yet also understand that we can all be annoying sometimes, and not everyone is trying to be annoying. (Er…I’m beginning to wonder if I’m more annoying than I realize…)
Last, a very dirty trick, but it can work:
If someone is being a total poo, and nothing I’ve tried has moved them on, I will encourage them to check out another artist’s studio. And it’s often an artist I don’t like. (Okay, I’ve done this maybe three times in my entire art career of 20 years. But I have to admit, it was very satisfying.) (I mean, I also send wonderful visitors to another artist who I DO like, too, if I think they’ll enjoy that artist’s work.) For all you difficult artists, be warned! (JUST KIDDING!) (Not.)
I know I’ve linked to a slew of articles here today. But trust me, I can guarantee you have–or will–meet at least one of these people at any art event you host or attend. Knowing how to deal with it is powerful protective armor.
And the better you manage it, the better your studio experience will be for everyone involved.
If you’d like most of those articles in one place, you can buy my ebook on Amazon. (Maybe I should do a book on open studios?)
I would love it if you asked questions or shared your own tips and suggestions along the way!
If you found this helpful, let me know! And if you know someone else who might find it useful, pass the link to this article to them. The best gift you can give a writer is to help them grow their audience.
The ‘mudding’ part of my scrimshaw technique that helps my artifacts look like real bone and ivory.
When demonstrating your process, share what you want, not what you think you “have to”…
Short story: Demonstrating your process at an open studio can be a powerful incentive for visitors to come. But there’s a delicate balance between “maker” and “seller”, and that can create a disconnect with our audience. Backstory:
I’m a double-juried (in two media) craftsman member of the League of New Hampshire Craftsmen, a well-established, well-respected organization that supports and markets the work of members in many ways: galleries, events, exhibitions, and its prestigious Annual Craftsmen’s Fair held in August every year. (I achieved tenure, so even though I now live a few thousand miles away, I still retain my membership.) I eventually volunteered to become a member of the Fair Committee, because I was so curious about what went on “behind the curtain” to produce these incredible 9-day long event.
One feature of our annual outdoor fair was demo booths. For a reduced rate, a juried craftsman got a super-sized booth (about 20’x30’, if I remember correctly) to not only display their wares, but to do demonstrations of their craft for the public. When I started, there were three such booths at each year’s fair.
And every year we had to beg people to sign up for them.
The reason was, sales at these booths were horrible. Even with the savings and prominent placement on the grounds, people knew they would struggle to make any money that year. It just wasn’t worth it to them.
I can’t remember why I decided it might be something to try, but boy, did I do my research. I checked in with past demonstrators, and asked if it were worthwhile. Almost everyone said, “Not that year, but my sales afterwards steadily climbed!” So, okay, consider it a loss-leader in the short-term, and investment in a bigger audience down the road. I could handle that.
But my superpower is gathering as much information as I can from every conceivable source. And so I also checked in with Bruce Baker, a jewelry-maker and gallery/gift shop owner who traveled across the country for years giving workshops on all things craft/art business related: Display, sales techniques, pricing, etc. (Bruce has retired this part of his biz and returned to jewelry-making full-time, but his CDs live on.) He lived relatively close, so I was able to attend many of his workshops, and even served with him on panel discussions and with traveling craft biz-building workshops for a year.
I called Bruce, and he graciously gave me the insights and advice I was looking for.
My first question was, why do sales tank at demos? He replied that demos tend to be “edu-tainment”: Free, educational and entertaining. And when it’s over, there goes the crowd, on to the next fun thing (music, raffles, food, etc.) So demo booths are unconsciously filed away under “fun to watch” and not “fun to shop”.
Add to that another unconscious element: When the “edu-tainer” artist sees people actively shopping, of course they stand up and move over to assist them. And the “magic” of demonstrating turns into, “Uh-oh, here comes the car salesman pitch!” and people scurry away. “There’s a disconnect,” he explained. “And once that ball is dropped, it’s hard to get back.” Hence, maybe crowds, but no sales.
He shared insights and gave suggestions. Like setting up my demo booth on the outer border of the big tent, so people didn’t have to “commit” to coming inside. “Don’t put it in the back of the booth, because then people have to make a conscious decision to enter a big, dark tent. Put it right there on the fairway!” I did, and it worked.
Second, he said I should NOT do sales. What??
“Not “no sales”. I mean youyourself should not do sales. Hire people to do that,” he said. “Keep that divide between the creative maker and the “car salesman”.” So I hired/bribed/cajoled a team of friends to help. (I lent them all CDs of Bruce’s selling techniques.)
But instead of telling them what I say about my work, I encouraged them to share what they love about my work. I felt it would come across as heart-felt and more authentic, and I was right about that, too!
And because they weren’t working from a ‘script’, and they apparently had no ‘game’ with my sales, their comments and enthusiasm were seen as an authentic validation of my work.
The proof of Bruce’s insights? At one point in the week, all my volunteers were at lunch at the same time. (Slow day.) Some people came in, I demo’ed, they watched. And when they started shopping, I walked over to them – and they nearly ran out of the booth! Lesson learned. (No, I’m not that scary in person. The actual dynamic had changed, just as Bruce had described.)
I made my highest sales ever that year, and the next (as I got to choose to demo again, if I wanted to, and I did.) In fact, from that year on, there was actual competition for those sales demo booths, and their number increased to five!
Because every other artisan saw what was happening, and wanted in on that, too.
But one of the biggest hurdles yet remained. And it took a friend’s insight to solve that problem:
How much do I share without destroying the mystery of my finished work?
This has been a “hurt place” for decades for me. My work has been copied for decades. (Although badly, I’m happy to say, though I’m ashamed to admit that.) Showing exactly what I do, and how I do it, felt too risky. The last thing I wanted to do was to unconsciously give others permission to copy. Most of my techniques are well-known and not original to me, though I always share the original artist as a source. What’s truly unique are the the ways I put them together, and the stories I tell through them.
Even more sobering: Think of how explaining a magic trick takes away the ‘magic’. Yeah, no.
Again, just the right person showed up.
I met Alisha Vincent when she was the show manager for the Buyers Market of American Craft (informally called “The Rosen Show” for the company’s owner, Wendy Rosen) and now known as the American Made Show.) She was/still is one of my super heroes in life, for her intelligence, her powers of observation, her wide range of experience in the world, her courage, and her sense of humor. She actually came to NH that year to work in my demo booth, and I am forever grateful she did, for countless reasons.
But especially for today, this one: When I expressed my fears, she was quick to find the solution. “Look at your neighbor,” she said, gesturing toward the guy who made beautiful Shaker boxes in the demo tent next to me. “He says his process has 29 steps.”
“He’s demonstrated nine of those steps.”
Oh. OH. OH!!!!!! Got it!
So when I say “show your process”, know that it means you get to choose how much you share.
Some people do share every single step. Hats off to them! They are secure in the knowledge that their skills have taken time and effort, and are not easily mastered. And that their own aesthetic and color choices are unique to them.
Me, not so much. I totally know this comes from my own insecurities and past experiences.
And so Alisha’s insight helped me pick interesting aspects to demo, but not a start-to-finish process. She helped me find my comfort level, so I could start there and go forward.
If you demonstrate, you get to decide what feels like “too much” vs. what feels like a challenge you can handle.
And as you get comfortable with it, take on the next challenge.
Remember, there are oodles of steps to help us move forward in our art biz.
The gift is, we get to choose what ones, how, how much, how often: A short how-to video playing on a laptop in your studio, or a live demo. (With a sales assistant!) A series of photos showing different stages in your production. Signs for all your tools, materials, equipment, on display, with their purpose and sources. (Again, how much you share is totally up to you.)
And if you offer classes, these little add-ons to your space will give them a powerful incentive to sign up.
As always, if you enjoyed this article, let me know! If you’d like to read more, you can subscribe to my blog at LuannUdell.wordpress.com. You can visit my older articles in the wayback machine at Radio Userland. (They are harder to search for, but they are also shorter!)
If you think someone else would like it, please forward it to them. And if someone sent you this, and you liked it, ditto!
One of my best works of art, one of my favorites, that got a lot of media coverage at the time. And yet it didn’t sell until the year before we left California! Failure? Success? Who can say??
(Reposting this, my fourth blog post, from December 5, 2002. )
Dealing with Failure
A reader saw my story on Meryl Streep (we have so much in common!) She commented she has overcome her inner critic from time to time, had some success—and then encounters failure. In one case, resulting in a large financial loss. It stopped her dead in her tracks. How, she asks, do you buffer failure? Is it a sign that we’re heading down the wrong path?
Buffer failure? Embrace it!
No, I’m not crazy. I hate failure as much as the next person. It doesn’t feel good, it doesn’t look good, and it usually doesn’t smell very good, either.
But I’ve learned to call it something else. It is now a “life learning experience.” Or “an experiment.” A “calculated risk.” Or “an opportunity/possibility that has been tried, and simply did not pan out.”
Whatever you called it, you met it, you got through it, and now you have a precious gift. You can decide what you learned from it. And what you learn from it is entirely up to you.
We hear all those stories about Edison trying and discarding 423 different materials before he found one that could successfully be used as a filament in his electric light bulbs. Supposedly, he would say, “I didn’t fail—I found 423 things that didn’t work!” In reality, I doubt he was that chipper at trial #218. I’m sure he had some choice words.
But the important thing to remember is, it wasn’t a failure. It was a process. He didn’t take each failure as a “sign” he should not continue. He took it as a challenge, an opportunity to explore new possibilities.
There’s a book I read awhile back, title escapes me. A collection of stories as told by assorted famous people, on their failures. Yep. Every single one of them had failed somewhere, along their road to success. You don’t take on risk without encountering failure at some point. Not one person achieved their dream by accepting failure. Every single one of them walked around it, climbed over it, punched through it, ignored it, learned from it or changed it into a victory.
Look, these people aren’t really smarter, more beautiful, more creative, more talented, more anything than you or me. They’re people. Real people. They’re just incredibly persistent. Their common denominator was once they knew what their heart’s desire was, they kept after it. Just like me and Meryl, talkin’ down that buzzy whiney voice and doin’ the work.
It’s not easy. And it doesn’t come naturally, at least not to me. I’ve had to work at not giving up. And I’ve had to work at growing a new attitude about “failure.”
I don’t put it in terms at “what did I do wrong?” I think “What did I do well? And how could I do better? What did I learn? And do I have to do that same thing again to learn that particular lesson? Or is it okay to move on to try something else?”
My first few small town craft shows were “failures.” It would have been so easy to get discouraged. Fortunately, I was committed to making what I loved, not making what would sell at a church craft fair. I realized my work was not the bargain gift item one expects to find at such a show. Although, oddly, after every show, someone would call me and buy one of my very expensive pieces (around $125 at the time.) The lesson I learned was to find a better venue for my work.
I’m still recovering from a more recent, bigger “failure.” I tried a new summer wholesale show, traditionally more of a gift market. I not only did the show, I redid my booth—new floors, new walls, new lighting. I even took a larger booth space. I did the work—did two pre-show, advertising, updated my catalog, sent out my newsletter to customers and hot prospects, created new products. I set up my booth, put on my professional artist clothes, and went to work.
I bombed.
I wrote enough new orders to cover some of my expenses, but not the major improvements I’d made. And many of those new accounts, because the economy still sagged, ended up modifying their orders downwards as the months went by.
Did I fail? To be honest, it sure felt like it at the time!
A fellow exhibitor at the show asked me how I did, and I started to list all the pluses from the show. He cut me short and said, “Why don’t you just be honest and admit it sucked?!” I didn’t know what to say. Was I being a Pollyanna?
To help me put it in perspective, another friend in the biz said, “Is money the only measure of your success?”
Wow. I had to think about that. Yes, I eventually want to be financially successful with my art and business, and I consistently act and plan accordingly. But I also evaluate my progress by other standards. Money is an important measure, but not the only one.
I took a reasonable risk—to introduce my work to a new audience and to try a new booth design/layout.
What did I do well? The pre-show preparations were excellent, the booth was great. The improvements were pricey but they are a long-term investment in my business.
Everyone loved the work, so I know it’s viable. Most of my press kits were taken from the media room—always a good sign! I picked up a dozen new accounts. I made valuable connections, including an editor at a highly respected trade magazine who was fascinated by my work. The new director of an arts foundation, referred to me by a mutual friend, found me, lined me up for a show and has proven to be a source of valuable experience and information about my targeted market. My booth neighbor was curating her first show at the museum where she works, and invited me to exhibit in their first high-end craft show. A favor for a friend at the show with equipment problems netted me his lovely glasswork in return. My daughter, assisting me for the first time, bought a faux-leopard skin cowboy hat from another exhibitor—oh my!), met the charming teenage sons of another exhibitor, and was in seventh heaven.
We had a great time.
And how could I do better? I honestly can’t think of a single thing I could have done better.
What was under my control, and what was not?
Sad to say, the economy is not under my control.
In hindsight, would I have skipped the show? Well, I’m not sure. I think I would have done it, and perhaps triaged the booth improvements. But maybe not. Doing the show forced me to make those improvements, and though it would have been nice to recoup their expense with that show, I know I eventually will.
What did I learn? I learned that something awful can happen, and it was okay. I survived. No one got hurt, no one died.
I’ve weathered my first truly bad show, and lived to tell the tale. I didn’t accept it as a sign my dream was unattainable. I kept the good stuff, I examined the bad stuff, then tossed it. Dug in and got back to work. In August, I did another show, made some slight adjustments to my business model (took more custom orders, learned a new technique for closing high-end sales) and did my best retail show ever.
Buffer failure? No. You don’t get anywhere with that approach. Sometimes the manure life deals you is fertilizer for your garden to come.
*Update for today: I am so glad I found this article today! I’ve been feeling like a failure lately, in so many ways. Which just goes to show you, it will always, always be with us.
But we get to decide, whether we give in, give up, go away…
Or can we choose to simply keep trying.
Because I still love what I do, even though I make even less money at it than I did all those years ago.
Because I can still do it.
Because I want to keep making art. Because I have to do the work of my heart.
That’s why we artists buy our supply in bulk, so we get those volume discounts. And back in the recession of 2008, all kinds of businesses, desperate for income, offered discounts to their customers.
Should artists offer discounts??
It depends. And mostly it depends on how, when, and why you offer them.
Me? The one and only time I ever offered a discount (during that same recession), it backfired. It turns out the customer asked for one, “just because” they’d read that Macy’s was offering discounts. And it turns out they just “threw it out there”, and would have bought the artwork at full price. IF only I hadn’t been feeling desperate and said, “Sure!” Oy vey.
If you believe that discounts work for you, no argument here. Just some clarity about the downside, and suggestions for actions that might work better.
Is cheaper always better? If it’s really “all about the price”, then trust me, your potential customer can find something similar for less. And when they do, they won’t be back. The measure of our work is how well-made it is, how much skill goes into it, and how unique it is. The story behind it, YOUR story, your personal vision. If it’s something anyone can make, there’s someone who does/will, and then it really is all about the price. And if you say it’s worth $100, but you’re willing to take $80, then what is it really worth?? Know the value of the work you do.
Can you afford to offer a discount? When we figure our actual cost in creating a work of art, we think about the cost-of-goods-sold: Our materials, our tools, etc. Most artists also factor in time, which makes sense. Except maybe it takes YOU ten hours to paint that piece, and another artist can do it in two hours. And if that other artist has a long history of followers and sales, maybe they have repeat customers who have truly earned a reward now and then. (More suggestions about this below.) And if they support themselves with their work, have to pay for a studio space, the cost of participating in events, exhibitions, shows, etc. the prices will of course be higher. Take into account the amount of money from sales that you’ll pay income taxes on, too.
Are your prices already too low? When I first set prices for my work, I wasn’t in any galleries or stores. My prices actually reflected my wholesale price. Once I was represented by galleries, I realized that I would get only 50%-60% of my retail price. So my prices went up. Because….
Are you respecting your galleries? Galleries are a powerful way to get our work in front of potential customers who can’t come to our studios. This means we have to respect galleries for what they do for us. If we discount prices in our studio, and a gallery finds out, that could be the end of your relationship with them. Galleries, on the other hand, and with your permission, could offer their faithful customers a discount. Some even offer to take it out of their own commission. Make sure you let them know if this is acceptable, and definitely let them know if it isn’t! Even they do take it out of their profit. Again, what’s the message here? “We’re so desperate to sell this artist’s work, we’ll cut our losses!” Ouch.
Will a discount help me close the sale? Maybe. Tempting, right? Let’s talk about WHO gets a discount first. I would advise not offering one to a new customer. First, it’s not fair to your loyal customers, especially those who have collected your work for years. And yes, they might find out! I’ve found that people who get a bargain love to brag about it. And with social media marketing so popular now, your loyal customer might very well come across that post. The trust and integrity we’ve worked so hard to build is gone in an instant. If anyone deserves a discount, it’s our repeat customers!
Do discounts work? I believe they can help us make small gains in sales when we are starting out, when all our customers are new. But it kinda goes against what our work stands for: Handmade, artisan-made, implies our work reflects skill, quality, and integrity (ours)–not something you can find at a dollar store, where items are mass-produced, often in countries that don’t pay makers well, and are discounted once the shelves have to be cleared.. Discounts can work against our “brand” as someone who creates a unique body of work.
But I believe discounts work!Okay. But BE PREPARED. First, before you offer a discount, check with them what they’re looking for. My first (and last) discount, I offered 25%. (I was desperate.) Turns out they were hoping for 10%. Whoops. Second, factor discounts into your pricing. Always make sure you will still make a profit, even with a discount offer. It’s like “free shipping”. It feels less expensive, but you actually factored the shipping cost into your price, right?
But what about loyal, repeat customers? Two thoughts on that: First, I’ve learned the hard way that even a stated “one-time discount” offer registers as “forever” to our customers. “But last year you gave me a 10% discount!” “Your ad said 25% off!” (Yep, that was 6 months ago…) Instead/second, offer another incentive: If you have prints or cards featuring your work, offer those instead. Or offer smaller work to the purchase that can be added with a discount. (Smaller means a smaller amount of money ceded, or it could be a one-off you are ready to pass on to a worthy person anyway.) Or a coupon for a manageable amount to use on their next purchase. (Again, even a “one-time” coupon will register as “forever.” It’s just a human thing…) Offer a one-off, stand-alone work a direction you experimented with, but decided not to pursue. For one new collector, I offered to come to their home and talk about the piece for a small gathering of their friends. (It closed the deal, but they didn’t take me up on it.) I have a fellow artist who borrowed my car to deliver larger works to their customers. (Only twice, I have a boxy car, and they came to my rescue several times in difficult situations at my old studio. I’m glad to repay their kindness by helping them offer an incentive to a customer!)
Is it really about the price? It’s common to assume that when a potential customer is hesitant about purchasing our work, it’s about the price. That’s when some of us jump to a conclusion, and offer a discount. But over the years, I’ve found that isn’t so. If someone is obviously interested in an item, I’ve shared the story, I’ve answered there questions, and they’re still hesitant, I’ve learned to as this simple question: What’s holding you back? Turns out it’s something totally different: “Will it go with the new rug in my living room?” “Can I fit it in my car?” “I want it, but my budget is short this month–will they accept a layaway?” Easy solutions to address!
How a challenge can work even better than a discount. When someone asks if you can discount a work of art, try this highly effective counteroffer: “No, but if….”
Examples: “No, I’m sorry, I can’t do that. This work represents a lot of time, skill, and care. It’s a high-quality piece that will bring you joy for a lifetime, and no one else does anything quite like I do. But if you purchase it today, I’ll give you a free copy of a magazine that did an article on me and this very piece!”
“No, I don’t discount my work. But if you decide to take it today, I’ll be happy to give a free artist presentation to your coworkers/friends and family/favorite club/guild/association.”
“No, this is one of my best pieces, and it’s fairly-priced. But if you take it home today, I’ll hold your credit card information for a week while you decide. If you return it within a week, no charge. And if you don’t return it, I’ll process that charge on (date).” The woman I offered this to? I wrapped it up, gave her all the postcards, story cards, etc. I include with a sale, and gave her the bag. And as she left, she whispered, “I don’t think this is coming back!” It didn’t. (I still waited a week, though!)
For a wholesale order for a gallery/store: “No, my prices accurately reflect the value of my work, in time and materials. But if you place your order today, I’ll rearrange my shipping schedule to accomodate your upcoming gallery event.”
The last reason I rarely offer discounts (and usually only on older pieces that have ‘aged out’ of my collection)? Because I felt like I wasn’t respecting my own artwork. If I can’t respect what I do, why do I think others should?
Do you discount your work? How? When? And for whom? Share in the comments, I’d love to hear your strategy!
If you found this article helpful, let me know! And share it with others you think would find it useful, too.
It takes time to build a following, especially with your first open studio event. Be patient. Persevere. And don’t give up so soon!
I’m trying not to bury the lede today, so let me get this right out there, now.
Art events aren’t about making money TODAY.
This powerful words came up in a conversation with Tenae Stewart a year or so ago. You can access more of Tenae Stewart‘s wisdom here.
In fact, even as I read her creation story, I realize this is just the person who can validate my message today:
It takes time to build a following.
Back in New Hampshire, I joined my first open studio tour. I already had an audience from doing the League of NH Craftsmen’s Annual Fair, and both events with the same art organization. It covered all of New Hampshire (which is a pretty small state!) but I was sure it would be a great event.
The first year, I had ZERO visitors. None. Nada.
I was disheartened, but it only cost $95 to participate (no catalog like Sonoma County’s Art at the Source and Art Trails, which is the biggest cost for these events.)
I had a second tour in the fall, with another org. Same. Hmmm….what was I doing wrong??
The second year with the League tour, I had one visitor. A (very stoned) young man who just happened to be walking by and saw my open studio sign. He was delightful to talk with, we had a rich conversation, and I hope I encouraged him to follow his own creative path.
Did I quit? Nope. And here’s why I’m glad I didn’t:
Every year after that, with every open studio event (including a new tour, and a tour another artist and I started for our own city), my studio was packed. I eventually made as much income from two open studio tours and the League Fair, as I had doing 3 national wholesale and retail shows across the country. Which, btw, costs thousands of dollars to participate in, plus shipping my inventory, my booth, traveling to those events, and staying in hotels, etc.
When I look back, I understand why my first two years were slow. New Hampshire is a small state, but I was the only participant in the southwest section of the state. Once more artists in my area starting joining, my visitor numbers grew.
When people finally realized how interesting my stuidio was, they didn’t want to miss a chance to see it again, and again.
Even those first two “empty” years had value: They made me clean my studio!
I also learned why some people don’t come to our studio and gallery events:
They look too “special”. I was talking to an editor of our (then) local newspaper one day. (We met as parents waiting on the playground for our elementary school kids to get out of school.) I started talking about an upcoming local gallery exhibit featuring my work, and he exclaimed, “You mean ANYONE can go to those events?? I thought only collectors could attend!” (I assured him we did not check IDs at the door. He attended (t)his very first gallery event and had a terrific time!)
Promote only one event at a time. Urgency is a powerful motivator for people to visit our event. My first mistake was sending out a postcard with three different art events I was in, trying to save money on postage. No one came to any of them. My editor for a magazine I was writing for at the time exclaimed, “No! Every musician knows you only promote ONE event at a time!” (He’s a musician!) He explains that people’s minds reason thusly: “Oh, this looks interesting! But I have to do X this weekend, so I’ll go to the next one.” The next event pops up, and they say, “Oh rats, I was gonna go for a bike ride this weekend. I’ll just go NEXT weekend.” And the last weekend goes by, and they go, “Rats, I forgot! Oh well, maybe next year.”
My work is out-of-the-box, and it takes TIME for people to see who I am, and the value of what I do. I’ve never fit into boxes, not even “mixed media” (which actually means different kinds of PAINT in 2d work.) People new to my work are often confused, until I share that all my media are combined by the same STORY.
You just don’t like open studios, and it shows. You got mad at the stupid question, you didn’t meet people where they are, you don’t really like having people in your studio.
Reasons why the cost of joining an open studio tour shouldn’t hold you back, especially for Art at the Source and Sonoma County Art Trails. (They’re pricey, but the catalogs are fabulous. I still have the one from our visit to California a year before we decided to move here in 2014.):
Your entry fee is the cost of ONE quarter-page ad in a magazine that might hang around for a month, or even a week. That catalog is a year-round keeper.That’s quite the affordable advertising/marketing budget!
Know that art events aren’t about making money TODAY. It breaks my heart when I encourage people to participate in such an event, and then they walk away because not many people came. Or they didn’t make any sales. Or they believe it’s not worth the time and effort.
We need to see open studio events as an important, powerful step in growing an audience for our work. Our studio, our sacred, creative space, is where people meet their art heroes: Us!
In our online culture today, we see “influencers” as the new normal. These are the folks who are famous, who want to be famous, who achieved fame through a confluence of factors, sometimes carefully calculated, sometimes random. They have hundreds, thousands, millions of followers.
And if we’re honest, we secretly hope we can be just like them.
It’s only when I dig deeper into my own yearnings of being famous, rich with the proceeds of my work, that I realize I don’t actually want that!
I want to be seen as someone who has a different view of their place in the world. Someone who shares their work, their experience, their insights, with honesty and integrity.
Someone who, as hard as it can feel sometimes, knows at heart that it’s not about having an audience. It’s about having a voice.
It’s easy to get lost in the ropey jungle of who is a “real” artist. It’s even worse when we get lost in the definition of who is a “successful artist”.
What is the measure of our success?
If an oil painting can sell for $10,000, am I a failure if I only make a couple hundred dollars with a necklace that took me almost the same amount of time to make, using handmade and expensive materials? (No, it’s no one’s fault (certainly not mine!) that some art media are considered more valuable than others.)
If I get an invitation to join a new gallery run by someone who loves my work, but my sales are still modest, is that not worth very much? (Yes, it’s worth it. Just the words this new gallery owner shared with me: “People who don’t really know that much about art, don’t think your work is “real art”. But the people who do? They are totally intrigued and amazed by your work!” This made my year!)
If someone’s heart is lifted because my studio, and my engagement with them, and my encouragement inspires them to take up their creative work again, is there a price tag on that? (No. It’s priceless!)
If a customer with not so much money takes a decade to buy even a minor piece, was that work the wait? (Yes! It means my work matters to them, enough that they stay determined to own a piece someday.)
If only a few people come to our event, that’s still a start.
If they signed up for your email alerts, that means they want to come back.
If they want to come back, they may bring a friend with them next time.
If they come back again, they really enjoy your studio, your art, and YOU.
If they keep coming back, they will either buy a piece eventually, or buy a piece for a friend who will love it. And maybe both of them will come back to buy more.
Some of our fans will share their experience on social media. This is the most important “advertising” of all. Because anyone can buy an ad. But we can’t buy praise and enthusiasm. Testimonials, online reviews like Yelp, etc. reflect not just our artistic skills, but also our connectivity with our clients, visitors, buyers, etc.
One artist in last year’s open studio tour was reluctant to try again. I really, really wish I’d reached out to them this year. There were work-arounds to their issues that could have been solved. Perhaps simply having their own event could have resolved some of their issues, too. Oh well. Maybe next year.
But here’s my biggest, best reasons I will continue to do open studios, even if I never make another dime from them:
My visitors are a powerful, in-person, in the moment reminder of how fortunate I am.
I have a lovely space to make my work. I am very fortunate!
I have learned so much from making my work, and sharing it with the world, regardless of how much I actually make from it. I’m a better person for it.
I love what I do, from writing stuff like this for you today (and getting clear in my own head!), to making thank-you pearl earrings for the people who work at homeless shelters and those who rescue wild birds and opossums. Do I make money doing this? Nope. Not a cent. (And when I once whined about how nobody ever thanks me for doing this, my wise daughter who works in a similar “care” field said, “Mama, trust me on this. They ARE grateful, grateful that you see what they do, how hard it is, and they are glad you ‘see’ them. You don’t need a thank-you.” Her point was, the more overloaded and overwhelmed they are with their work, the less bandwidth they have to even write a thank-you note. Lesson learned!)
So approach your open studio event with an open heart, and no expectation of “instant sucess”.
Embrace what it brings you, no matter how small. Keep notes on the insights, the comments that lift your heart, the interactions that were gratifying and powerful.
Know that even sharing your space with a visitor can make a huge difference in their life, even if we can never know for sure.
And consider expanding your own unique version of “success” in life.
(Disclaimer: You may not agree with my take on this subject. No worries, do what works for you! But do consider this approach if you want your artist statement to stand out from the crowd.)
OK, like a parent asked to choose their favorite child, I love ’em all! They all have a nugget of truth. But this one combines my frustration with most artists’s statements, the lack of creativity, the banality, the focus on materials and process over our story, yadda yadda yadda.
I know this is a huge homework assignment. But at least one of these articles could get you to reconsider taking on the “traditional” artist statement.
And again, check out ArtyBollocks.com for starters. It will prove that “arty” “pretentious” “obscure” artist statements are ridiculous, I hope. Here’s another fun site if your creative work takes a different form: The New Age Bullshit Generator
You may be tempted to use a template to create an artist statement. It may feel safe, and easy. And if it gets you started, okay then. But as a friend told me years ago, “You cannot fill in the blanks with passion.” (Wherever you are in the world, thank you Nicci Walker!)
You may be tempted to use hoity-toity words and phrases, (aka “artspeak”) like other famous artists. But this article on the down side of IAE (International Art English) is terrific at uncovering the very (pretentious) aspects that could alienate our potential audience. (My hat’s off to you, too, Carol Ober!)
Avoid anything that reeks of complacency:
“I love color”. Um….who doesn’t love color??
“I am drawn to light and color”. Um…even worse? How can anyone capture an image of anything without light? (More on this to follow….)
“I am inspired by nature…” Um. So is every single landscape painter ever. And probably 95% of the rest of the world.
“I explore form and composition…” Just stop right there. Every painting has forms, shapes, lines in it.
I could go on, but it drives me nuts. These are just a few sentences that most artists believe makes them “unique”. But they’re just the opposite. They sound like every other artist on the planet. Case in point: I could say this about my art, and I’m willing to bet that my work looks nothing like yours.
When artists list the “famous artists” they’ve studied with, I want to pull my hair. All it means is, you had enough money to pay their fees. I get that really popular famous artists can be very selective about who gets into their classes. But I also know that a “famous artist” in one part of the world may be totally unknown in another part. When I moved to California in 2014, I knew only two artists in Sonoma County. Actually, in all of California. And neither of them are painters. (Okay, Jane Garabaldi and Marge Margulies, and only because we were all in the same gallery in New England.) (And yes, they are both stellar at their work!)
An artist statement is not the place to brag about your art degrees, your reputation, to explain your how-to process in-depth.
It’s about sharing something about you, and your work, that will make your visitors want to go back and look at your artwork again.
JoAnne Russo, a highly-acclaimed Vermont basketmaker, was the first person to share this insight with me. I was already doing that, but this made it clear why we cannot afford to muck up this important piece of paper. Because even if our work doesn’t blow them away, our artist statement can.
Here’s my best example: At an art exhibit years ago, I saw what I thought was an awful work of art. Crumpled foil, squished fabric. WTF?? I thought.
Then I read their artist statement, and I almost cried.
It was made by a woman who had been a talented painter for most of her life. Now, in her final years, she had lost her sight and could no longer paint.
But in her heart, she still wanted to “make”. She still wanted to share the things that fascinated her. She was still an artist, even though vast changes had to be made in how she created it.
So she worked with interesting bits of materials with great texture, arranging them in ways that literally and figuratively “felt right”, and urged people to touch them.
OMG. OMG. She wanted to still have her voice in the world. And even going blind was not going to stop her.
Yes. I went back and looked at her work again.
Instead of seeing someone who had no idea how to make “real art”, I saw someone with so much courage, so strong in their heart, that even losing their superpower–a great painter–shewhat believed she still had something to share with the world.
My next example was an artist statement I wrote for a woodworker the year before we moved to California. Here’s my rant about that experience.
The part I wrote that they didn’t value?
Like people, trees respond to what happens to hem. What they live through creates their character. Sunlight and soil, ice and wind…all these things leave their unique mark on the inside. I work wood’s diverse color, grain, and texture, patiently and meticulously, to real the “inside story”. And like people, the story hidden beneath the bark is beautiful, unique, and forever astonishing.
In fact, just read that article if you’re short on time and don’t have the bandwidth right now to go deeper. (And to be fair, that person did include that part in their statement. I didn’t know until a few years later, when their work was featured in a magazine.
Yes, your process is important. But keep it simple.
Yes, your education helped you get to where you are today. I get it.
Yes, art degrees mean you were serious about your work from an early age. Good on you! But not all of us had that privilege or option.
The most powerful story we can tell about our work is why it matters. To US.
It could have been a life-long passion, or it could have been a treasure we buried out of perceived necessity. Until we realized how vital it was to our soul.
Be willing to go deep, to share who you really are, and how your art helped you discover what really matters to you.
Trust me. And trust yourself: If you’re doing it right, they will want to see more of your artwork, your studio, and you.
Questions? Comments? Bring ’em on! I’ll do my best to answer them.
(No snark, please. Feel free to gritch on your own platform, okay?)
Luann Udell 