When Technique Becomes Gimmick

I think we all enjoy discovering new techniques, and when we find one that yields great results we love to use it again and again. It's especially easy to do with watercolors because that adaptive medium lends itself to so many innovative paint applications. Personally, I'm in love with the palette knife--I can find so many ways to use it to add texture to my oil paint.

Awhile back, though, someone said that my reliance on palette knife work had reached the point of being a gimmick. What?! Me?! Gimmicky?! I was mortified to think that my work was becoming cliche. I immediately stopped using the tool I loved, and pushed myself to explore other techniques.

Recently, however, I picked up my beloved palette knife once again, only with a new depth of meaning. Without going into a lot of detail, I feel that this tool and the ways I'm using it actually contribute to the content and message of my paintings. The technique has purpose beyond making the surface look more interesting. And that, I've decided, is what will keep any technique from becoming a gimmick.

To Life, To Life, L'Chaim

Artists are natural-born observers, and from our observations we make art. But that doesn't mean we can sit on the sidelines, only observing. We have to immerse ourselves, dive in, get dirty, wade through all life's many complications to make truly great art. Barbara Kingsolver says it best in her new novel The Lacuna when she has Frida Kahlo say these words: "[An artist] needs to go rub his soul against life." 

All that life has brought me I'm thankful for. I've rubbed my soul against it, and I'm ready to make some art. You?

Words to Ponder

I just wanted to check in with everyone and say hi! Still working on setting up the new apartment and studio. I'm going to need better lighting. Any ideas? And before I go, here's a good quote to consider:

A sincere artist is not one who makes a faithful attempt to put on to canvas what is in front of him, but one who tries to create something which is, in itself, a living thing.

--William Dobell

On the Move

In case you're wondering why I haven't blogged in awhile, I've been busy moving to a new apartment. Now, my friend Rosemary says that moving is one of Dante's levels of hell, but I'm actually enjoying it. This move, like everything else this year, is proving to be wonderfully cathartic.

I actually started preparing about two months ago. With past moves, I've usually waited til the last minute and then had full-blown emotional meltdowns from the stress so I was determined to do things differently this time. So after finding my new digs, I started collecting boxes and packing up things. When I got down to it, I realized I could pack at least half the stuff in my apartment because I could easily live without it. That gave me pause. If I can live without something for two months, why do I need it at all?

Then came last Saturday, when the movers discovered that yet another slew of boxes (containing stuff I just had to keep in the last move but that I've been living without for the last three years) came out of the storage unit in the basement crawling with mold. Several of the boxes went straight to the trash, and you know what? It turns out that I didn't need that stuff either.

So now I'm sitting in my new living room, barely able to get to the computer desk with all the piles of stuff surrounding me, and I can't wait to open every single box. I'm looking forward to pulling it all out and going through it and sending a good chunk of this stuff on to new lives with friends or strangers or maybe the nearest recycling center or dump. Because I have a new lease on life this year, and it's given me a powerfully new way to look at everything in my life, be it stuff or thoughts or beliefs.

This year I have learned to ask, Is this serving me well? And if not, why am I hanging on to it? And if I'm not ready to let go of it right this minute but I know I should, what do I need to do to prepare myself to let go? It's so easy to go from day to day, not really examining what's stuffed inside our closets, our drawers, our minds, and our hearts. It's so easy to walk the same steps we've always walked before without ever asking if there's a better route. But this year I was forced to stop that, I've been forced to look and listen and change and let go. And I'm so much better for it. I'll be even better for letting go of a lot of this stuff.

When you free up space, there is room for better ways, healthier thoughts, more creativity. I'm clearing a dance floor in my home and within myself, and baby, I'm ready to dance.

Further Thoughts on Rejection

My friend Ruth, a writer, and I often have conversations about our two favorite art forms, writing and painting. We often marvel at the overlaps and similarities... until today. In response to my blog post on rejection yesterday, she commented that this is one place where artists and writers differ a lot. She went on to explain that writers expect rejection. In fact, they welcome it and wear it as their badge of honor. After all, Ruth reminded me, all of the best and most famous writers were repeatedly rejected. Then she added that she looks upon her rejection letters--yes, she's had a few--as her "Certificates of Participation." In the words of Woody Allen, she said, "Ninety percent of life is just showing up." A rejection letter means she showed up. It means she took the courageous step of putting her very personal work out there, and whether it's well received or not, at least she knows she's done something most people never have the guts to do. That's so cool. We artists could take some lessons from those writer types.

Thoughts on Rejection

Why do we always take rejection so personally?! We all do it. We automatically assume that if we didn't get the gallery/show/grant/press coverage/whatever that we applied for, it must mean our work is bad. And since our work is a direct reflection of who we are as people, that must mean we're unlikeable or undesirable or whatever. That makes it nearly impossible to not take it personally. Right?

Not true, people!! Having been the rejector quite often, I can tell you from honest experience, it's not true! Let's consider some possible scenarios.

Galleries. First, you have to understand how galleries work. Every single gallery out there has a well-defined group of people--called their target market--who they have nurtured as their customer base. The gallery director knows what those customers want and how much they'll pay for it. He or she is looking for artists whose work will appeal to that target market and bring them into the gallery and inspire them to buy. So among the many possible reasons a gallery director might reject an artist is because a) the artist's work is too different from what is in the gallery and won't appeal to the pre-defined target market (and widening the range of offerings will require too much of an investment of time and money to attract a broader audience), b) the artist's work is too similar to another artist already selling well in the gallery, c) the artist's work is at the wrong price level (either too high or too low) for the target market, or d) the gallery is representing the maximum number of artists they can comfortably handle. Notice how none of these reasons have anything to do with the quality of the artist's work.

Competitions. When a juror selects entries for a competition, he or she is usually curating a show, which means choosing a collective body of work that will look good together. So once the juror has picked out all the best pieces, he or she then has to look at them as a whole. There might be too many landscapes or too many figurative pieces, so good pieces are rejected to strike a better balance. Ditto for styles. Or maybe a really good piece just doesn't fit well with the rest. Or maybe there was a theme for the show, and a really good piece doesn't fit the theme. Notice how none of these reasons have anything to do with the quality of the artist's work.

Magazines and other press coverage. An art magazine editor goes through the exact same curatorial process when selecting artists to feature in future issues, with the extra consideration of what has recently been featured. An editor wants to offer variety, not near repeats. And of course, a major reason editors and producers of all types will reject a proposal is that the artist didn't offer a compelling "hook" or angle for the text part of the article. Notice how none of these reasons have anything to do with the quality of the artist's work.

My friends, in our fast-paced universe, no one is going to take the time to write a personalized note explaining why they rejected you from something. So you'll rarely--if ever--know why you've been rejected. But with so many possibilities, why assume it means your work is bad? Have faith in yourself, keep striving to be the best you can be, and always put your best work out there. 

Why Self-Promotion Is Not An Imposition

This past weekend, I spent a lot of time with some artists talking about marketing, especially about the feelings and emotions involved in self-promotion. A few artists expressed concern about overdoing it, which is normal since nobody ever wants to come across as too pushy or arrogant. But one woman even mentioned that she feels like she’s imposing on people when she contacts them to request things like press coverage or gallery representation. While I respect her viewpoint, I encouraged her to look at self-promotion another way: Done right, we’re actually doing editors and gallery directors a service by letting them know we’re available.

Let’s look at things from their point of view:

Newspaper, magazine, and website editors, as well as TV and radio producers, have to find good stories to publish. Finding stories that will engage an audience is hard work. So imagine how happy and appreciative they will be when you send them a proposal about a compelling story – your story – that meets their needs! Your local news media editors will love it when you contact them and say, “I’m a local artist who is doing something really interesting in our community.” Likewise, how-to art magazine editors love it when you contact them and say, “I can write a feature that will teach your readers an exciting new technique I’ve developed.” When you present an editor with a specific, useful idea that will truly be of interest to their audience, you are doing them a favor and saving them a lot of work.

The same is true of gallery directors. They are always looking for new artists whose work they can sell because it will appeal to their existing customer base and attract new customers with similar tastes and interests. So, if you’ve done your homework and think that your work will complement the work already being sold in a specific gallery, you should contact them. A gallery director will be thrilled to meet an artist who is a good fit for the gallery and its customers.

By now, however, you’ve probably deduced that the secret to success is to present the right proposals to the right people. It’s not enough to simply contact every editor and producer with a general request to be featured. You need to see a connection between your story and their audience, and then help the editor or producer see that connection. Similarly, you should not contact every single gallery around, nor should you contact a gallery just because it’s successful and well-known. Be selective and contact only those galleries that are selling work similar to yours in a comparable price range. Then, in your cover letter, explain specifically why your work would be a good fit for that gallery.

In short, you’re not imposing yourself on people when you contact them with professional proposals because they always have the right to say no. Rather, if you’re giving them something they need to accomplish their business goals, you’re doing them a service. Everyone wins.