Working in Series

Whenever I teach a photography workshop to more advanced students, I encourage them to work in series -- to create works with a common theme or subject matter.

Most think this is easy and silly. So what? Who wants to see 12 pictures of the same thing?

Then I tell them: write out your ideas and research your themes before your shoot.

"Sacred Movement #3," ©2011 Jeane Vogel Studios

What? We're photographers, they yell! We shoot what we see.

Ugh. What's wrong with this picture (pun intended!)? What's wrong is that the photographer is passive if she's only shooting what she sees or finds interesting. That's one of the reasons that some people don't see photography as "art" -- and are not shy about telling me so!

BE ACTIVE in your art. There are lots of ways to elevate a "snapshot" to the realm of art. One way is INTENTION.

Photography is communication, like any other art form. The artist has something to SAY. Before saying it, she needs to know what it is she wants to impart. That takes thought, time, research and lots and lots of work.

Whether the message is obvious and simple, or conceptual and complex, the best work in series will be thoughtful.

Last Friday, my newest work "Sacred Movement" was unveiled at Third Degree Glass Factory in St. Louis. It started about 10 months ago with a conversation. One of the owners of a belly-dance school and professional troupe approached me about working together to get images of the women dancing. I could use them anyway I wanted and I agreed to do some publicity stills for them. Win-win. I had no previous interest in belly dancing, other than it was beautiful and fun.

I started my research. I played with ideas in my head.

"Sacred Movement #9," ©2011 Jeane Vogel Studios

Within months, about the time we scheduled the shoot, some ideas had formed. The research jelled.

Belly dancing is a woman's dance for women. It's not supposed to be sexual. It's not supposed to be for men! It's for women. It's also mystical and holy. It reveals and conceals. There are layers and layers and layers of meaning.

There was my concept! I wanted to reclaim this dance for women. While I rarely use a lot of digital work, "Sacred Movement" needed layers and layers of textures and colors, which I could do with digital painting. The result is an evolving work I'm delighted with.

Not everyone gets it. Some just see pictures of women dancing. That's ok. I hope they see GOOD pictures of women dancing.

Those who do "get it" rewarded me with interpretations that added to my original concept and enhanced the series with satisfaction that comes from the sharing of ideas.

Artist statement:

SACRED MOVEMENT
A Tribute to Women, Dance and the Feminine Divine


Like a curtain being pulled aside, revealing another world. That’s how Jeane Vogel’s work has been described.

In Sacred Movement, Jeane reveals the feminine divine through the fluid grace of the dancer -- specifically the belly dancer.

A uniquely feminine dance, belly dancing has been sexualized by the West. Originally, it was a tribute to the Goddess -- a prayer, a gratitude, a celebration.

In Sacred Movement, Jeane reclaims the intent of the dance and rededicates it to feminine divinity. These photographic images have been digitally painted to create layers and layers of texture and color, unveiling the secrets of the dance. The hand-deckled edges are suggestive of frayed fabric, fringes and baubles. The artist’s intent is to create images that are simultaneously light and complicated, intense and accessible, layered and simple. She invites you to approach the art as you would a relationship. How does it make you feel? Does it evoke a memory? An emotion? A call to action?

Many thanks to the professional dancers and advanced students of Aalim Dance for being partners in creation of this evolving work.

Unexpected Lesson

When I teach, I never know what the lesson will truly be.

That's the gift teachers are given, I think. We plan, but the lesson might be something far more profound.

Last week I was in Atlanta as Artist in Residence for a national mental health organization. I teach on the Youth Track, 13-25 year olds. I'm there, techically, to teach a photography workshop, but it's really a three-part session on self-expression. The work produced each year knocks my socks off.

The first session is shooting. We find an area near the hotel that will provide the richest amount of content for the photographers. This time it was Centennial Olympic Park. Coming back from the park, I was in the rear of the 21-person group walking with a straggler. As we neared the hotel, we saw a loud, energetic picket line of workers protesting low wages.

"This is my first protest!" The student, a high school junior from Montgomery, AL, was beside herself with excitement. She ran to document it with the few shots left on her camera.

Flushed and animated, she returned. "Do protests work?"

"Sure," I said. "Peaceful, powerful protests work all the time. The ones that work are the ones that have clear goals."

"Huh?" She had no idea what I was talking about. I tried to make it more personal.

"Do we have Jim Crow laws anymore?" I asked. I thought a light bulb of instant understanding would go off in the head of this African-American girl from Montgomery. The civil rights movement was seminal to forming everything that I am as a person, as an artist, as a political being. It's a touchpoint. Sometimes I forget that not everyone thinks the way I do and that it was 50 years ago. Those events are history to this child. Ugly history. Maybe even boring history.

"Jim Crow? What are those? I don't remember."

Really? A girl from Montogermy, AL, didn't know what Jim Crow laws were? I couldn't decide if that was great or tragic.

I tried again: "Are there separate water fountains for blacks and whites anymore? Can you and I go to the hotel restaurant and have a meal together?"

She was starting to understand.

"Protests work," I said. "You are growing up in a different world than I did because of peaceful protests."

I got a look of "wow." We spent the next 10 minutes talking about the power of peaceful protests. We talked about the Montgomery Bus Boycott, the Freedom Riders who came from all over the country to protest Jim Crow, Dr. King, the sanitation worker's strike that cost Dr. King his life. We talked about what she might want to change in her life.

That a peaceful group can band together and work tirelessly to change a wrong turned out to be the lesson of day. For one girl. From one teacher.

Art Saves Lives.

Using Art to Change the World

Is there a more versatile method of communication than art?

Art can tell a story, retrieve a memory, provoke an argument, inspire a movement.

Art saves lives. Art can change the world.


My dear friend and conception artist/sculptor Ilene Berman likes to say, "If art doesn't change the world, what's the point?" Indeed. Her project, NODhouse, is calling attention to inequities in art allocation resources in an area that is deemed "undesirable." Ilene's art will change this part of the world.

Dare to Touch the Face of God is another of those projects. It's my most ambitious project and, frankly, I need your help.

DTFG (it's too long to spell it out all the time!) is my response to the vitriol, hatred and fear mongering that seems to ramp up everyday because it's easy to victimize and demonize people we don't know or understand.

For a thousand years in Europe, if something went wrong, you could be sure it was the Jews' fault, or the Gypsy's. We know how that ended.

Today, it's the Muslim's fault. Yes. It's the same song. It's the same root cause. It's the same fear.

It has to stop.

But it's not just Islam that is feared and misunderstood. We don't really talk about religion. It's not polite. We don't know much about other people's faiths. We don't understand. Our prejudices are under the table.

Polygamists are creepy pedophiles. Catholics want a lot children and do whatever they're told by the Pope. Buddhists are godless. Pagans eat babies. Jews are rich and controlling. Amish are backward but quaint. Atheists are communists.

Muslims are terrorists.

Don't tell me you haven't heard this. I know you have. And worse. And we can reject every one of them... and still be afraid. Why? Because it's not the stereotypes that do the most harm. It's our inability to think of members of different religions as people. And then to respond to them that way.

Dare to Touch the Face of God is a project to put a human face on faith. The series is intended to capture to breadth of religious understanding among people, and to further the definition of God. My goal is to put a human face on faith traditions or practices we might not understand or know about. Put a person -- famous or not -- with a practice or an idea. My subjects will be people who are willing to work with me to communicate their faith through a photograph.

Simple. Human. Delicate. True.

The project has been accepted as a Kickstarter project. Kickstarer helps innovative art projects secure funding from ordinary people who want to support the arts.

That's where you come in. Your support of this project is essential to it's success. Thank you!

Have an idea for a subject? I'm looking for your input on that too. Send me a private message or use the comment section to start a conversation. A separate website, DareToTouchTheFaceOfGod.com will be live by Oct 6.

Oh Sure! Anyone Can Do This!

Some art collectors like to denigrate photography.

"Anybody can take a picture," I'm told.

You cannot image how many times I've heard this. It's said to my face because the patron thinks I'm being paid a compliment! It's said as he or she is looking at my Polaroid Paintings, where I use the emulsion as a painting medium. Because I've altered the image by hand, the work has been elevated to the realm of "art." I'm no longer "just" a photographer, but an artist.

"You've almost made art here!" one woman gushed in appreciation. I took a breath. Yeah, I thought. I came THIS close!

Can anyone take a picture? Sure. Can anyone pick up a brush and paint? Sure. Doesn't mean it's going to be art.

It's such a narrow definition -- art. And made more complicated in the field of photography because of the easy availability of cameras. Everyone has one -- or three. Pull out a phone, and pull out a camera. People have stood in my booth at art fairs and scrolled through dozens of "great" pictures they took. They're saying to me: See? I can take good pictures too! We're part of the same club.

Maybe we are. It's a pretty big club and they're lots of room for everyone, but that doesn't mean all the work is the same.

I will agree with the idea that "anyone can make a picture." But that's not the same thing as creating a work of art in the medium of photography.

"Is photography art?" is an argument as old as the medium itself. Every generation takes it up again and makes new rules. In the digital age, there are some who call themselves "purists" who insist that if the image is not captured on film and developed in the darkroom, then it's not "real" fine art photography.

Oh, feh! I've seen plenty of crappy work come out of the darkroom. Honestly, if you want to be a "purist," then coat your own glass plates and make images on those. If not, then shut up with the arrogance.

It's not the tool or the substrate that makes the art (though please don't take iPhone pictures and call them art. I know -- that's my arrogance -- but please!!!!) Then what is it?

It's the ability to take a great photograph... and then do it again.

It's the courage to try something new, and learn from it.

It's the thoughtfulness to create an image in your imagination, then transfer that image to film or paper or sensor.

It's the knowledge of how to transfer your ideas to paper or film, without guessing or hoping for the best, but knowing.

It's the deliberate and purposeful communication of an idea or a feeling or a mood with an image ... without adding anything words or explanations.

It's the commitment to create a body of work, in your vision, that is recognizable as yours.

It's the confidence to let your work speak for itself, and allow the viewer to add his or her own interpretation.

Art takes time. Art takes thought. Art takes labor.

There's a reason it's call a work of art.

Arcadian Dreams #12, Infrared photograph ©2010 Jeane Vogel. All rights reserved.

If They Gave Awards for Art Fairs...

If they gave awards for art fairs, then Marion Art Festival and Deb Bailey would win one.

What are we waiting for? Let's create one. Let's call it the Nancy Saturn Memorial Award and give it those art fair directors who care about artists only more than than care about art. We'll give it to directors who want to bring the best art to their community, who treat the artists with respect, who want more than to line their pockets... well, you get the idea.

I should back up a bit. Who was Nancy Saturn and why name an award after her?

Nancy was the owner of the American Artisan Gallery in Nashville. She died in March 2010 of breast cancer -- a cancer she thought she beat years ago.

Nancy and her husband Alan were well known as philanthropists and lovers of art and fine craft -- and artists and fine crafters -- far beyond their Nashville home. For the last 40 years, Nancy and her team hosted the American Artisan Fair in Nashville's Centennial Park on Father's Day weekend. An artist could apply to be in the show, but Nancy hand picked and invited the artists.

Once at the show, the artist was Nancy's guest. She visited each of the 200 or so artists during the 3-day show. On the first night of the show, she opened her home to the artists for a feast worthy of a wedding. She told us what she liked. She told us what to work on. She was generally right.

More than that, Nancy cared about the quality of the show, the quality of the work and the needs of the artist. She fed us, she encouraged us, she nurtured new artists, she commiserated with the old artists.

She knew the power of art. The show has donated more than $1 million to Gilda's Club of Nashville, to support people with cancer. Most of us donated work to be auctioned off for Gilda's Club to supplement the fair's contributions.

Nancy's daughter, Samantha, and her team continue the tradition. This year's fair, June 18-20, will be especially poignant. Nancy is gone. Alan died a few weeks before last year's fair. And Nashville has been devastated by spring floods. We miss Nancy and Alan and wish only the best for Nashville families who are recovering. We will come to Nashville and hope our art will hasten the healing.

So why give this award to Deb Bailey?

Deb, with her team, runs the Marion Art Fest, in Marion IA. It's a small town near Cedar Rapids. It's a gem of a show and Deb pulls together 50 artists from all over the country to share with her fellow Iowans.

Now don't be confused. Iowa is a not back-water flyover state, contrary to the opinion of some jaded city folk. It is a stated filled with some of the most educated and sophisticated art-lovers in the US. They know art, they like art, they buy art. And they count on Deb to bring the best and most varied work to their town. And she does.

But more, she cares about the artists. Her emails are personal and fun. Her directions are clear and specific. Her rules are minimal but intended to put on the best show possible and annoy the artists the least.

She markets the show. She brings in the right patrons. She feds us dinner and hands us a glass of wine. She makes artists feel valued and welcomed. Trust me, we don't get that very much.

Congratulations, Deb. The first Nancy Saturn Memorial Award for Excellence in Art Fair Management goes to you. And thank you for setting the bar so high for all of us.

Artwork pictured: Last Stroll, ©2010 Jeane Vogel, Polaroid Painting.

What If My Work is Boring?

I had two fears heading to a recent trip to Costa Rica. One, was a fear of heights. I'll write about that later.

The second was that the work I would do there would be boring.

I traveled as a chaperon on an 8th grade Spanish class trip. I wanted to travel with my daughter (nine days, no fighting, personal record), brush up my Spanish a bit and, of course, shoot. A photographer always shoots.

But there was a nagging worry: what if I came back with dull, lifeless work? I was on a tour and not in control of my schedule. I had to shoot when I could, not hold up the group, and still find time to be inspired and thoughtful. What if my work looked like everybody else's - the same old shots of a Latin America country?

I had three goals:

1. Make some Infrared images, which are difficult under the best circumstances. Infrared requires a tripod, long exposures and often many, many shots to get it right. I didn't have much time.

2. Capture images that would stand alone as fine art, and some that I could copy onto Polaroid film back in the studio.
3. Take typical touristy pictures for fun.

I knew I could make the images, but how could I make them uniquely mine? I think every artist goes into new projects with deafening self-doubt. What if all that other work is a fluke? What if I have to be in my "safety zone" to make art? What if I'm a fraud?

These worries are the curse of the artist who tries to put meaning and soul into every piece. The artist who makes "pretty pictures" has not a care in the world. He already knows what he's going to do. He's done it thousands of times before.

Three days into the trip I knew what I wanted to capture. There's a saying in Costa Rica that means "no worries." You hear it everywhere. Pura vida. The bus is broken down. Pura vida. We'll get it fixed. It's raining. Pura vida. But's not cold. The ice cream has melted. Pura vida. Now it's like a shake.

Pura vida. Literally, it means "pure life." That simple idea dismissed the fear of coming home with boring work. How could it be boring? I put my soul into it. Pura vida.

New work pictured:
Pura Vida #6, Infrared Photograph, ©2010 Jeane Vogel
Bailarina #1 (Little Dancer), Polaroid Painting, ©2010 Jeane Vogel

Art is Great, But Is it a Profession?

I was supposed to be something important when I grew up... a constitutional lawyer, actually. That was my dad's plan for me. He starting educating me and grooming me for a career as a civil rights defender when I was about 10.

That's also about the time I drew the little mouse that I found on the ad on the back of a matchbook and sent it in to the correspondence art school.

Whoa! You should have heard the yelling when my dad was called by the school and asked to pay for the art lessons I had "qualified" for.

Art is great, but it's not a profession.

I didn't go to law school (was two weeks away when I came to my senses and just couldn't go). I never gave up art, but it took me many, many years to become a full-time studio artist.

Art is great, but it's not a profession. Or it's a profession for somebody else. Somebody with money ... or access to it. Lots of it.

Why is this still haunting me? Why does it permeate a lot of our thinking?

Why? Because we don't really value art in our culture. We certainly don't value artists.

A couple of weeks ago I was at a party talking to someone I didn't know. The room was filled with people who had committed their lives to improving the world. Some are nationally known for the causes they have championed.

This stranger turned to me: What do you do, she asked.

I felt myself getting sheepish. That's a new experience for me. But still, I was a little embarrassed.

I'm an artist.

Really? She was impressed and wanted to hear about all it.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm proud of my work, but at that moment, I felt intimidated by the power in the room. Lots of those people I knew well and they don't think I'm an idiot or unimportant. At least they don't say that to my face. Many of them collect my work.

So why did I react that way?

Because in a dozen ways, every day, we get this message: Art is frivolous. Art is a hobby. Art is not important. Art is not a profession.

Don't believe me? How much education funding has been cut from art departments in the last 30 years? How many schools have art education (or music or acting) as part of the core curriculum? Any? How many parents want their children to grow up to be artists?

Well, art is important, art is a profession, art is not frivolous. I can't do anything about art education and I can't change people's attitudes, but I can make art.

I can make art with an intention to keep it meaningful, expressive and thoughtful. I can strive for excellence in craftsmanship. I can be willing to talk about the inspiration behind the work.

Art is important. Artists are important. As a culture, let's try to value both.

Savannah Breeze, Polaroid Painting, ©2010 Jeane Vogel

Screw Up Your Courage & Get Your Work Out There

Superior View, Hand-altered Polaroid Photograph, ©2009 Jeane Vogel

Working artists, inspired artists, hungry artists produce a lot of work. Some of it is wonderful. Some of it is not.

How do we tell the difference?

I use a time-honored technique. I ask my husband, of course, and my daughter. They love everything. Even if they don't, they tell me they do. My ego gets stroked.

Sadly, that's where lots of artists stop. Amateur artists, even professionals, don't ask for real critiques. Maybe they don't want to know. Maybe they know and don't want to face it. Maybe they don't want to do the work to get better.

Maybe they are just afraid.

Submitting work to be judged against the work of others is a frightening prospect. The fear of rejection is a poison dart to creativity.

And the fear of rejection can be boiled down to one simple component: you don't like me! That's what we do to ourselves. Our work reflects ourselves. If you don't like my work, you must not like me. I'm worthless. I'm stupid. I'm bad.

Oh good grief! No wonder therapists have such full schedules.

SNAP OUT OF IT! It's not personal.

It's the work, not the person, that is liked or not. And art is subjective. The same work can receive multiple rejections and acceptances in the course of a year or two.

And when you think about it, it's not the rejection that's so difficult, but the fear of it. The thought that we MIGHT fail that stops us from submitting work to a juried exhibition or seeking out a new gallery.

What's the cure? It's simple. Just do it. Gather your best work, write the check and submit to a juried show. Do it again. And again. And again.

Talent, vision, execution -- these are all vital parts of being an artist. But they are worthless if you don't exhibit your work. And, unless you own your own gallery, you cannot exhibit your work without submitting it to the judgment of others. Art isn't a pretty picture -- it's communication. It has to been seen. It has to be discussed. It has to be examined.

Will you get rejected? I can almost guarantee it.

Will you get accepted? If it's good enough, yes.

Will you learn from the experience? If you're brave enough, you will.

Art Saves Lives -- Again

I was in my 20s when I was thunderstruck with the idea that art saves lives.

It's not an original idea. It predates writing; probably predates languages. It's uniquely human.

And being uniquely human, art has an impact on every part of our lives. Every minute. Art saves lives.

I'm not talking about art therapy, which is important. I'm talking about ART. Creation. Imagination. Using materials at hand to communicate an idea so complex or personal or elegant, that common speech will fail.

This week I was privileged to be Artist-in-Residence at the national conference of the National Federation of Families for Children's Mental Health in Washington. I led a photo workshop for the Youth Track, teens and young adults who attended with their parents or alone. They are advocates for proper education and treatment for young people with mental illness. They work every day to remove the stigma of mental illness.

My job is simple. I introduce the materials. I suggest some techniques. I encourage them to think deeply about what they want to say in their finished piece. We have one day.

It's during the shooting phase of the workshop that I get to know them a bit. If the group isn't too big, I can work one-on-one, helping each get the kind of images they want. After the film is developed, the real creativity begins. The materials are basic: glue sticks, scissors, mat board, colored paper, tissue paper, whatever is at hand. They get one instruction: create your story.

Every time I do this workshop, I am blown away by the results. Without limitations, each artist creates something spectacular! I watched commentaries emerge: peace, how teens seem to have no control of their lives, living in shadows, dreaming of freedom. One artist used the actual film negatives to frame his work. It hurt me, an old film photographer, to see negatives damaged, but I got over it as I watched the power of the piece emerge.

We installed the work in a public place at the conference the next day. It would have taken me 5 minutes and no drama to install the work alone. I asked the group to do it instead. It took an hour. There was drama. The final installation, like many installations, was a work of art in itself. It was far better than I would have done.

Art saves lives. For this group, art inspires lives too.

Cleansing My Palate

At least once a day, someone comes into my studio/gallery at Crestwood Court and marvels: "ALL this work is yours? You did all this?"

Well..., yes. But I didn't do it yesterday. I agree it's varied: hand-altered Polaroid photos, Infrared photos, mixed media pastel paintings, everday ceramics, silver jewelry, and most recently, votive candle scupltures from hand-made paper.

The work in my studio represents years of work. I work everyday. EVERYDAY. Hundreds of thousands of hours of work. The good art goes in the gallery or an art fair or, I hope, someone's home or office.

The bad work goes in the trash. My critics may disagree, but I am ruthless in examining my work. I toss a lot. A lot. One day, I'm worried someone will find the cache of rejects and marvel with distain: "YOU did all this?" Yuck. My reputation will be ruined!

I think one of the things that people are surprised about is the variety of work in the gallery. Many artists have one style, one body of work. They are known for it. That's what they do. It's successful. They stay the course.

I have a couple of bodies of work that I'm known for -- mostly notably hand-altered Polaroid photographs. I love that body of work. It continues to evolve and grow. As long as I can find film, I will work with medium.

Sometimes I have to break out of it, though. Ten years ago, frustrated that I couldn't thrown a clay pot, I took up ceramics. I love the mud. I'm not great, but it's a medium I can use when I need it. I've been heard to say that as a potter, I'm a very good photographer! But my berry bowls and ikaebonas are very popular and I'll be putting new items in the gallery this fall.

I'm working on a special new project that demanded hand-made paper. Sure, I could buy it, but it's so much more special if the papermaking is part of the completed piece of art. Most recently, I've picked up silversmithing. I'll make jewelry, sure, if just to feed my own habit. But I want to incorporate silver into mixed media pieces. So I have to learn it.

Most of us artists have visions far beyond our abilities or talent. If we're brave, we will try to give those visions life. The more and varied skills the artist has, the greater the chances that the vision will materialize in a vibrant piece of work.

Sometimes working with a different medium -- making paper or throwing a pot instead of making photographs, for example -- is like eating a light sherbet between two dinner courses with strong flavors. It's like cleansing the palate. Creating a different art form is a way of clearing out the creative dust and making room for new ideas.

Working with more than one medium broadens my artistic vision and keeps work fresh and exciting. That means constant learning and experimenting too.

So yes, all this work is mine. It's okay for an artist to do more than one thing, isn't it? It's okay for ALL of us to be more than one thing.