Film Purists! Feh!

Water Lilies #1, Polaroid Painting, ©2011 Jeane Vogel Studios

Being an art fair artist means that I talk to a lot of people about art. A LOT of people. Literally thousands of people.

Some are knowlegable about art. Most are not. All deserve my attention. I believe we learn from every conversation -- even if I'm annoyed at the time.

A handful just want to impress me with their "superior" knowledge.

Those conversations go something like this:

Man (Sorry, but it's ALAWYS a man): I see you're using film. That's great. I only use film.

Me: Yes, this body of work uses a discontinued Polaroid film. I love the characteristics of the film, but I work in digital too.

Man: Oh, digital isn't real photography. I'm a purist. I only shoot film. Anyone can shoot digital.

Me: A purist? Really? (I'm getting annoyed by this time.) I would think if you're a purist that you would coat your own glass plates and not shoot film. Film is so 20th Century. A PURIST would shoot glass plates.

Man: (reaching for his cell phone) Sorry. I gotta take this.

For years I've been saying, rather sarcastically, that purists would coat their own glass plates. It's the arrogant photographer who thinks that his or her medium is the PURE one and rest of us are lazy hacks. It's the vision --and the ability to communicate that vision -- not the tool, that is important.

Imagine my surprise when I heard Webster Univeristy Photography Professor Extraordinaire and acquaintance Bill Barrett use EXACTLY THOSE SAME WORDS in a discussion about "purists" using the now defunct Kodachrome film during an interview on the local NPR show yesterday.

"Purists would coat their own glass plates," he said.

Now, Bill and I haven't had a chance to spend a lot of time together, and I don't think we're ever heard the other say this line.

My only conclusion: great minds think alike! Thanks for the affirmation, Bill!

And if you're in St. Louis, please go to the May Gallery at Webster to see the Kodachrome exhibit the university put together from the last batch of processed film shot by students and faculty. Buy the book. Support the next generation of artists who dare to work in photography. And support their teachers.

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.

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.

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.

Looking at Old Work with New Eyes

Peace Luck Love #8, Infrared Photograph, ©2008 Jeane Vogel

Peace Luck Love #9, Infrared Photograph, ©2008 Jeane Vogel 

Photographers want instant gratification. Even as we used to toil for hours in a darkroom, we wanted to see our work right away. In the film days, if it took a day or more to process the five rolls of  PlusX we just shot, it was much too long. We ran from the shoot to the darkroom. We wanted it NOW! And that was before the days of 1-hour photo kiosks!

That's probably why Polaroid, then digital, was embraced so quickly. Instant gratification.

Serious photographers shoot hundreds and thousands of images per month. We edit the images we shoot shortly after. We process and print the ones we like. We shoot some more. We move on.

Once in a while, I look back over old images. And every once in a while, looking at the old work with new eyes, I find exceptional work that I rejected. It's as if I've created new images!

In spring 2008, I started working on a series of introspective Infrared photographs I call Peace Luck Love. The Infrared heightens the mood of the work.

Last weekend, I decided to revisit the discarded images and process a few. I found four additional images in that series that once looked ordinary. With a bit of time behind them, the images popped at me.

Instant gratification ... all over again.

You Know What You Should Do.....?

Sunflower II, Mixed Media Painting, ©2009 Jeane Vogel, 16x16

Is there a connection between artists being told what to do and the banality of most art seen in public places in the US? Bear with me here.

The connection might be called Unsolicited Advice.

I seem to get it all the time. Strangers walk into my studio, look around. "You know what you should do..." Then it begins.

A fellow artist walks into my studio. "You know what you should be doing ...?" No, you do that. That suggestion has nothing to do with my work.

I'm not saying that I don't like input and advice. In fact, I often ask for it and get terrific responses. Sometimes I don't like the suggestion, but it might give me pause and force me to understand why I'm not heeding it. (As an aside, if I need my ego fed, I ask advice from my husband. He seems to think everything I do is wonderful. How cool is that?)

What I truly don't understand is why do people insist on telling me what I should be doing. Do I look incompetent? Do I seem confused or aimless? Did I ask for advice? Am I your student?

Unsolicited Advice. It makes you question your judgment, censor your thoughts, keep your work safe.

Or, are you telling me what art to produce because you don't like my work? Don't understand it? It's not what you expect? Ok. Tell me that instead.

A Buddhist friend tells me that I get so much unsolicited advice because I'm always giving it. Well, that should stop, shouldn't it? OK, I'll work on that, but there's something more.

Do we really want all art to look alike? Are we so narrow or limited or lazy or stupid that we have to be spoon fed only paintings of little girls holding a bouquet, or a sailboat on the sea, or a field of sunflowers. I've created art with all these things, but this is all we can do? Can't we create something that forces a viewer to spend more than 5 seconds with it before moving on?

Art should spark a conversation, link to another idea, inspire an action, even just solicit a smile. I'm not saying that every work produced has to be important or controversial or political. Our art should not just fade into the wall.

Take a look around at your bank, your hotel lobby, your dentist's office. Do you notice the art? If not, ask why it's there. I don't think we really want everything the same. We don't want to be told what we should be doing.

Phoning It In

Concentration, from the Game Series, ©2009 Jeane Vogel Photography, Infrared Photograph

Everyone body does it once in a while: phones it in. Creation become mundane. Even work we love can become boring. Maybe I'm feeling sick. Maybe I'm feeling bored. Maybe I'm burnt out. Maybe I'm resentful of the work the client wants.

Maybe I'm just lazy.

I know that sounds harsh, but let's call it what it is. It hits all of us once in a while. We let it slide. It's good enough. We hope it doesn't show.

Of course it shows. All of us are judged by work. Our most recent work. There's truth in the old saying that we're only as good as our last effort. The old stuff might be great, the new stuff is lackluster, but nobody will notice because we're successful or well-known or ... whatever.

I recently read an interview that drove this point home to me. A local reporter, long relieved of duties by layoffs, produced a freelance piece for a small paper. I know this person and the writer is competent. The article I read was not. The questions were common, the writing was lazy. The reporter phoned it in. It was good enough. When I thought about it, I realized that everything I've read by this writer lately has been far below what we used to except. Maybe the writer thought no body will notice.

I think lots of people notice.

As soon as the thought "it's good enough" pops into my head, I know I have to resist the temptation to believe it. As soon as I realized I'm "phoning it in," I know it's time to look at why.

Why is it "just good enough?"

Is the concept not good enough? Start over.

Is the client not paying enough? Learn from that and restructure the pricing -- next time.

Do I think I'm not talented enough to deliver the work I imagined or promised? Try it again. "I can't" generally means "This us too hard. I don't want to try."

Am I bored? Too bad. Do it anyway.

We all can't be the best, but there's no excuse for laziness. There's no excuse for phoning it in.

Game Series

Diversions, (c)2009 Jeane Vogel Photography, Infrared Photograph, from the Game Series

Pamper Me, (c)2009 Jeane Vogel Photography, Hand-altered Polaroid, from the Game Series

Photographers aren't taken seriously as artists by many people.

My work often doesn't look like photography, so patrons confide in me: "I don't really like photography. Any body can take a picture." Sometime they add, trying to be complimentary: "But YOUR work. That's art. You really had to do something."

I don't like pitting my work against other photographers or artists. I'd rather try to broaden the patron's view of art to include traditional photography.

It's true, anyone can take a photo. Seems that everyone does. An artist, though, creates a comprehensive body of work. An artist creates a distinctive style and captures his or her vision on film or sensor. An artist communicates. One or six nice pictures does not an artist make.

That being said, I like to push my medium a bit beyond the obvious. Most people think that photography captures a moment in time. I disagree. A snapshot captures a moment in time. A photograph captures a mood or emotion. It tells a story. It evokes a memory. It provokes a discussion. The moment in time is almost irrelevant.

I am especially fond of photographic processes that expose a part of our world that we cannot see with out eyes. I want to produce work that asks for a relationship -- demands a few minutes of your time and maybe even gives you something new every time you approach it.

My newest work -- the Game Series -- combines both goals. The set-ups take a long time, so I'm shooting each one in hand-altered Polaroid and in infrared. I'm delighted by how different each is, even with the same subject matter.

Does the Games Series demand your time and give you something new? You tell me.

The Muse of Change

01.20.09 -- Let's Get to Work!, © 2009 Jeane Vogel Photography. Hand-altered Polaroid Photography

01/20/09 -- No More Excuses, © 2009 Jeane Vogel Photography. Infrared photograph

In classical Greek mythology, there are nine Muses -- the sisters of creation. 

Artists, especially women artists, are part of the larger sisterhood that is guided by these Muses.

There is no identified Muse of Change or Muse of Hope or Muse of Promise, but those women visited me in the studio. Not surprisingly, they came during the rebroadcast of Martin Luther King's speech at the March on Washington in 1963. I'm old enough to remember it. I'm old enough to believe in it.

I was working on a new series of "game" images. Games are important in our lives. Children learn from playing games. Adults work out frustrations or find new solutions to problems from games.  Like art, games might seem frivolous, but are vitally important to our mental health.

As I was working on setting up the first image I planned, the Muses took over. Just so I could have some control, I decided to shoot in Infrared --spectrum of light the eye cannot see -- and hand-altered Polaroid.

The set-ups are similar, but the messages are different.

The hand-altered Polaroid uses the new film, which has very different qualities from the old but is still wonderful. The color balance is skewed a bit, but I can make it work. The dark lines on the image represent the barriers to success -- we are not naive to the difficulty of what needs to be done. 

The second image is an Infrared photograph. In this image you can see the unplayed tiles. What will happen next? Those tiles are in darkness. We don't know what comes next, but we have hope and power. The edges of the tiles are lighted brightly. There are possibilities here.

We never know when the Muses will visit. All we can do is listen. And respond. And create.

No more excuses. Let's get to work.

It's Baaaaaaack!

Let's Fly Away, © 2008 Jeane Vogel Photography, Hand-altered Polaroid Photograph

Polaroid Film. It's back! 

I don't know for how long and I don't know how good it is, but a company in Austria is making it again for artists. Small batches. Hand crafted. 

Oh, yippee!!!!!

For those who don't know, here's the backstory:

In the late '60s and early '70s, Polaroid made this terrific film, SX-70, for instant cameras. You took a picture and watched it develop. It was all the rage at my boy-girl parties in high school. I understand adults at the time liked it too!

It had a flaw, though. Touch the film too harshly before it hardened -- about two hours -- and you got nasty black marks. It didn't take artists long to figure out that the soft emulsion could create some wonderfully impressionist results.

Polaroid changed the film and got rid of the flaw. We artists begged them to bring back the old version. They did. They they went belly up. Twice.

In December 2005 they stopped production forever, four full months BEFORE they said they would. Last June, all Polaroid film went away.

As my stash of film dwindled, my collectors bemoaned the loss. Surely someone will start making it again, they said. We hoped.

If not, I guess this work will go up in value! We hoped again.

Truly, I wanted the film back. Some artists have tried to reproduce the results in Photoshop, but it's not the same organic, fluid results you get from this film. 

So when the film's return was announced, I ordered some. Got some sepia film in another Polaroid format too. If the film has good qualities, I will produce new work. And start teaching it again. 

Oh, oh, oh -- the possibilities!

Pushed

Autumn Carpet 2008, Digital Photograph, (c) 2008 Jeane Vogel Photography

Lots of serious amateur photographers tell me they would NEVER take pictures for a living because they love photography so much that they don't want to turn it into a job -- into a chore. They pity me for my labors.

I ask: do you love your day job as much as photography? No! They love photography more. It's more gratifying and satisfying. 

I know what they are trying to say: it's a hobby, it's fun, it's a diversion. They don't want to push beyond the fun.

Ok. Although I can't imagine doing work I don't adore, they are right. It is work! Whether I'm shooting a corporate headquarters or a family portrait, it's work. When I'm painting, it's work. Eking out a living as a working photographer and studio artist is a challenge, no doubt. And worth every minute.

The serious amateurs are right about one thing, though: generally I don't shoot for fun. The shooting has a purpose. Whether for art or commerce, it's work! I don't make the time for the fun. Unless I'm pushed.

This weekend I shot for fun. Dear friends Hildy and Dimitri were swinging through town on their three-month tour of the US giving workshops and consultations about how to revive our communities and fix the world. You HAVE to read about them and learn about their amazing work with nonprofits. Both are serious amateur photographers and wanted to get out into the city and shoot.

The day was cold and gray but, hey! Let's go! The first stop was Tower Grove Park in St. Louis, a mid-1800s Victorian park that is too beautiful to describe. The trees were past peak, but I looked down and focused on this green leaf among the red and yellow. Until I processed it, I didn't even SEE the purple one! I didn't enhance this image (except for the painted frame). This is what was there.

I would never have seen it unless I had been pushed.

Exhibition XXIV - Art St. Louis

Windswept #1, (c) 2008 Jeane Vogel Photography, Infrared Photograph, 24x30, $400

Juried into Art St. Louis' Exhibition XXIV, Nov. 3-Dec. 30, 2008

Often an inspiring artist comes into my booth and wants advice about how to get started. I'm happy to share any information I've acquired but most of them really don't want to hear it. 

They want shortcuts.

They're aren't any.

There's one thing I always suggest and not one young artist has thought it's a good idea: submit your work to juried exhibitions. A lot. Find out what's passes the juror's test. Dare to have your work compared to the best artists out there. 

Entering a juried exhibition takes courage. You have no idea what the juror is looking for. You don't how what else has been submitted. You don't know how many works will be submitted and how few can be accepted. 

Exhibitions teaches an artist to develop a self-critical eye. My husband tells me everything I do is great. We all need supportive, encouraging people around us, but they can't tell us if our work is good. Blind jurying can.

Rejection can be the hardest part of the jurying process. Nobody likes to be rejected, but artists don't know if their work has been rejected because the work was bad, that particular juror didn't like it, it didn't fit the juror's vision for the show, it didn't work with the other pieces already selected or there were too many good pieces to fit and choices had to be made.

The rejection is important though. When a piece of mine is rejected from a show, I have to look more critically at the work. Were there flaws that could be corrected? Did I misinterpret the theme?

Of course, acceptance is much better! Fewer than 1 in 10 of the works submitted to the Art St. Louis Exhibition XXIV were accepted. I was delighted that "Windswept, #1" an Infrared photograph, was among the accepted works for ASL major annual exhibit.

Submitting work to juried exhibitions is time-consuming, costly and exhausting. And it's the best way I know to push my work forward.

Routine

"Duck Pond," (c) 2008 Jeane Vogel Photography, Infrared photograph

I think the worst advice I ever got was "Stick to a Routine." 

It goes like this: Develop a good work routine. Make your routine part of your life. You won't have to think about it. Exercise. Be at your desk. Perform your hated tasks first. Take your vitamins. Drink your milk. Read the paper.

Your routine will become so natural that the creativity will just leak out of your ears.

Oh, wait. That last part wasn't supposed to happen. But it does. Every time.

A routine is comfortable. It's dependable. It's mind-numbing.

It will make your my brain stop. Cold. That's the whole point of a routine. Do something often enough, in the same order, over and over. It's a part of you. You don't think about it. You don't THINK!

I'm not saying all routines are bad. It's probably a good idea to set a bill paying routine, for example. But most of the time, a routine will stop me from trying something new. 

A routine starts with: "I will do it this way." It eventually turns into "We've always done it this way." 

See? Creativity leaked right out.

So here's the new advice: at least once a week, try something new or unexpected.

But don't make it routine.

An Opening

Candle Lighting Time, Sandwiched photograph, 30x24, $350, (c) 2008 Jeane Vogel

"Memento Chai," my solo show of Judaica, opened on Saturday night.

A solo show is a gigantic responsibility. When an artist is part of a group show, curators manage everything: art selection, invitations, atmosphere, hanging the show, getting people to the opening, wine and food, labels. Every little detail is managed. The artist just delivers the work and maybe invites collectors and friends. The artist doesn't even think about whether people will come. Of course they will.

Hang the art and people will come.

A solo show rests entirely on one artist and her reputation. Oy! That's a bit of pressure!

Before I could even worry about who would come, I had a thousand details to consider, not the least of which was selecting the art, framing and hanging it. Fortunately I had lots of help. Husband Steve Sorkin managed the PR for me, getting press releases out and making the necessary contacts. Daughter Hannah worked on my mailing list. Friend and artist Ilene Berman listened to my endless, annoying rambles, and gave me advice (which I didn't take, but I appreciated) about the invitation design. She also ran last minute errands for me and offered endless support and encouragements. And thanks to Ilene, we had lovely cups for our wine and didn't have to swig straight from the bottle.

My friend and rabbi, Susan Talve, talked up the exhibit at every opportunity -- and my talent seemed to be more grand with every telling. If your spiritual leader is going to talk about you, it's nice that she exaggerates in the positive! Susan even modeled for one of the images, Hagbah.

Friend and neighbor Arlene Kerman catered the whole event with the most fabulous desserts. HaShemesh, a klezmer band, filled the exhibit with joyful, inspiring music.

And the people came. Art cannot exist in a vacuum. It needs an audience. It needs a relationship.

Thank you to everyone who came! It was an art opening I will not forget!

Solo Show

Aron Kodesh, Digital Photograph, 2008, 29x22, $350

My first solo show of Judaica opens with a reception at my home congregation, Central Reform Congregation in St. Louis, on Saturday, August 16, 7-10 p.m. It will hang until Sept 28. If you are nearby, please come. It's an artist's reception, so of course there's food, wine and music by HaShemesh, a fantastic local klezmer group.

The show contains work that was commissioned for this year's national Art Calendar published by the Women of Reform Judaism. Each year, the WRJ choose one artist to feature, and I was so honored to be selected. Some of the work is on my website now, but most will be added after the show premieres on Saturday. (Don't want to spoil the surprise!)

The show's title, Momento Chai, is a combination of ideas from Jewish tradition and 16th century portraiture.

The 16th century master portraitists spent a lot of time thinking about their relationships to God, and they were a bit fascinated by death -- probably for good reason! Many put a "Momento Mori," or reminder of death, in each of their portraits. It might have been a human skull, a rope or a knife. (Remember this from Art History class?) It was supposed to remind people of their mortality and ultimate obligation to God.

That's a bit of a foreign concept to me, but I like the idea of multi-layered concepts in my work. I combined that notion with the Jewish tradition of Chai -- LIFE (remember Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof? L'Chaim!) Every idea in Jewish tradition is centered on preserving, appreciating and treasuring life.

The result is Momento Chai -- each image in the exhibit will have a reminder of life and the joy of living.

Memento Chai will travel to several area venues this fall and is available after November for installation. (Just email me at jeane@vogelpix.com for details.)