No Shortcuts to the Artist's Life

George Clooney is coming to town. More than 4000 people filled the shopping-mall-turned-art community this weekend, hoping to be cast as one of the extras in his new movie, to be filmed in St. Louis. My studio is in the old mall, and I got to watch the spectacle.

Since the casting call would bring so many people to this new art space, we were asked to have our studios open. I complied. And spent the day bursting dreams.

Well, I probably didn't, but that's what it felt like.

First, let me say that I am a believer in sharing information and encouraging people. There are so many people who helped me -- are STILL helping me -- and I want to return the favor.

What I cannot do is give someone a short cut. Sometimes folks don't want to hear the truth.

There were no fewer than two dozen young people -- under 30 -- who walked into my studio on Saturday and wanted a job, wanted an intership, wanted to know the secret of success, wanted to know why they couldn't sell their art, wanted to know --- well, you get the idea.

Don't be mistaken -- I'm not a art guru and I certainly don't look like I know the secrets of life. I was just there -- and apparently approachable. I was certainly happy to stop what I was doing to talk to them.

I was shocked by a number of things:

• Not one of these people was prepared with any information about themselves. A couple seemed put off when I suggested that they email me their resume and samples of their work.
  
• There was a lot of negativity in their attitudes: it's hard to break in, I don't have any money, no one will give me a chance. Did they mistake me for their mother or their girlfriend?
• They really didn't want to hear my answers.
• They wanted quick fixes.

I know times are tough. I haven't forgotten that when you're young and starting out, times are always tough. And I might be wrong, but I got the distinct impression that most of these people were used to be given what they wanted... until now.

Here's what I told each one of them:

• There is no quick way to life as an artist. You have to work at it. All the time.
• Get the education you can afford. Learn from everyone. Learn from everything.
  
• Teach what you know.
• Be willing to take chances.
  
• Show only your BEST work.
• Enter your best work in juried exhibits. Find out if you're really as good as you think you are.
• Don't be afraid of competition. There's always somebody who's better than you. Learn from them.
  
• Achieve the excellence you admire.
• You might not be able to have everything right now. There are decisions to make: cable or art supplies?
  
• Don't copy somebody's else's work or style. Find your own vision. Find your own voice.
• Come to grips with the fact that you might have to support yourself with other work while your art evolves.
• Don't assume you the world owes you any recognition. There are LOTS of talented people out there.
  
• Be responsible for your own success.
• Be grateful to people who help you.
• Be generous to people who need your help.
• It's ok to complain and gripe about how hard this is. My friends hear it from me all the time. But stop it there-- with friends. That's what they're for! To the rest of the world, show your confidence, and your willingness to work hard and take risks.
  
• Failure looks like failure. Success looks like success.
  

There are no short cuts to a successful artist's life. There are no short cuts to any successful life.

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!

Redesign!

In August 2001, I opened my first art website. Since then, I've added, subtracted and tried to tweak it.

Mostly I ended up with a mess. I knew I had to start from scratch.

I finished that daunting task this morning. WHOOHOO! Ok, well "finished" is not quite right. There are tons of things I need to change and fix -- not the least of which is adding a real shopping cart. But I'm getting there!

Please click around and tell me what you think. Comments are always welcome! I want the site to be easy and friendly. Tell me if it's not.

Stuff That Art is Made Of

"Maple Leaf," public domain, artist unknown

I found this leaf on my walk yesterday. First fallen leaf of fall.

Taking time to see the remarkable amidst the familiar: This is the stuff that art is made of.

A Different Direction

Summer Storm, image extended onto mat in pastel painting, 11x11 inches,
© 2008 by Jeane Vogel

The biggest complaint heard at art fairs is "there's nothing new. It's all the same old stuff."

Sometimes that's legitimate. There are artists who find a "formula" that works for them and every piece they produce looks the same. There are painters who brag (to other artists -- not to the buying public) that they can paint a 4x6 foot panel in about 2 hours. They paint the same thing over and over. It's production art.

I hate to say this of my colleagues, but there are a handful of photographers who haven't updated their work in years either. It's the same images, over and over and over.

Hey, we all need to make a living, but doesn't that get boring after a while?

We all struggle with keeping our work fresh, vibrant and meaningful -- and attractive to patrons. But we have to experiment, grow and stretch if our work is to have any consequence over a lifetime.

This year, I'm starting down another path: pastel painted mats for my hand-altered Polaroid images. I'm showing these mixed media originals for the first time in Louisville next weekend, April 26-27, at Cherokee Triangle Art Fair.

Unlike my limited editions, there's only one of these. Each is an original pastel painting or drawing. I only have a few right now, so email me at jeane@vogelpix.com if you're interested in reserving one before the show or to see thumbnails of the whole (limited) collection.

Ding!

Cosmos II, (C) 2008 Jeane Vogel

I've been hearing bells lately.

Ding!

That's not Southwest Airlines telling me I'm free to move about the country.

That's the sound of rejection.

Ding!

It's a fact of life of artists -- and most everybody else, I suppose. Rejections happens. What you do with it determines how successful you are and how much character you have.

I must have character in droves these days.

Ding!

All year long I apply to juried exhibits, galleries, residencies, art fairs. I get accepted to quite a few. I have two exhibits hanging right now, one a solo show of selections from the St. Louis and
White series hanging in the Board of Aldermen's meeting room at St. Louis City Hall. Still, like most artists this time of year, I have dozens of applications pending. I'm being quite selective with art fairs this year and have eight excellent shows already booked.

It works like this: I decided to apply for an exhibit or art fair. I select what I think are my best three or four images and send them off, either on slides or digital images. 500 - 2,000 other artists are doing the same thing. For the same show. That has only 100 or so spaces available. There are thousands of us competing for a few dozen spots. Most of us are pretty good. My competition is a little steeper because there are more photographers than other 2D artists. Sometimes there are 50 photography applications for every available spot in an art show. There are hard choices to be made.

Outstanding artists are rejected. Bad ones too. Can't tell the difference from the letter, though!

Ding!

Honestly, I don't get rejections every day, but I got three in a row last week. That pinched. Lots of times I get acceptances.

For three years I've been hearing from patrons and other artists that I should be in the Belleville art fair in May -- Art on the Square. Well, sure I should! So should every other good artist. We all think we should be in the best shows.

Almost since the day it opened six years ago, it has been consistently ranked the best in the country. No kidding. Everybody wants in this show. Lots of people get dinged. From all over the country, the best artists come to display and sell.

Every year I apply and wait for the rejection, all the while hoping that this will be the year.

Oh my gosh! This IS the year! I was so thrilled to get into Belleville. I am psyched! I read the letter three times. Brilliant art connoisseurs, those Belleville jurors!

So.... if I can get into Belleville, maybe I can get into Prairie Village outside of Kansas City.

Ding!

I still had hopes for Clayton -- one of the best in the country. I gripped the Belleville acceptance letter like a talisman.

Ding!

Well surely I can get into Art and Air in Webster Groves. I did that show the first three years. The Belleville letter had been filed away by this time.

Ding!

Acceptance is fleeting and rejection lingers. How much character do I need?

A little more, apparently. The life of an artist is about tenacity, inner vision, confidence and the support of friends and family.

Oh wait. That's everybody's life!

Watching the Death of a Film

Palm, Variation #2, (c) 2008 Jeane Vogel

I spent the weekend in the studio, working on new images. I have exactly 32 fresh pieces of Polaroid film left. 32. From that I might get 10 new images to add to my body of work. Maybe.

I used up 15 pieces this weekend.

The film I use for hand-altered Polaroids, my medium of choice, is SX-70. They stopped making it in December 2005. Like lots of other artists, I started stock-piling. The price soared but I bought as much as I could afford.

Sure some is still available on EBay, but film is finicky. Treat it wrong and it turns on you. The good film I have has been handled right, kept in the fridge until needed. It'll last forever there. I have some other film that has heat damage. I might never be able to use it professionally. I don't trust EBay film at all.

I used to go throught 10-12 pieces to get an image I was happy with and with worth adding to the body of work. Like most artists, I'm very picky and harder on myself than any critic or juror. I see every flaw. I want it to be perfect. Let's shoot it again! It's easy to make a mistake when working in this technique. I'm working directly on the emulsion of the film -- that very thin, delicate, light sensitive layer that makes photography possible. Get distracted for a minute and your image is torn and ruined.

I don't mind when someone looks at the work and casually suggests that I just "smear" and "smoosch" the emulsion to get the look I want, like some kind of primitive finger painting. Many people seem to think that I just spread the emulsion around and see what I get. Instead I try to explain that I use different tools for different effects, and some effects have to be obtained at specific times of the developing process. The process is very controlled and deliberate. I know exactly what effect I will get.

It doesn't matter. Either you like the impact of the image or you don't.

I love it. Sure you can try to get this effect in PhotoShop, but you won't. The film is too organic and subtle. PhotoShop will not get these results.

Besides, the result is only as good as the process. In this case, the process for me is transformative.

Polaroid announced a couple of weeks ago that all of it's film will be discontinued. All the Polaroid alternate process art forms are going away.

I get asked what I will do next? Develop another body of work, of course. The tool might be going away but the vision is still there. Fortunately, that can't be discontinued just yet.

PS. The Palms, Variation #2 is in honor of dear friends Renata and Jerome. These are date palms, and I shot them outside their front door. I've been working on the image for a while now, and finally finished it this weekend. Instead of being in the studio, I was supposed to be at their house in Palm Springs, but ice and snow canceled all flights and made the trip impossible. I also missed seeing equally dear friends Hildy and Dimitri, who were driving up from Tucson just to see me. I miss them all. Next time.

Your Artist Statement is WRONG!

Sand Castle, (c) 2007 by Jeane Vogel, Infrared Photograph

Excuse me?

He repeated it: Your artist statement is wrong!

Wrong? It's an artist statement! It's my interpretation of my own work. It's my opinion! The only way it could be wrong is if I were lying!

No, he said. I disagree with it.

How can you disagree with an artist's statement? But he did. He took issue with my premise: Photography does not capture a moment. Photography captures the essence of the moment.

I have to explain this a lot. Of COURSE it captures the moment, I'm told, with a look that continues: Are you an idiot? Perhaps. But I stick with my statement. A snapshot might capture a moment. A photograph captures far more -- more than we can see, sometimes more than we can feel.

Endings & Beginnings

Yesterday ended my art fair season for 2007. I have to say this was a great year. Thank you to all my collectors!

Each year I wrap up the season at an private indoor show in Webster Groves, MO. Potter Judy Guerrero generously opens her beautiful Webster Groves home and about a dozen artists fill the first floor with pottery, baskets, photography, jewelry and glass. It's the most fun show I do every year.

For the last two years, this show has been part of the 63119 Art! gallery and studio tour, which was put together by two incredibly talented artists, Aimee Smith and Ryan Clyde-Rich. Aimee and Ryan will assume ownership of Krueger Pottery in the spring when artist and owner Dennis Krueger retires.

So as the year winds down, I should have tons of time for new work, right? If only it worked like that!

I have several juried exhibits coming up, including Art St. Louis Exhibition XXIII, which I was very pleased to get into. Lost of artists grumble about not making the cut. It's an honor to have one of the 69 images (of 656 submitted) to be exhibited. Of the five images I submitted, the juror chose my least favorite, but it's growing on me.

"Beach Comber, Variation #2" is part of my new body of work in Infrared. I'm excited about it, but it's challenging to work with. Please watch for more.

I have lots of other announcements, too, starting with a new studio and and a new partnership!

I'm moving my studio to Webster Groves this month. My old studio in Benton Park is great, but for lots of reasons it's not working for me right now. I needed to be closer to home -- and the studio simply cannot be at home! Email me at jeane@vogelpix.com if you want to get in on the studio sale later this month!

And I'm excited to announce that I've partnered with Wombats Resale to bring fine art portraiture to the store a couple days a week. More about that later!

The Critique

Last month I finally got up the nerve to submit my work to a professional art fair juror for a critique. If you've been to art school or a serious art class, you've been through a crit. (No, the local art club doesn't count. They're too nice.)

A crit can be exciting and nerve-wracking. You can walk out of there jubilant or crestfallen. If the crit is bad, you're probably crying -- even if you're a tatooed, 250 lb pipefitter who longs for a solo exhibit of his delicate oil pastels. You're certain you've wasted your life.

If it's good, your head will not fit in the door of the next gallery you present your portfolio to.

For most of us, it's in between. And that's fine -- when you're in school. After you've been doing this professionally for a while, you need the crit to fine tune your work or help you find a new direction -- but basically you want the art professional to tell you that you're wonderful and next month you'll be on the cover of the Times art section. You want reassurance.

Some friends wanted to know why I bothered: I'm getting into good shows, I've been honored with some nice awards -- what more could a crit tell me?

The problem with being an art fair artist is that we get a lot of compliments. "Wonderful work" is the currency most people use to get out of a booth without buying something. They are polite and an art fair booth is an intimate, small space. It would be rude not to say something!

Eventually, we start to believe it, regardless if the work is selling. We might even start to think we're the ONLY artist who hears these remarks.

The crit brings us back to reality.

The good thing about professional crit is that I get to chose my own judge! When else can you do that? I'm paying the judge for the crit (you didn't think it was free, did you?) so I get to choose. My decision was based on thorough research: I read the 200 word blurbs of the choices. Ultimately, I went with the one whose image and credentials were presented in a style that spoke to me. We go through the same process when buying art, so why not when choosing a judge?

Robert Watson is an art professor at Florida Atlantic University and offered me far more advice, feedback and inspiration that I could have imagined. First, he told me what I already knew but refused to accept: jurors hate florals. I have to stop doing them. I know. But they sell! He knows. I have enough of them. His favorite: Ferris Wheel. But he hates the title. In fact, he hates all my titles. I don't blame him.

What really surprised me is after the crit of the Polaroids was over, he went back and looked at all my work and pulled out images to praise that I can't get accepted into exhibits or shows anywhere. He selected images that I love too, but the general public or other art jurors don't.

It was a terrific experience. I learned a lot. I'm energized. I'm thinking and working.

Now, would anyone like to buy some lovely florals?