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.

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.

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.

What Kind of Disgusting Person Does This?

It's true: I'm not a great business person. I'm an artist. I don't want to trick or coerce someone into collecting my work or scheduling a wedding. I want my business model to be a partnership, to fulfill a need, to inspire a smile or a thought or a memory.

I try to be a strong businesswoman, but I'm not aggressive or impassive enough. I can't bring my self to justify any action with an "it's just business" attitude. 

Sometimes I wonder where our business ethics have gone. I know most people are honest and hardworking. Some just aren't. Some are willing to toss people aside to get their buck.

When we see a gross violation of human decency in business, what should we do? 

Here's the situation that has me so steamed: A photographer volunteers to be part of a group that offers infant bereavement photography for families. 

I'm a volunteer for this group. We are professional photographers who volunteer to go to hospitals when a baby has died or has been stillborn.  When we get a call, we drop what we're doing and race to the family's side. These may be the only images ever made for these families. The images are retouched and are quite beautiful and moving. We provide prints and CDs and DVD slide shows with music for the families. Each session is emotionally challenging and requires up to 15 hours of shooting, processing, retouching and creating the final presentation. It's a labor of love. Everything is provided free of charge.

Why do we do it? Because we can. We have a skill. The gratitude we get back from the families is priceless. It's a gift to a family that has suffered an indescribable loss. It's a way to mend a tiny tear in our broken world. We're not special. It's just what we do.

We certainly don't do it to get more business. That's sick and cynical. 

Back to this new volunteer photographer. She works during the day for a company that has contracts with hospitals to photograph all the newborns. They photograph the babies -- flash, flash, here's your pics, give me your credit card. They are very aggressive with families and hospitals. They're making a lot of money. Fine. They aren't taking money away from me. I'm not a "hit and run" photographer.

This woman volunteers to be part of the infant bereavement group. Before she can go out on a session alone, she has to shadow a more experienced photographer to learn procedures, learn the best way to talk to families and handle the babies. 

As soon as the two photographers get to the hospital, the new volunteer -- the one who works for that aggressive company -- pushes the other photographer aside, declares she's works for this other company and takes the pictures. The kicker: when she delivered the pictures the next day, she CHARGES THE FAMILY for the work!

Mind you, this is a family who's baby has just died. They were told they were getting beautiful fine art portraits that they could cherish. For free. Instead they get regular old snapshots and they have to pay for them. They pay. They want these photographs. Only later will they feel betrayed and abused.

What kind of disgusting human being does this? What kind of person poses as a volunteer to get her foot in the door to get more business? What kind of person pretend to care about people just to get their money? 

This woman lied and cheated and stole - all in the course of 10 minutes -- for money? 

To take money from a family with a dead baby? Seriously?

This behavior is worse than unethical -- it's repugnant. Is the economy that bad that we have to stoop to exploiting a family's grief to earn a living?

Do I know her name? You bet I do. We know who she is and we know what she did. 

So I ask again. When we see a gross violation of human decency in business, what should we do? 

(The infant bereavement organization is Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep.  It's a great organization and worthy of support.)

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.

George Bailey, meet Darwin

"Potter's not selling. He's buying! And why? Because we're panicking and he's not."
George Bailey, It's A Wonderful Life

A room full of scared people trying to get their money out of a rickety, broken down, old Savings & Loan before all hell breaks loose. That's the image that comes to mind as I prepare for Art Fair Season --2009.

Imagine the room filled with art fair artists. Imagine we've lost faith in ourselves and we fearful of what we face in the next months as we travel to fairs, set up displays and desperately, hopefully look to each person who comes by.

There's a different feeling this year, isn't there? The last couple of years have been rough sometimes, and that was before the bottom dropped out of everything.

As bad as things are for some people -- and I truly believe that we have to do everything we can to help each other -- it's not bad for everyone. Sure, the media is hyping us in to a disaster frenzy, but let's put things in perspective: There's always a market for good art.

As I head into this new season, there are a couple of things I'm going to keep in the front of my head:

• I refuse to go into "survival" mode. I will continue to be confident in the quality of my work.
• I will not cut corners with my materials. I might cut costs, but not quality.
• I paid attention in high school biology class. The fit survive. The weak won't. I will be fit.
• I will not slash my prices. I will not give my work away.
• I will not be greedy. When other artists sell, it's a good sign for all of us.
• I will be gentle but firm with hobbyists who are selling their work for nothing: undercut me if you want, but I do not consider you a peer. If you want to be treated like a professional, a colleague, you must act like one.
  
• I will not grouse about poor sales. Negative energy brings everyone down!
• I will focus even more on customer service.
  
• I will continue my practice to send a personal thank you note to every person who shares their address.
• I will continue to resist the temptation to copy the style of a more successful artist.
  

Will this be an easy season or a challenging one? Who knows? Not every artist will have the same experience. I've had terrific shows when my neighbor didn't make expenses. This year, we have to use all the skills we have.

Being a working artist is a lesson in Darwinism: The strong survive. The survivors adapt. The ranks thin and produce better offspring. In our case, our offspring is better art.

I'm not prone to "Pollyanna-ish" sentiment, but I think we have a great opportunity this year. My plan? I'm focusing on my core values: quality, integrity, attitude, graditude.

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.

Night Light

Mars & Evening Stars, © 2001 Jeane Vogel Photography, 

Cibachrome print

There is something special about night light. It changes with the seasons. Cloud cover, moon phase, even air temperature can change the quality of the light after sunset.

Shooting at night means long exposures. I hate setting up the tripod, calculating the exposure, adjusting the tripod and camera to get the right composition, re-calculating the exposure because this process has taken so long that the light has changed and I have to start over. Ugh. It's not very magical.

I love the results, though. Anything that is moving during a long exposure takes on quality that the eye cannot see. Water become silky. People or leaves or animals moving look ghostly and other-worldly. Light sneaks in from places you didn't think was possible.

I cringe when I hear people say that photography captures of moment in time. It doesn't. And long-exposures prove it. Photography captures an essence of the moment. A feeling. Often, it captures life that simply cannot be seen.

Today is the Winter Solstice and tonight is the first night of Hanukkah. Both events are about the value and wonder of night light. It's interesting that they coincide this year. I don't remember that happening before, though I'm sure it has -- sometime.

The Winter Solstice marks the shortest day of daylight -- and the longest of night light. 

Hanukkah comes every year when the sky is darkest. Our candles burst through the night light and beckon back the day light.

It's a time of wondrous light.

Film vs. Digital

Summer Storm on the Current River, 

©1980, 2008 Jeane Vogel Photography, Cibachrome print

I got a shipment of Polaroid sepia film yesterday. It's rare and when I found it, I jumped at the chance to use it again. I have no idea what I will do with it or where it will take me. It will wait until it knows what it wants to be.

I also found some 120 medium format Infrared film. That's even rarer. Grabbed that too. I absolutely know what I'm going to do with that. 

I'm a little sick of the arguing, but is there really a difference between film and digital? Most people can't tell the difference in the final product unless the photographer over-saturates the colors or over-sharpens the image. Why do they do that? It's awful!

But a talented photographer, one who has mastered both film and digital, and works everyday to master it just a little more -- the images from that artist don't show the materials or the equipment. You just see the art.

"Purists" claim they can see the difference. Sometimes, just for fun, I challenge them. They can't tell the difference, not if the image is processed properly. It's arrogance and a sense of nostalgia that drives their purism,  I think. These are the "my camera can beat up your camera" folks who think that best camera and the best lens and the best technique and the best Photoshop plug-in will create their perfect image. Or they tell me that film is just superior and nothing will replace it. Are they trying to hang on to the "good old days?" Do they think that their brand of photography is best? Don't they realize that film was dismissed as "not pure photography" when it replaced coated glass plates?

We say it all the time. It's not the equipment. It's the vision. I'll say this out loud too: I am very tired of self-proclaimed purists' superior attitude about film. You can drag around a 100-pound view camera and process your own film, but you can still take bad pictures. 

So if film and digital are the same, why not just dump film? It's expensive. It's time consuming. It's not very "green."

Ah, but it's not the same. The results might look the same under a practiced hand, but part of the creation is the creating.

I want to use everything. Sometimes I use film. Sometimes I use digital. Sometimes I use Polaroid. Sometimes I shoot in black & white and hand-color it. Sometimes I shoot in color and convert to BW. 

The point is, it's all good. Can we stop arguing about it now?

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!

Gratitude

New Moon, Last Night, Color Photograph, (c)2008 Jeane Vogel Photography

This is the week for blogs and articles and broadcasts about how grateful we are - or should be.

 

Ok, I'll add mine.

I'm grateful for people who want art in their lives.

Does that sound self-serving? I don't mean it that way. Sure, I like making a living and I'm very grateful to be able to feed my kids and pay the mortgage every month (mostly) with  money generated from my work. But that's not what I mean.

I'm grateful that people want art in their lives because that means they are willing to think. To be challenged. To see beauty in raw materials. To invest in something so original that they might look at it differently every time they see it.

It means they want more from life. That's a world I want to live in.

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.

Discipline

Moonrise #2, Infrared Photograph (c) 2008 Jeane Vogel Photography

I'm the bad mom this morning. Last night, our 7th grader went to her first concert. She went with a friend and a friend's dad. She met the band members, got them to sign her Ipod and tickets and even exchanged a penny for a personalized guitar pick! She rocked out for four hours.

She had achieved nirvana!

The downside was that went didn't know it was a school night when we agreed to the concert. The deal was that she would have to go to school the next morning -- no excuses. (Apparently her friend gets to sleep in.)

Of course this morning I heard: "I'm sick." "My throat hurts." "I'm just going to the nurse and come back home."

Fine. But you are going to school. This is as good a time as any to learn that there are some days you have to do what you don't want to -- even if you feel sick. You just have to do them. And you have to be cheerful about it.

I feel that way in the studio a lot! 

It takes discipline to work on something because the deadline looms. It takes discipline to finish a commission you didn't want to do - but you needed mortgage money. It takes discipline to start new bodies of work, strike out in new directions -- especially when there are no guarantees of success.

It takes discipline to finish the boring stuff before we can get to the fun stuff.

I have a few of those projects hanging over me right now. Guess it's time to get to work.

A Family In Progress

I know people get tired of hearing this from me, but it's my litany: 

Art saves lives.

Art can save the world.

How do I know? Because I've seen it. I don't mean to suggest that ONLY art saves lives. That would be silly. It's equally silly to think that art is just pretty or angry or useless.

Want an example? I have lots, but let's start with this one. Missouri Adoption Heart Gallery Project. 

The Heart Gallery has affiliates all over the country. The Missouri project was started three years ago by photographer Dana Colcleasure, who truly is my hero. She worked for a couple of years to cut through bureaucratic red tape, appease obstructive egos and recruit photographers. I bugged her for months when I first heard of it -- long before she was ready for photographers -- because I wanted to be part of this project.

Heart Gallery photographers are professionals who take fine art portraits of children awaiting adoption. We try to show their personality, their life-spark. The portraits then tour the state in galleries and shopping centers and community centers, hoping a family will be inspired to inquire about adoption.

It works. Hundreds of children in MO have been adopted in the last three years. I know of at least two children I have photographed who have found "forever families." Thousands are still waiting. 

This year I photographed 12 children! Every one of them is beautiful and fun and perfect and loveable. Every once in a while I check the gallery to see how they are faring. WHOOPPIEEE! Xavier, Jordan & George Michael have a family in progress! Taking on three boys is a challenge, but this family will be the best!

So you might be thinking: I don't know if I can do that. These kids are older. Some have "issues." Some have disabilities. 

Yep. That's right. But we ALL have issues. And I don't know if you can do it either. But I know we have to do something! Each one of us who is successful stood on the shoulders of others. We were lifted and coached and encouraged. That's what these kids deserve too.

Now, let's see what we can do for Blaine, Willie, sisters Tiffany, Tierra and Sharda, James, Felicia and twins Kantriel & Keron. The Missouri Heart Gallery has been touring the state since May. It opened in St. Louis yestereday and will be in various locations throughout the month of September. See the whole schedule here. Please visit it and spread the word. 

Can art save lives? I made a simple piece of art in March and three boys will celebrate Christmas with parents and their "forever family." I know I just had a small part in it, but it's a part I'm humbled and privileged to do.

We can't fix everything, but we can fix something. Art saves lives. Art can change the world.

Death of a Film -- Part II

Sunflower, Mixed Media Painting/Photography, 30x30, $750 SOLD

People are aghast when they learn that my Polaroid film has been discontinued. The hand-altered Polaroids are popular and they mourn the loss of new images. So do I. There are five packs of film in my fridge right now. That's it. The film on eBay hasn't been handled properly, I've found, and it's damaged. I'm not buying more.

"So what will you do?" they ask. "Are you out of business?"

A one-trick pony is out of business. An artist moves on.

I have several bodies of photographic work -- traditional color, traditional black & white, the new Infrareds (that I LOVE!) My favorite still is the Polaroids. They are interpretive and organic and fluid and emotive. Nothing else does that.

Except painting.

So that's where I'm going. This year I've starting extending the image of the finished Polaroid onto the mat. I'm using soft pastels, which are so tactile and expressive that they match the mood of the original photograph perfectly.

I was at the Geneva (IL) Fine Art Fair this weekend. It's a great show with some of the best artists in the country. The level of work here is exceptional. For the first time I showed a 30x30 Sunflower that I just completed. Maybe I priced it too low, but it sold within the first hour! The patron wanted others to see it and asked if she could leave it in my booth until Sunday. Sure!

Three other patrons were upset that they couldn't have it! They can commission one!

I love the Sunflower, but my favorite is Dragon in the Clouds, below, finished just hours before I left for the show.

This body of work has a piece of my soul and I'm not letting it fade away. It's getting a new life as mixed media painting.

A Dragon in the Clouds, Mixed Media Painting, 16x16, $395, (framed)

Dealing with Loss

Taken June 24, 2008, in a little cave on the Current River

From the picture you'd think I'd be dealing with the loss of my youth or dignity or my svelte self (bad angles here!)

But really I'm dealing with the loss of equipment. The equipment I'm holding that was in the yellow waterproof case peeking out at the bottom of the picture. My daughter Hannah took this picture of me -- I hate pictures of myself, but it's the only one of me with my trusty, wonderful Fuji S2Pro and Nikon 28-105 lens.

What? Did it drop in the river? No. It but it is gone, apparently snatched from my house when I was away at an art fair. Nothing else seems to be missing except the equipment in that yellow case, which I think was on my dining room table, in full view of the front windows of our house.

It wasn't my best camera -- in fact it's a back up that I don't use that often but I do love it. I have three 35 mm film cameras, 2 medium format film cameras, a dozen or more Polaroid cameras, and a film APS camera thats just for fun, a Canon digicam that fits in my pocket and a couple of digital SLRs. Each has lenses and filters and flash units and gadgets galore.

Apparently, I'm more attached to my equipment that I thought. One of my film cameras is one of my first -- a 35mm Canon Ftb. It's a work horse, worth about $5 now, but it's not going anywhere! I started to learn my craft on that camera! (I probably COULD drop that one in the river and shoot with it later!)

Lots of people -- amateurs photographers and students, mostly -- want to know what equipment that pros use, hoping to duplicate results if they just had the right equipment.

I always say that it's the eye and vision of the artist -- not the equipment - that makes a difference.

Apparently the equipment matters too.

An Amazing Thing Happened Today

Got Game, (c) 2004 By Jeane Vogel
22x30, $350

Girls Want to Play, from the What Girls Want series, (c) 2005, Jeane Vogel
22x30, $350

An amazing thing happened today -- Mamie "Peanut" Johnson was drafted by the Washington Nationals. This amazing pitcher, virtually unknown, is the only woman to have played professional ball with men.

She played for a short time in the old Negro Leagues. With and against some of the best players in the game. Of course, most baseball fans never saw any of them, because they weren't allowed to play with whites. Most people pick up the story with Jackie Robinson in 1947.

But long before Jackie, there were men and women who played. If the black men were discriminated against, women of all colors didn't have a chance. Except Peanut. She was that good.

Maime "Peanut" Johnson and 29 other living players from the Negro Leagues were ceremoniously drafted by major league teams today.

It's about time.

There's a scene in the movie "A League of Their Own" that makes me cry every time I see it.

The "girls" of the All American Girls Baseball League are playing. A ball get away and rolls in front of a young black woman who's watching the white women play. The black woman fires the stray ball back to Geena Davis. They have a moment of understanding -- the black woman announced her power and skill, the white woman acknowledged that the black woman should be in uniform with them. The story line doesn't allow for much more and you might miss it if you didn't know the whole story, but It's a nod to Peanut. There aren't many directors who would have bothered to include the scene, but it's part of our story as women, as baseball fans and as a racially divided country. Kudos to Director Penny Marshall for reminding us that even something like baseball, as frivolous as it might seem, as annoying commercial as it has become, is still a reflection of our values and dreams.

Oh yeah, and the Democrats nominated Barak Obama for President. Wow! What a week!