Observations

Gee, I’m kind of impressed with myself.

©2014 Patricia Scarborough   First Hard Freeze 9x12 oil  

It’s been 6 ½ years since I started this blog. Six years and six months, over 300 posts.  Several hair styles, dozens of tubes of pigment, a handful of brushes and at least a million words, some of which even made it to the final posting.

As memory serves, the origins of my writing were begun as a response to an Alyson Stanfield coaching directive: An artist must have a blog. And so I did. How’s that for an inspired beginning?

This weekend a lovely afternoon was spent sifting through the thoughts and fears I’ve shared during my foray into this artist’s life. My ramblings and your kind responses were like leafing through my high school annual. Oh, the way we were!

I find I’m a fair writer, and a middling thinker; not so smart that you can’t follow along, not insipid as to cause you to look away and never come back. You’re reading this after all, aren’t you?

But has it helped me in my studio? After all, that was the point of my leaving the comfort of a steady paycheck. How does sifting ideas from piles of disengaged thoughts make it easier to use paint? What do words collected in cob-webby spaces have to do with images squeezed from paint tubes? Has writing to you made it easier to be me?

Y’know, I think it has.

©2014 Patricia Scarborough  Breaking Skies  30x30 oil

This practice has allowed me to take all of the study, the painting, the exhibiting, reading, practicing, success, failure, triumph and dismal disappointment, one week at a time. It’s been easier – not easy, but easier – to identify the frustrations and ironies and hilarities and loneliness and grand celebrations of a creative life by separating myself from them with a certain detached observation for the benefit of the blog. Reading through them now allows an older, more certain me to reconnect more sweetly with those realities.

Who’d a thunk? I’m not writing for you, I’m writing for me.

To prove I can. To show I don’t have to. For the challenge. For the pleasure. For clarity. To reveal – or to veil - a truth.

To accept that I'm impressed with myself, ever so politely. 

Details Details

This week I delivered my upcoming exhibit, titled "Private Property", to it's destination at LUX Center for the Arts in Lincoln, Ne. Its a very cool space and I wanted to make a good impression on the staff. I'd worked for months to put together a collection of paintings that would show not only my skills as a painter, but also my readiness to be on that particular stage.

There's alot to putting an exhibit together.  Creating the artwork may be the easiest link.  The devil's in the details, y'know.

My newsletter went out last week reminding my readers of this exhibit.  Despite my checking, re-checking and double-checking the re-check, I put the wrong date down for the opening reception.  There is no Friday, May 5th in this year of our Lord 2011.  Try Friday May 6th instead. And I assumed (you know what that means) that the exhibit would run from the beginning of the month.  Not so. The very official dates for the exhibit are May 6th (yes, it's that Friday) through June 25th.

Last year I took Alyson Stanfield's advice and made fabric enclosures for delivering artwork.  Made from blankets, they were royal red and leopard print, very hip and cool, because I'm a hip and cool artist, oh yessiree. Alyson explained that delivering artwork in proper packaging was an important detail that shouldn't be overlooked. I scored on that point.  My artwork would be delivered in style.

These homemade slips are hip and cool, however, they are not waterproof. A detail of a detail overlooked. I woke up early on delivery day to the deep throbbing sounds of thunder, interspersed with the crisp rat-a-tat-tatting of hail on the house. Or maybe that was just rain being driven by 30 mile per hour winds. It was hard to tell.

My vision of driving up to LUX's front door looking like a capable accomplished artist took a definite U-turn.
After a bit of fretting and fuming, I realized that there are some details a person can control, and some they can't.  Despite all my whining and griping, the weather falls into the latter category.  The more painful realization was that no amount of nifty red and leopard-spotted art bags were going to out-cool soggy artwork. 

Do you suppose it was bad form to show up with 12 paintings stashed in garbage bags?


Taking a deep, humbling breath, I packed the car with paintings nestled in leopard spots and deep, ruby-red fabric  - and white plastic garbage bags with bright  blue draw-strings. Very un-cool, despite my best efforts to tie the draw-strings in a sassy bow.

You're invited to the opening reception on Friday May 6th from 5:00 pm to 8:00 pm. (If you come on Friday, May 5th you will be 6 years late.)  If it's raining, not to worry.  There's a pile of garbage bags in the gallery's store room. I'm sure they'll share.

©2010 Patricia Scarborough  "Good Morning Spring"  8x10 oil 

Painting with Napoleon

"A picture is worth a thousand words."
                                                          - Napoleon Bonaparte

Not one to argue with small men carrying large cannons, I leave you with these new pieces.

©2010 Patricia Scarborough, Beyond the Mill  6x6 oil

©2010 Patricia Scarborough, Early Evening, November 6x6 oil

©2010 Patricia Scarborough, Autumn in Fillmore County 8x10 oil

And a little hellow! to those of you who stopped by last week from Alyson Stanfield's Art Biz Blog.  Thanks!

Take Facebook. . . Please

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That's what logging onto Facebook is for me. One low buzzing hum of fascinating conversation about pizza orders, stoopid bosses (reminder: bosses read Facebook), late night crying babies, surgeries (do I know you?), requests for farm aid (call Willie Nelson - please!) and plans for the weekend (I missed that invitation...).

I bring this up because Alyson Stanfield, art business guru, has shared several posts lately on reaching out and touching someone - lots of someones. She believes strongly in networking and sharing our art-based businesses using Facebook Fan Pages. Since she makes it her business to know and share important information about growing an art business, I decided to stop rolling my eyes and play along.

Over the weekend I felt like Sally Fields giving an Oscar speech. After creating a Fan Page, it's important to reach out and "Like" the Fan Pages of others. It's an encouraging thing to do for a kindred spirit. Of course, basic politeness suggests then that they, in turn, "Like" you.  And so it goes.  Build your page and feel the love!

That's me feeling great with flesh and blood Facebook friends.

Despite my curmudgeonly ways, I have to admit there is something to this.

On my Fan Page I get to share with you what I'm doing art-wise. I post, you read at your leisure. No pressure on either of us. You don't have to be a Facebook member to view it either. That's a plus.

Having a Facebook Fan Page shows that an artist is engaged.  We're working, and we're ready to show you what we're working on. You get to participate, quietly if you like, or more publicly if you'd rather by commenting or "Liking". It works for everyone.

Like broccoli, having a Facebook Fan Page is good for me - even if it's not my favorite thing to do. If used judiciously and wisely it will help me share my work with more viewers and, after all, that's what I'm working toward. I'll meet new people and maybe even make a few new friends.  That's cool too. 

So do me a favor, please.  Click on over to my Facebook Fan Page and "Like" me.  Bookmark me and see what I'm up to every now and then. 

You could even tell me about your boss and your next operation.  I'll listen, I promise, because I "Like" you too.

I'm really quite "likeable".

The Value of a Challenge

I'm involved in teaching another pastel class at Lux Center for the Arts this weekend.  My good friend and cohort in art, Mavis Penney, has offered to stand in for me.

“The Value of a Challenge” by Guest Blogger Mavis Penney

There’s a lot to be said for responding to a challenge. A challenge kicks you into high-gear action. It gives you another person’s point of view, and it forces you to be accountable for doing what you say you will do. I’ll bet that you know what it feels like to receive a challenge, and what it feels like to respond to one, too. Patricia Scarborough has dished out quite a few challenges in my direction, and every one of them has repaid me handsomely in value well beyond what I expected.

©2009 Mavis Penney, Muskrat Falls, 5x7 oil

Patricia and I met in a workshop conducted by Alyson Stanfield of ArtBizCoach.com, and we started collaborating on painting projects almost immediately. Our biggest project together was our 2009 “Off the Highway” series, in which we each produced 100 paintings in 100 days, and posted our images with our comments to the project blog. Patricia and I have pushed each other to work through online courses, we have read books together, and we have celebrated each other’s successes. And we have each pulled the other out of those places where the temptation to quit was so strong it was just about swallowing us up.

This past summer, I felt I was losing touch with my watercolor technique and also with the freshness of painting outdoors. I whined about it once too often, and Patricia offered me the challenge of painting 30 watercolors “on my back door-step.” She said I would reap the benefits of closely observing the scenery in a very limited area, and I wouldn’t have to go far from home to do it.

The view from Mavis' back step

I don’t think Patricia intended it to be a-painting-a-day challenge, but when I observed that there were 30 paintings to be done and that there are 30 days in September, I got up a head of steam over completing all 30 paintings by the end of the month. And I pushed myself to make the project a fully plein air experience as well. And I pledged to make myself accountable by posting the 30 paintings to my blog. In other words, I overbuilt the challenge. In fact, I made it so top-heavy that I couldn’t keep up with it. And so, I am writing to report that at the end of 30 days, I have completed 12 paintings. Most of those paintings I did do out of doors, and the rest are either from sketches or photos from my back door-step that I completed indoors. I’m about halfway through this challenge. I haven’t met my expectations. But I haven’t quit. I am still painting, still working with the watercolors and still posting the results to the blog.

 ©2010 Mavis Penney, Fireweed Blossom #10, 11x15" watercolor

From the halfway point, I can tell you that the true value of this challenge is not that I am adding to my skills and also to my inventory of paintings, and it is not that I am sharpening my powers of observation, although all of these things have happened. The true value of accepting this or any challenge is that it opens your mind to possibilities you never thought about. The true value of a challenge is that it provides a jumping-off point for new challenges beyond your wildest expectations. Thanks for reading! I’ll be in touch again soon to let you know about the second half of this challenge.

http://www.mavispenneystudios.com/

http://emotionallyimpelled.blogspot.com/

http://labradorlandscape.wordpress.com/

Every Town is an Art Town

"This is not an art town".  

If you told me Houston Texas wasn't a snow skiing town, I'd have no  problem believing it.  Or if you declared that Denver was not a scuba diving town I would probably understand.  The average daily temperature in Houston is not conducive to making piles of snow useful for sliding down, and as far as I know Denver is not near either coast.  Defining a community as an art town however, makes me wonder,  does no one in that town own art?  Are pictures not allowed to be hung?  Are all paints confiscated at the border?

@ 2010 P Scarborough "Holding September", 12x9" Oil on canvas

This painting has nothing to do with this article, except that I just painted it yesterday and wanted to share it with you.

When I heard "X is not an art town" used again recently, rather than let it roll off into the pile of whines that seem to develop around certain artists, I asked the question,"What, exactly, does that mean?" 

It meant that nobody, not one person in City X, purchased artwork from the artist, thereby revealing themselves to be ignorant philistines.

Rather than an entire community falling under suspicion of an artistic vacuum, could there be something else going on? Is there some other reason, besides something in the water, that would lead an entire community to keep their cash in their wallets?

Could it have something to do, dear artist, with you?

Could it be that your prices are high, your work poorly done, your attitude unpleasant?  Does your sales pitch sound like something from a late-night TV commercial? Do you even have a sales pitch? 
Do you make it easy to purchase your work, or do you accept only cash in well-ironed 100-dollar bills?
If your work is displayed in a gallery, do you change it out often, or does the gallery staff have to dust off cobwebs?

Now that I've nailed you down, let me help you out a bit. 

Okay, so you aren't exactly burning up the cash registers.  First bit of advice: don't blame your customers.

Ever.

@2010 P Scarborough Mill Road 14x10 pastel

Likewise with this one.

Second bit of advice: find out why you're not selling.  Ask your gallery owner, or a trusted friend for a meeting.  In her excellent book, "I'd Rather Be In The Studio", Alyson Stanfield calls it the "Conversations Exercise". It's a way of finding out what others think of your subject matter, framing, statement, etc.  Be prepared to hear an honest appraisal, or there's no reason to bother. Remember, you're doing this to learn.
Speaking of Stanfield's "IRBITS", get  yourself educated.  Read a book or two, and a few blogs as well.  There are several excellent marketing and creativity blogs written for folks just like you.  Find out what else is going on in the art world, who's doing it and how.

It might help if you saw yourself as an educator, rather than a salesman.  I'm not saying treat your customers like they're stoopid, but gosh, maybe they've never seen artwork like yours. It could be they've never considered purchasing original art before, and don't know why they should when Walmart's got such purty things for cheaper.  Let them educate you, too. A ceramicist I know keeps tabs on each art fair she attends.  City A loves plates, City B is into mugs.  She packs accordingly.

The most important advice I can share with you is this:  Treat people as if you want them as friends, not just customers.  You may not sell them any art, but you'll leave as pals, and there's nothing wrong with that.

Arrive in Style

Art Business Coach Alyson Stanfield, in her always excellent Art Biz Blog, brings up an issue that too many artists neglect to consider as part of their artistic process.

After focusing on the creation of a piece of art, and after finding ways to display it, after negotiating with dealers or sending in applications for display opportunities, lots of us think our work is done.

After all, we're in, right?  The hard work has been done.We've made contact, we're accepted, our work will be displayed properly, we can show up for the reception all spiffed up and shiney, and rub elbows with all the right folks.

But not so fast. We still have to find a way to package that precious commodity and deliver it to it's destination in such a way that it arrives safely.  And that's where way too many artists slip into a coma.

I've seen it happen, and Alyson evidently has too:  lovely paintings stuffed into grocery sacks; fragile sculptures wrapped in laundry; ceramics tucked into shoe boxes designed for shoes, not artwork. Just because you're not sending it across the country doesn't mean you can just toss your work into the trunk for a short trip.  It's like showing up for a job interview in a $400 suit riding a bike with a flat tire.

You don't have to have special skills, nor do you have to get a loan from Mom and Dad to protect your work while it's on it's way to fame and fortune.

Take an afternoon and make yourselves fabric envelopes for your flat artwork.  No sewing necessary.  Inexpensive, super easy, good looking and safe for those beautiful drawings and expensive frames. Here's how:

First you will need material, and I like using blankets.  They can be found super cheap at thrift stores, or dollar stores and the fabric is soft, yet durable, and doesn't fray. (You're welcome to purchase actual bolt fabric if you'd like. Remember, you're not decorating your boudoir, you're cutting it up for packaging. Inexpensive is fine.) You'll also need a product to unite the cut sides of the fabric if you don't want to haul out your sewing machine.  I found something called "Stitch Witchery" that worked well.  I have also used a fabric glue, but I wasn't all that impressed with it.  The "Stitch Witchery" is an iron-able product that fuses two fabric surfaces together. If you don't have an iron, now's a good time to buy one of those as well.

Important note:  the blanket label will give you dimensions, but those numbers are misleading.  I'm not sure what happens from the time the fabric is cut to the time it goes through all of the hemming, packaging, and sitting on the shelf, but your 72" x 90" blanket is likely to be inches off in any direction, especially if the blanket you purchase is really cheap. Just so you know.

Lay out your new blanket on a large, flat surface.  I use the living room floor because for some reason the table in my studio is already piled high.  Find some paper to make notes, something to mark the fabric, sharp scissors and a yardstick for measuring. 

Take time to consider what size framed painting you'll be making this envelope for.  You'll have height and width, but don't forget depth.  For instance, your frame may be 14" wide and 16" high.  It may also be an inch or two thick, and you have to account for that. You will also have overlap on the seams of at least 1/2".  I always add two or three inches for these extras - just in case.  (An envelope will work just fine if it's a bit too large, but is worthless if it's too small.)

Figure the proper width for your frame and mark it on the fabric.  If you double the height of your frame, all you have to do to complete the pocket is fold the fabric over rather than fuse the bottom together.  It's one less seam.

Using your ironing board (if you didn't have an iron, you probably don't have an ironing board.  Try lots of towels over newspapers several layers thick on a work table.  Better yet, buy an ironing board), lay out the fabric so that the long edge is at the top. You'll take the left edge of this rectangle and fold it to the right, thus making a pocket, with the opening of the sleeve to the right. Cut 2 pieces of fusing tape, one for each seam of the sleeve. Lay the tape right up to, but not over, the edge of the fabric. (If any sneaks out over the edge, you may end up glueing your fabric right onto the ironing board.) Fold your over, covering the tape, straightening the fabric so the edges are even.

Take a moment to actually read the directions on your fusing tape.  "Stitch Witchery" tape suggests holding a hot iron to the fabric for 10 seconds to melt the tape and create the bond, using a damp "press cloth" between the iron and the fabric to protect the blanket fabric.  In my world a "press cloth" is a tea
towel, or any other thin cotton fabric.  Because the iron has to sit in one place for 10 seconds, scorching the fabric is a real possibility and the damp tea towel will save you from damaging your lovely new envelope with a nasty iron tattoo. If you're making several, you'll need to re-dampen your tea towel to keep it from turning a lovely shade of toast.

After you've ironed the seam, check to make certain the tape has melted properly.  It may take another pressing just to make sure the seam is secure. 

And voila!  You've got a real live sensible protective envelope for your Very Important Artwork. 

 I used a 72" x 90" blanket and got 11 (eleven!) envelopes for a variety of frame sizes, at a cost of maybe $2 each (I couldn't find a blanket on sale) and a short bit of my time (an hour to measure and re-measure because I can't read a ruler, and a few minutes to iron). Last year I snagged a king sized blanket for $4, which brought the cost down to just pennies per envelope.

Helpful Hints Chapter:

If you would prefer a flap to close your envelope, add at least 3 inches to the height of your pattern.  Lay the tape 3" from the top edge so that you don't seal that part of the pocket.

I found that the cheaper blankets are best, especially if they have decorative designs on them.  The designs help stiffen the fabric, making the envelope just a bit less floppy than the more expensive soft and snuggley blankets. 

Think about using different colored fabric for various sizes.  That way you'd know all envelopes that fit an 8x10 painting would be blue, 9x12 sleeves would be red, etc. 

There you go.Your work will show up safely and in style.  Gallery owners will be talking about how great your work is, not wondering how you managed to cram it into that grocery bag. And you won't end up as a bad example on someone's blog.

Give and Take

My mailbox has been full of the nicest letters recently.  Mostly from folks I've never met, never heard of and will probably never meet, they're gushingly complimentary.  I can feel my ego swelling just thinking about them.  I am admired, appreciated, adored even. 

And because I am admired, appreciated and adored, wouldn't I just love to donate a piece of artwork to be auctioned off to further their cause?  Gosh, the benefits to me are many.  I'd find a new audience of adore-ers.  I would be really, really appreciated. My donation would benefit all sorts of currently un-benefitted souls.

And if I don't, surely I'll feel like a chump. (No, that's not included in the letter.  It's included in my psyche.)
Ah, jeesh.

It's spring, and it seems that it's the time of year when charities of all stripes are searching for ways to enrich their coffers.  Typically the artist donates a piece of artwork.  An auction is held. A buyer either a) bids generously because they want to help the charity and hopefully understands they're really getting something in return, or b) goes into the auction hoping for a cheap deal. Or maybe c) the charity posts a minimum bid on the work, so that it must be sold for a certain price or it goes back to the artist. And it does. B and C are not much fun for the artist.

Over at LinkedIn, in the Art Group hosted by Alyson Stanfield, there's quite a discussion between artists about the pros and cons of donating art.  By the looks of it, many of them have had some pretty unpleasant experiences.  

Here's my pet peeve: Besides the annoying tax laws that hinder artists in this area, I find it amazing that complete strangers will ask me to give them something that has great value to me (and hopefully to someone else). Really, do I look that easy that you think all you have to do is sweet talk me and I'll hand over the keys to my easel?

Let me help you out a little here. 

Say hello first.  Maybe get to know me a little.  Because maybe I'm a jerk, and you wouldn't want me to give you anything after all. Maybe our values are absolutely in conflict (yes, I eat meat). I dunno, maybe there's another good reason we shouldn't go into business together. You'll never know if you don't establish a relationship first.

Yes, I donate my artwork.  And I limit myself to a certain number of donations each year.  I do that in part so that I can say to complete strangers with a clear heart, "Gee, I limit myself to a certain number of donations each year. Sorry."

It's harder to say that to friends.

Blue Heifers and Other Serious Business

It's not uncommon for us artists to take ourselves verrrrry seriously. After all, we deal in truth, angst, the Golden Mean (have you ever tried figuring that one out?) and other undecipherable stuff. We uncover truth. We wear black.

So it was with absolute delight that I accepted a commission from a dear patron to paint a cow. A big one. Make it blue. A 4-H heifer for you purists. With flowers around its neck, please.

'Clover' 2010 copyright Patricia Scarborough, 36x48" oil

Alyson Stanfield wrote a recent post on her ArtBizBlog about working hard, and having fun. She compares carving out a reputation as an artist to Shaun White, Olympic gold medal winner in the snowboarding competition.

Anyone who has tried to walk across a frozen parking lot in the winter can attest to the difficulties of making it across a slippery surface. Snowboarders purposely fling themselves across super-slick courses while standing on a super-slick board, doing loopty-flops and whirly-thingys and then landing upright to sail gracefully across the finish line. It's serious business, with lots of endorsement money and reputations on the line. They train hard to perfect their style and build stamina for competition.

And these folks have fun.

Artists and snowboarders have alot in common. Sometimes they dress funny. Sometimes so do we. They work really really hard to improve their skills. So do we. A few of them make good careers out of their chosen field of expertise, and a few of us do too.

Do we have as much fun, though? Some of the art blogs I read are so full of self-importance and seriousness I can hardly stand to read them. Too many artists take themselves so SO seriously, as if to smile about their work would be to pull the rug out from under their hard-earned earnestness. Too many conversations with artists are, well, painful. Anguish, frustration, lots of delving and working hard and being misunderstood.

I'm with Alyson and Shaun. You betcha work hard. You betcha make a ton of money. And for heavens sake, stop taking yourselves so seriously! Laugh a little. Paint something that makes you smile. Squeeze out too much pink, and use it all up. Spend as much time recording the goofy side of being human as you do recording the hard parts of life on this planet.

Day 93 Tagged, 2009 copyright Patricia Scarborough, 5x7" oil

Take time now and then to paint a cow. They're terrific, really. Better yet, make it blue. Just for fun. Make yourself, and us, smile.

Starting Over, Again

Jeesh, it's only January 4th of the brand new year, and I'm behind already. This was going to be my year, my year, to learn new things and try new things and start new things.

January 1st I set out to find out just exactly how to accomplish all that I wanted. Grabbed a notebook and a new pencil and started to make a list.

I read my backlog of Alyson Stanfield's ArtBiz blogs. Wow! Tons of marketing tips and ideas on how to get that gallery representation and even a few good recipes.

Better get a bigger notebook.

I canoed over to EmptyEasel and promised myself I'd learn to be a smarter painter. As soon as I learned how to be a better blogger by learning to write well. And doggone it, I'm going to be more professional about my business!

Blog! Artists are supposed to comment on the blogs of other artists or sites that have to do with art. Which means I have to actually read those blogs. Twitter, too! Gotta keep that Facebook thing going.

And because all of this self improvement makes me a bit nervous, I realize I need to add some serious self-guidance and promise myself I'll get it together. Squeeze some meditation in, too. Yeah, that'll really help.

Got a new camera and so far I know how to turn it on. Add 'learn camera' to the list.

And it's 4 days into January, and I'm pooped.

Where did all this start? With a desire to be a full time working artist. And do it better than I did it last year.

I'm thinking I need to go back and re-do my New Year's list. In my excitement to improve my painting business, I neglected, well, my painting.

Next week, the painting will come first.

How are you doing with your list?