Jessica Auer

Megan Cump

Stephen Gross

Amanda James

Mark Malloy

Dana Miller

Carolyn Monastra

Whitney Vosburgh

The evening before the first day of reviews, I went to a welcome reception for the participants. I met a photographer that had recently participated Review LA, a well respected event in Los Angeles. He said that it went well, but he was nervous about FotoFest. I asked why, assuming that LA would have prepared him for what to expect here. Oh no, Fotofest is the “big one”, he replied. Oh, I said. Oh my, said the voice in my head.

Weeks before, I was torn on what images to bring. What size should the prints be? How many? Should I bring newer work or older work? I asked fellow photographers. I asked a couple of art dealers. They all had different opinions. I ended up bringing images from two projects, “Where the Fairies Are” and “Little Pieces All Together”. I brought more images than I would actually present, so I could do a final edit once I got there. I ended up showing about fifteen images from each series, printed at 12″x18″. The prints were collected in a black folio box. I also brought three 22″x33″ prints rolled in a tube.

The reviews take place in a hotel banquet room. The photographers wait outside until their session time and then all rush in together to find their reviewer among the forty-some tables in the room. I find my first reviewer, a gallery owner. We make introductions and I sit down. The room is loud with forty simultaneous conversations. The reviewer slowly flips through my images. She starts to make a comment, and I lean in to better hear what she’s saying. This is really wonderful work, she says. I’ll definitely be in touch. My shoulders relax a little and I smile.

Of course, not everyone was as enthusiastic. One reviewer slowly flipped through all my images, paused for several seconds and took a deep breath. He said, how do I put this…. this work you have, it is not art. Then it’s my turn for the deep breath. OK, I’ve come here to learn. He articulately explained why and then suggested several ways to make the work better. I listened. He was one of the more critical reviewers, but he may have also been one of the most useful.

I had high expectations for Meeting Place and it turned out even better than I expected. The preparation, time and expenses were well worth it. It’s hard to imagine a better way to get so much high quality feedback in a such a concentrated amount of time. After four days, I was exhausted. In between the reviews I chatted and shared work with the other photographers. In the evenings we went to some of the many FotoFest exhibits around town. Even without the reviews, meeting the other photographers and seeing the exhibits would have been worth the trip. I’ll be saying more about that in the next post.

I haven’t had a traditional business card for a few years now. In its place, I have a postcard sized hand out. The 4″x6″ card has my contact information and a prominent image of my work. It’s large enough to not get lost in a handbag and can be noticed if filed in a folder. The image is large enough to be a mini version of my artwork, but small enough that people would be curious about buying a larger piece. People stick them on their refrigerators and tack them to bulletin boards.

I keep the cards fresh by creating a new design each year. Here are the last few.

2007

2008

I sent the newest version to the printer this morning. I changed the design to encourage action and interaction. People that like what I do feed into what I do which flows back out again. I like that.

2009

In March, I await the news that will determine my year.

To understand March, we need to go back to January. At the beginning of each year, I spend a couple of weeks swimming in applications and planning my schedule through October. Most art fair applications are due by February.  There’s a bit a pressure in having to plan the whole year all at once. If I miss something in those couple of weeks, I’ve missed it for the year. There’s a show that I’ve missed two years in a row because the deadline has already passed by the time I start planning.

Each application consists of  3 or 4 images of an artist’s work and an image of their display. Along with that goes an application fee, ranging from $20 to $40. I applied to about forty shows this year, so the fees add up. The applications then get reviewed by a jury that decides who gets to exhibit and who doesn’t.  Some of the fairs will have a thousand applicants competing for one hundred spaces. Actually, not even one hundred spaces, because some of the artists from the previous year get invited back. If you’re one of the lucky ones that make it past the jury, there’s a booth fee that ranges from $200 to as high as $2000.

After the applications have been sent,  it’s up to fate or something. You hope the jurors aren’t too bleary eyed after viewing 600 applications before yours.  The responses start coming back in March. In March, I check my email a little more often than usual. I look for the mailman, flipping through envelopes for the latest acceptance or rejection letters. Who knows how each day will be, a celebration or a sigh? Most day’s there’s no response, just bills and junk mail.

After all that anticipation, here still hasn’t been any selling of art. If you’re accepted, you get the chance to sell art. That is, once you’ve created your latest series of work, edited down the images, printed, matted and framed, promoted the show, packed up the van and made it to the show site to setup and welcome the customers.

The process, when successful, is a series of victories of unknown merit. There is no top. With each step you may not even be getting anywhere more beneficial. And the higher you get, the more chances you have to fall. And yet each year I feel that my work is getting better and that I am getting farther. Or is it all just a delusion? I suppose the only sanity is to enjoy the journey.