From the Mouth of the Cave

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I had no idea that my energy for interaction was so depleted when our December Art Show was over. Before long, I had crawled all the way back to the far corner of the cave, burrowed down, and hid out for a while. I pretty much forgot my email password and I sure hope no earth-shattering news was reported, because I unplugged.

I did have some looooong talks with my brother in Buenos Aires. Thank goodness for Skype. Otherwise, The Husband and I would have to live on cornflakes for a couple of months. My brother sounds good and we had fun fantasizing about getting strong enough to tackle that incredibly long trip for a visit. Talking and laughing about it didn't produce any aches and pains and the cost was minimal. It was a delightful game for the holidays.

There were sad talks with two friends that are terribly ill. Each of those visits sent me scurrying back into the far reaches of the cave for another couple of days. Some things in life don't observe holidays.

This year, we got Christmas cards done and I had forgotten how long it takes to make the special effort with the photos inserted in the special cards. We ended up being late with some, but it was worth every moment of time put in. The bonus was the responses that came back and the sound of voices we hadn't heard in a while.

On most of the brief occasions that I stuck my nose out of the cave to sniff the air, I didn't get far. I lost myself in daydreams about the next art show. It would appear that I have been bitten by this bug and, so far, no recovery in sight. I am enjoying the challenge immensely. Staying true to myself, not giving away my work, while providing pieces that some people want to buy is a tricky balance and I am getting a lot of satisfaction from hitting the target on enough occasions to keep me going. For now, I plan to continue on this path in 2011—"lord willing and the creek don't rise".

Since the Husband is off to Los Angeles to ride in the RoseBowl Parade, Galen and I have plenty of quiet around here and I feel even lazier now.The group he rides with will be dressed as Napoleonic era cavalry with the horses properly decked out. They are entry no. 69, I think, and I hope they don't get bumped for a commercial.

As for me, it will take me a few days to catch up—the cave still looks warm and cozy and I did enjoy the quiet way back there in that inviting corner. Never mind, I will venture out and eventually get caught up with all the energizer bunnies who have been posting.

Have a happy and healthy New Year, everyone!

Overdue Answers on Art Show Adventures

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A while back, Ken asked which pieces of work sold in the recent art shows and here I am finally getting around to the answer. Ken has probably forgotten why he cared to ask, but he is going to get an answer—just not all in one post.

The piece above pre-sold the second show. (I had a couple of prints displayed at the venue as a preview of the show.) Printed on metallic paper, that background was a shimmering gold and made for a piece that was eye-catching. During the first show, I sold two pieces and I could have sworn that I had already posted one of them, "Blue Horse Dreaming"; but, I was dead wrong. The third piece is very new. I will post both of those over the next few days.

About the same time Ken asked his question, PJ asked if I planned to write a bit more about my experience with art shows. Frankly, I hadn't planned to since my experience is extremely limited. But, I have no pride. I will reveal how little I know. I have not pursued juried shows, nor have I submitted to prestigious galleries. Mostly because I am a hard-core realist and recognize that my work doesn't exactly fall in line with what is hot these days. (And maybe because I am chicken.) My work  embodies the opposite of edgy and I have visited enough of the galleries in Los Angeles to see that my work does not come close to fitting in any of those venues. Although they might be the logical market for me, the type of outdoor art shows often done in parks would be far too rigorous an undertaking for me. The galleries in the nearest town are really co-ops. The artists pay for their space along with a commission to the gallery owners.

Both my partner and I felt that the gallery/co-ops weren't our cup of tea. My problem is that the bottom line costs pretty much go through the roof with that arrangement. Most of all, I know myself well enough to know that the predictability of First Friday every month would become routine for me and wear thin. Being in the same place month after month would cease to be fun and stimulating for me. Yes, I am undisciplined in some matters; but, at least,I have learned to face my quirks and work with them.

Although we weren't interested in pursuing the other local opportunities,  neither did the once-a-year Cultural Arts Spring Art Show satisfy our appetites. Ultimately, we decided to make our own opportunities. I am okay with having sold three pieces in three days of shows. My prices are reasonable (I think), but I definitely don't sell myself short. I figure my costs—minus labor, unfortunately, then multiply for a mark-up. I love sharing my work and want it to be accessible; but I am not going to pay people to take my work home with them.

As I had already mentioned, our operation is unsophisticated and not a high profit venture. Hmm. Sounds like me. I have never been in a high-profit business and unsophisticated certainly fits me, as well as the area we live in. In another location, I might do things differently. Who knows? So far, our venture has turned out well. Our "What's-next situation?" suits me. At least for now.

The Golden Foothills

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I have been seeing Highway 58 more regularly as a result of my physical therapy. Because I am so fond of the scenes along the way, this is not tedious for me. The seasons change and the look and feel of the landscape evolves. The rolling hills that, a few months ago, turned that rich—almost other-worldly green are now draped in golden brown with bits of deep rusty brown and and sprouts of a new, more subdued green here and there. To me, the foothills are equally beautiful now despite the change in finery. Simpler garb, in the eyes of some—less showy, but I find the hills equally beautiful with their starkness, clarity, and plain-spoken manner. The golden foothills rising against the blue sky have a regal quality and a dignity that is just as seductive as the exuberant and luxurious green of spring.

Along with the pleasure I take in the colors and shapes of the hills, I am fascinated by the fences that wander—in what almost seems an aimless manner—up, down, and across the hills—zigging and zagging for reasons that aren't obvious. I can lose myself in the patterns of those lines.

When I was a child, my family took road trips on weekends for entertainment. When conversation tapered off and my siblings were tired of playing, I fantasized about riding my dream horse through the fields that slid by. Of course, when my mount and I came to a fence—mostly plain and simple affairs like the one here—we sailed over it effortlessly, scoffing at boundary markers, and continuing our race with the car.

Maybe that is when I was first drawn to fences. After all, to a carefree child, they weren't serious impediments. They were minor obstacles—obstacles that were meant to be sailed over. Hurdles meant to be greeted with relish and vanquished with glee. Ah, all is possible in the mind of an innocent.

Photos to Share and Photos to Hide

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Several recent comments here, as well as posts by other bloggers, have caused me to think more about the decisions we make regarding the fate of our photographs. For me, at least, it's usually fairly simple to identify the bombs that I really don't want to be reminded of. Ever. Those are deleted during the first edit.

Then, there are the ones that may someday work—they aren't exactly singing to me, but seeing them the next time I open the folder won't send me into a fit of depression.  A few of those get processed, sometimes reworked a time or two, and sometimes shared. Periodically one of them even becomes a new favorite.

Rarely, there is a RAW file that fairly shouts, "Me. Me." When that happens the picture is usually shared in one form or another. Sometimes those get printed.

Now, if only all the pictures fell neatly into one of these three categories. Unfortunately, I end up with too many in the "What Now?" category. In this case, I find that the dialogue runs toward, "I like it. I think. But, I'm not sure why. Is it because this reminds me of something that I have previously admired? That's probably it. Mine is a lousy imitation of something good. Yeah. I hate it. I think." When that happens, I spend varying amounts of time weighing the risks of showing something that I am drawn to, but have absolutely no confidence in. (This scenario fits the photo I published on March 23.) Sometimes, I am in a what -the-heck mood. On other occasions, I cave and the photograph remains in the folder sinking further and further to the bottom of the black hole that is my old folders. Eventually, most of those images are lost and forgotten.

Lately, I have posted a great number of pictures from my "drive-by" folders. I don't prefer to shoot that way, but we seem to always be on the road these days to some appointment or the other, and the camera helps me make the trip with some degree of calm. You probably recognize the picture above as another from the series taken along Highway 58 on the way down to Bakersfield. I have become self-conscious about posting so many of these pictures taken on the fly with the G7, but this is mostly what is happening in my life at the moment.

Do you ever have discussions with yourself about whether to share a picture, or tuck it away in your "private file"?