marketing

I went to drop off my frames yesterday - picked up the prints, five of them, for the show in New York in June. As we laid them out on the table, a woman who was having her own pieces framed looked over to us. Judy glanced over and took a peek at my work.

"oh K, those are simply stunning!'
The woman's curiosity got the best of her. She walked over to have a peek.

"she's a photographer you know..."

And as this stranger stood behind my shoulder, I began to shrink and blush. Somebody was looking at my photos with a critical eye. Obviously knowledgeable about art, her opinion was something that made me curious, yet at the same time, apprehensive.

"those are really beautiful. Very beautiful..."

Her eyes fixed on the ethereal bathroom shots of a dancing body.

"would you like to see the rest?"

And as I fanned out the rest of the 4 photos, the 5 year old in me began to blush and fidget nervously. What would she say if she saw the rest of them? Would she flip if she knew they were me? And where do I get off taking these photos of myself and call them art?

"that's me. These are all self-portraits."

And like the opening of a flower, each image delicately unfolded and exposed a little piece of my soul. Each image my personal journey translated through pixels.

transfixed (I'm not exaggerating here...) she nodded and paused.

"wow - these are really spectacular."

And looking at me - (well, she was about a foot and a half taller than me, or had I began to slouch?) said: "Thank you. These are really wonderful."

My face turned beet red, and quickly turned to the young lady with the 50 shades of white mats in her hands.

Like a kid caught with their hand in the candy jar, I felt guilty for showing my art, guilty for having somebody like it so much that, had I prompted with a few words like: "they are for sale you know..." could have landed me a few hundred dollars in my pocket. I felt guilty for entertaining the possibility of making a buck off my art.

And as she left, I heard her say goodbye to J, and then a separate salutation to me - the artist.

Kicking myself several times, I knew that my first instinct should have been to whip out my business card and a follow up question/confirmation that she was in fact, interested in buying my art; but that moment had passed, and running down the street after her just would have looked psychotic. But I did tell the girl to pass along my card to her, just in case she was really interested.

Getting into mom's car (who had been waiting patiently for almost 45 minutes), I sighed deeply.

"Guess what. I think I was about to sell some of my unframed photos, but I chickened out."

"You have to get used to the fact that people might want to buy your art. Think like a marketing person. Don't be afraid to sell!"

and that moment rung true - flashed of some of the photographers I know, who brazenly prostitute their work, despite it being total shit (from a technical point of view) to anybody who has a pulse, and manage to end up in magazines, with book deals and in high profile galleries while I carefully and possessively protect my work - afraid to let it out to explore the "big world" for fear of being judged harshly, or falling and skinning its knees. My art should have wings, and my whole being as an artist is to touch lives, not to make a buck, but hell, if it happens, that's a bonus.

No, it's not a bonus, it's a necessity at this point.
With no job or prospects on the horizon, I need to make my photography work for me. Lots of blood and sweat have gone into each image, and having fallen into debt for more than 30 grand from a cinema and a photography degree, I have earned the right to market my work for maximum profit - and knock on wood - having sold three pieces in the past six months, I think it's finally starting to happen.

And with another New York show under my belt (I think it's coming up on the 5th or 6th), it's hight time I toot my own horn and show the world what I've got.

Amen to that!