First prize

I’ve never applied for a grant. And I’m still producing, though financial success is still unfortunately irregular. That’s what happens when you work in a less-recognized medium doing something different from the norm, and BEING something different from the norm. I’ve had to accept that who I am has played a significant role in my being less accepted rather than more accepted. But I’ve been juried into many shows since the first in 1977, in Salt Lake City, UT, where I won my first Best-In-Show award. But I hung my first exhibit in 1970, when I was still in high school, in Ogden UT. Some of us start early and keep working no matter what. Till we’re dead. Some of us follow the juried show path. But cash flow remains crucial. I’m a week away from having my power turned off. But I love being first on here… For many of us the juried show route is a pathway to recognition, when there are few galleries that handle what some of us do.

Your story reminded me of my first win as an artist. I grew up in a small community, Coney Island, in Brooklyn, NY and loved to draw. I entered a local contest with a drawing of a woman (kinda nude) overlooking the ocean. It won first prize. The prize was a class at the Brooklyn Museum Art School saturday classes. I was 14 years old, and my teacher was Raphael Soyer. Of course, I had no idea who he was, but that was the start of my life as an artist.

In 1955 in Biloxi, MS while in diapers, I got loose of my mother and found the paint brushes my dad had left in coffee cans by the side of the house after he had finished his exterior painting of the house. I took the opportunity to paint the chrome bumpers and sides of our new 1955 Chevy Bel-Air that sat in the driveway while Dad was at work. He had worked very hard to earn the money to pay for our first car. Well, I didn’t earn any awards, didn’t even get a decent critique of one of my first efforts, but I did avoid death as my Mom whisked me up and got me clean and in my crib before Dad got home, who was due any moment, because she knew that cute and cuddly in my crib was likely the only way I might survive. I forgot about that episode for most of my life and didn’t realize its significance until I was about 50 years old. In my case, my artistic nature has manifested in just about everything I did, from the way I wrap presents to the types of gifts I give to the attention to detail that I’ve given to every moment of my life. And then I remembered painting birds from the color plates of Collier’s Encyclopedia, and it began to dawn on me that I was, indeed, an artist, even from an early age. I just never gave my nature a title, or recognized it for what it was. It took a certain amount of maturity and life experiences to understand who I was. And now that I understand it, embrace it, and allow myself to be filled with it, it flows unimpeded from my soul, with purpose and pride.

so oooo refreshing

This is just a note of appreciation for your letters – although I am very interested in art (I am an amateur folk artist) the value for me is your words of wisdom on anything and everything. I look forward to receiving these letters for some time to come, can’t wait until your book on philosophy comes out? You teach such wonderful life lessons. Thank you so much.

Reading this I saw something of a coincidence. We are obviously the same age and, while you were sketching the hummingbird nest, I was (at age 14 in a small English village) sketching a frog patiently sitting quite still until I had finished the composition. I also won a prize for that artwork. Just one of those silly things that appealed to me. Hope you can appreciate it.

I have never won a contest. That is because I never entered one. I think if I had, and won, it would have made me think how shallow the whole business is, and how flawed that they would have chosen me. I’m with you Robert, I prefer cash flow. Thanks so much for your simply electrifying letters.

There’s something particularly beguiling abut a person simply wanting a work and having the willingness to pay for it. No fuss, no muss, just win-win.

I had a similar thing happen to me. When I was 16 I created an “abstract experiment” using melted crayons and wax dripping it down a 24×36 piece of corrugated cardboard. My sister’s friend loved it so I gave it to her and some time later she had a friend make a large offer to buy it but she refused. Now I’m into watercolor, colored pencil and pastel and ramping up to sell!

Artists who apply for and get grants are still stuck when the gravy train ends. Better to learn entrepreneurial skills early

I remember the same moment exactly like yours! The piece was in crayon and magic markers of a little circus on a hill. Thank you for remembrance of visual souvenirs. (Italian-American–Abruzzese-Pennsylvanian)

My story is similar in that I was a young teen when in 1972, my mother sent my “pull” of the print “Ribbit” of a frog, to my Aunt Margaret in New York, who was an artist and a nurse. Aunt Margaret took the print to a framer, who used it, unwittingly, for a coffee coaster and got a stain on it. Aunt Margaret was given 25.00 to pay for the print (Thank God it was just a print not an original), which she sent to Mom, to give to me. Twenty-five dollars was a fortune to a 13-year old girl, and I certainly learned, as you did, Bob, that good art = cash in best case circumstances. I have yet to recover the high I felt at learning my piece fetched an unexpected 25.00, and hearing it from my mother, but I’ve enjoyed commissions all my adult life and don’t quite understand people, artists, who don’t enjoy commissions. Yes, it is a bit like being a temporary worker with a new boss each time, but by believing in a “higher power” who sends you bosses you need in timely fashion, one can certainly engineer or navigate one’s way, wending through this world, in a rewarding fashion.

My childhood memories are of wandering around suburban undeveloped grassy fields, dirt pathways, picking flowers, daydreaming and making up stories. I wonder if children today experience that kind of freedom and stillness of the passing time. No schedule, no agenda and no intention. My visuals were in macro mode, I remember tiny leaves, bugs and specks of sandy earth. Ideas came up, entertained and got forgotten, nothing required a follow up. It was glorious. A family black sheep uncle who was drunk most of the time and always tortured me with teasing, saw my drawing of shackled hands and was touched by it. He said it was very good – the first and only art praise I got from the family. He tried to lead a charmed life. Thanks for reminding me of those things.

Oh, and did I mention the time I was three and I “painted” my mother’s newly washed sheets hanging on the line, with a stick and mud? Yes, I am alive, and my mother learned to focus my energy and keep me alive at the same time. My mother should be nominated to sainthood for that act alone.

What a charming, delightful memory of an early victory you have uncovered! This reminded me of kindergarten, 1960, we kids standing in front of our easels. I painted a sturdy apple tree, and put a strong, perfectly horizontal branch across it, and had a plump bird perched on each side. I still recall the zest of my brushstroke, making that branch slash across the tree! It took first prize for some contest, and I remember seeing the blue ribbon on it. I don’t have the ribbon now, and I never saw the painting again; I heard it went on a tour of banks across New York- my first public exhibition!

It makes me emotional to think of how one moment in time can set in motion our path to the future. It is also a reminder to how we deal with fellow or budding artists. The right encouragement or wrong criticism could make all the difference in their journey.

Sometimes those seminal harbingers of the future can take many years to come to fruition! When I was about 9 years old, I received a set of pastels for Christmas. I rendered everything in sight from magazine photos to seasonal cards. I was obsessed with painting. I came to believe I was the very best of painters and that my work was nothing short of remarkable. I used every crumb of those pastels. Nothing survives that I had rendered so lovingly as a child, but the memory is profound. Now, years later, I am seriously painting in various media and there are times when I experience, for fleeting moments, that extreme sense of mastery and excitement that I remember having then. I think that is partly what keeps me painting – not the product so much as the tremendous sense of being almost electrically alive that happens when I am immersed in my craft. When I am in, what I call a painting frenzy, I can paint for hours, immersed in a kind of exhilaration that arises from the process itself. The painting is painting me, I think!

Reading your “First Prize” memory I was struck by nostalgia for the days when Whatman’s could be bought. I’ve found nothing to compare with it. Maybe you can find out what happened to make it disappear from the market.

There is a great elation when one gets recognition for an achievement. I had entered jury shows a few times and it serves as a challenge for me. There are pieces in those that I have entered that were exquisite and there seem to be no error whatsoever but, the winners more often than not seem to be less appealing and sometimes it is hard to see what the composition was. We were told that it depends on the juror or jurors interest lie that the decisions are based on. It is mind boggling.People talk about perspective, color choices and techniques or principles. So is it really a fair contest?

Therein lies the conundrum. If your soul needs to paint, you need to paint if your work is recognized or not. Of course recognition is good, and every artist desires it. When I decided I would be an artist. At age 4 I received a wonderful coloring book for my birthday and showed it to a businessman who was had come to my father. The man looked at it and shook his head. Do you like to draw? I shook my head yes. He said: Why are you drawing someone elses drawing. Throw away that book. Take a piece of white paper and YOU draw the drawings. I looked at him and smiled a wide smile. I remember it until this day.

I think there are many artists that have received a jump-start by receiving some kind of award. I know I did about nine years ago, it may have only been an award of merit, but it meant the world! This is why I believe the judging process should not be taken lightly by those entrusted with it. Careers have been launched by judges, but more often than not their decisions cause agitation among artists when sub-standard works get the nod. Awards to be treasured the most are the peoples-choice awards – get these and you know you are on the right track.

I still have an embroidered tea towel that my mother gave to my grandmother, tracing my early work as a pattern. So important in my art life.

“Freedom to catch wonder before it disappears” . . . That’s why I read you. Thanks.

Your articles have helped me so much. Been reading you now for about 5 years- and my artwork, my technique and my confidence have been transformed because of your generosity. Portland, Oregon

You were fortunate to have a Dad who was supportive. Very few budding artists have parental encouragement. “Get a real job or profession.” Always enjoy your letters.

Focus and quiet ambition count for more than parental encouragement or discouragement. Some tiny private spark propels some people to excel. Lack of that spark and they lead ordinary lives.

I knew it several years ago when I realized art was the only thing left for a vocation as I was not happy with being waiter, driver or usher.

What a wonderful surprise you got by discovering the card about your first Junior Prize for the Humming Bird Picture. The story made my day! Thanks a lot.

Rummaging through old workday papers the only things I found were pink slips.

I started painting when I was a girl but for many years it remained a weekend activity. Later I had to work, study, take care of my daughter, etc., etc. After a very long illness that literally put me in bed, I took out my brushes and started painting the moments that I was not in bed. In one of the many visits to my family doctor she mentioned that there was an art competition in town and that I should register one of my paintings. She knows about art because she paints herself and I was amazed that she considered my art “good enough” to enter a competition. After a couple of weeks my doctor insisted again and I listened to her. I took my painting to the competition and, to my surprise, I got the First Prize. It gave me a great deal of confidence because I was competing with people who had been painting full time for years. Three months later she insisted again that I should send another painting to a provincial competition. I listened to her and once again I got the First Prize in the oil category. Those 2 prizes I got in 1992 changed my life forever. Since then, I paint as often as my illness permits and my life has been greatly enriched. I am still grateful to my doctor for changing my life forever.

I’ve read above questions about whether judging is fair. No- it isn’t. So what. Judging encapsulates the entire perspective of the juror/s- including what they had for lunch or whether or not they got a good night’s sleep. Again- so what. If you enter a single juried show and expect the results of that to project your creativity till the end of your life- or not- then you need to wake up. But if you enter many of them because that’s a pathway that can help you establish a reputation, then one juror or the next show become meaningful- precisely because you’re not dependent on a single event. It is the stream of juried shows that take on meaning. And guess what? It’s a risk. And if you can’t take a risk- you lose. Just getting in a juried show is not necessarily easy, and you have to have great work and consistent work- and you have to learn how to deal with rejection and a bruised ego and have that become meaningless- and if your work ISN’T up to snuff- you have to try harder or give up. So it’s not about the award. It’s totally about whether or not your work can stand up alongside a bunch of other work and be judged acceptable for exhibit within the context of a group show. Will the jurors biases play- absolutly. That’s WHY no one juror or show means anything. If you managed to get in one- do it again and see if you can do it again. You may not be able to. But trust me- if you can get your work into a top-notch show- it means a lot. If that show produces a catalog- you’ve just gotten publiushed. If they give awards and you don’t win one you still got published. Awards are NOT the motivation. Numbers are. I was juried into Fiberart International in 2001. 769 artists from 35 countries entered more than 1900 pieces and they picked 84. I was juried into the Colorado Art Open, an all-media show- in 2010. 529 artists entered over 1500 pieces and they picked 96. It means something. It means even if I starve to death because I have no money- I still win.

Many years ago, a group of painters and photographers that I hung with, yearly submitted work to the area fine arts center. Amazingly, none of our work was accepted and we knew it was because of the wrong zip code on our applications. We all would receive out refusal card and howl because early on one friend had taken it upon himself to take the rejected group out to lunch for a celebration for rejects. What fun we had, and to even think we would not be able to go because one of us had something accepted to the show would have been a sad day. We looked forward to that reject card knowing it was what it was, a lunch invitation and party.

In Grade 4 I won a prize from “The Canadian Cancer Society” poster contest and the year after that I won the top prize for the same contest. A reporter from the Vernon paper came to my school in Lavington so I had my picture in the paper receiving the award. That was fun and encouraging!

I had an experience similar to this when I was 15 years old that was a pivotal moment. Out of the blue, or so it seemed, I won the Grade 9 Art Award at F.E. Osborne Jr. High school in Calgary in 1973. I had never won anything in my life before, was never acknowledged in any way, and was the quiet, invisible child so easily missed in school. Still, my teacher Mrs. Dalton, must have seen something, and always had the time to talk to me. I had showed her my charcoal drawings, and my sketches of birds in my dad’s garden, and discussed what I wanted to do with art projects and she always had the time to listen and be enthused. She made a difference in my life, and it was the first time that I thought maybe this was something important that I wanted to pursue, something that I was good at, and something that made be an individual with unique and treasured gifts – the ability to appreciate the world around me and create something beautiful out of it.

Winning prizes or not winning prizes…loving what you do is what counts. Some make money at art, some don’t. The Aspiration to be an artist is as innate, and natural as grass growing. It is going to happen whether encouragement from the outside or not, given water and sunshine from within. A seed of teacher’s praise sent me flying, watered by a significant sale at 13 during the same period to another. The following year, all hell broke loose from the next year’s extremely critical and humiliating art teacher. Did that fire put out my fire? Only temporarily due to oversensitivity of youth. Disability followed. Inability to make art a paying career. (Money associated with art is something to get over too. I do not agree that making money from art makes me a professional. Being guided from within makes me a career artist…just one who infrequently sells.) True healing and health came from my art. The best gift of all. Through me to you and back. Public awareness of the necessity of art education…feeding and fueling that type of Intelligence – artistic intelligence in our school systems – will help heal our broken world and nuclear families. Such joy must be shared. As much as we honor math, logic, etc. We must flourish from the wholesomeness of undivided giving through making and sharing higher art. Once we see the breakdown of society and apathy in youth to this degree, we know we have failed to awaken that inner joy so innate in infants who are well-fed. Inner awareness of our wonder, our Buddha- nature will come forth, shared, flowing naturally forth as goodness like milk. Through our art all who touch it are heightened, if only for a moment, if our attitude is healthy. Heightened to the realms of higher thought… where the angels play. The evolution of man/woman is then dependently-assured.