Sample No-Thank-You Letter

Are you an artist? Is someone asking you to work for free? Are you unsure how to decline? This sample letter is for you.

I received an invitation from a start-up to present my work in a 30-minute presentation on a volunteer basis. I am paid on a regular basis to present my work similarly by universities, conferences, foundations, non-profits, etc. Here is how I responded.

Thank you for your interest in my work, and for this invitation. I am not accepting requests from start-ups to present my work without compensation. As for volunteering, I focus my efforts on worthy causes that support under-resourced communities.

When you are able to offer adequate compensation, please reach out. A great resource for learning about artist fees and artistic labor is wageforwork.com.

Meta-Practice

Unsolicited Advice: Tips for Artist’s Talks on Zoom

An artist recently asked how to be less nervous before an artist’s talk. Here are my suggestions.

Remember: The audience is pre-disposed to forgiving mistakes.

Friend and fellow artist Leah Rosenberg shared this wisdom from Yo-Yo Ma:

“…that’s not why we’re here, to watch the bad things that happened.”
Yo-Yo Ma, “Music Happens Between the Notes,” On Being podcast, September 4, 2014

The audience wants you to succeed! They’re there because they are interested in you, you art, and in hearing you speak. So it’s OK to be yourself. No one needs you to be perfect!

At the same time, it is courteous and respectful to be prepared.

Have a script.

You don’t have to read it word for word—just know what talking points to hit. I aim for information density. I can be more clear and concise if I consolidate my thoughts in writing beforehand, than I would be if I ad-libbed.

Don’t just recite facts.

Sometimes artists put their ‘greatest hits’ into a slide deck, and deliver a talk by looking at the slide and reciting what the work is and when and where it happened. It can be very dry. Alternatively, structure your talk in sections by content (such as background, process, work), or take deeper dives into fewer bodies of work.

Tell the story of the development of a practice.

I find that audiences want to know: Why do you make what you make? How did you arrive at this inquiry or way of working? You could illustrate these ideas with process photos, sketches, or reference images. I think process photos are always welcome, and especially now under shelter-in-place.

Rehearse. Time. Cut.

I tend to put too many slides into my slide show for the time allowed. (Not sure how much time you’re allowed? Ask.) So I rehearse my presentation and time myself. Then I’ll edit down my slides. If I know time is tight, then I’ll minimize going off-script.

During the presentation, I try to set a timer on my phone (which is on mute, of course!) so I can stay close to the time allotted to me. This is less important if you’re the only artist talking. But the more artists there are, the more important it is to stick to a schedule.

Ask for questions in advance.

If an interview is planned, prepare and rehearse some answers to anticipated questions.

Move notes to the top of your screen.

I use InDesign for everything, so I present my slides via PDFs rather than Keynote, Powerpoint or Google Slides. Then I have a separate text document for my notes. When you start screen sharing in Zoom, it will go into full screen mode. I exit full screen and stack my Zoom window into a horizontal layer, which I move down when I’m presenting, so my notes can be up top, closer to the camera.

Another option is to use two monitors, or an external monitor behind a laptop, for notes.

Include a slide with your name, website, and handles.

I don’t know why many artists shy away from this—it’s standard in other contexts. Make it easier for supporters to connect with you. You can include it at the beginning or the end.

Be happy to be there, and let it show!

One of my pet peeves is when artists look and sound bored talking about their own work. Many people go dead-eyed and monotone on Zoom. Add energy via warmth, humor, conviviality, and enthusiasm. Starting off with a warm smile is a great first step.

Cultivate conversation.

IRL conversations are interactive and fluid. On Zoom, dialogues can be stilted. People tend to speak in paragraphs. There can be woefully little interaction between presenters. Try to counter that by having more exchanges, asking questions in return, linking your point to someone else’s comments or work, and giving short answers when appropriate.

Increase production value.

As a viewer, I appreciate it when guests or hosts on Zoom webinars step up their lighting and staging for public webinars. Here are simple lighting and staging tips from Tom Ford on NYT, and it doesn’t involve expensive or new A/V equipment.

Do a tech check.

It’s always a good idea for all presenters to log on 15 minutes in advance. Check that your sound and video is working, your slide deck is open, that your sound works on any videos, etc.

Meta-Practice

Notes from a Juror: New Glass Review

I recently served as a juror for New Glass Review 41. In the interest of making the art world more transparent, here are some of my insights from that process.

Entry way to the museum, with a long path framed by bare winter trees.

Corning Museum of Art. This is a great museum—the largest museum of glass in the world, in fact—and their new contemporary galleries are especially gorgeous. Well worth a trip to Corning, NY!

Invitation

I was honored to be invited by Susie Silbert, Curator of Postwar and Contemporary Glass at the Corning Museum of Glass, to be a guest juror for New Glass Review 41, an annual exhibition in print.

Three books, with images of glass sculptures and installations on the cover.

Past issues of New Glass Review 38 & 39, and New Glass Now.

To be totally honest, I was surprised by the invitation. My practice infrequently overlaps with glass. But I trusted Susie’s instincts as a curator and that the perspective I could bring was welcome—that it was OK for me not to be an expert in glass or a glass practitioner, but that my art practice and writing practices could be a good launching pad for worthy contributions nonetheless. I’m OK with being a weirdo outsider in this process (though I would love to return to making hot glass again in the future).

Jurors

There were four jurors: Susie, me, a US glass artist/writer, and an international curator. (I’ll let CMOG reveal the full list of jurors.) We all brought different bodies of knowledge, interests, and perceptions to the table. I found the mix of our backgrounds and where our curiosities lie to be very educational in the jurying process. I was a little intimidated at times, but I also knew it’s OK to be humble and honest about what I don’t know. By the final round, I felt that all our perspectives were different and valid, and that was very freeing for me. I am learning that approaching with curiosity is always a good way to go.

Process

The process was fascinating. There were 978 total entrants. Each entrant could submit one to three images, so we reviewed a total of 2,599 images! The jurors were asked to select 100 images for inclusion in New Glass Review 41. See the art competition odds here.

I was curious as to how this would be accomplished in two full days of meeting in person at the Corning Museum. As with most feats, it was possible because of the invisible labor of support staff—namely, Violet Wilson, Whitney Birkett, AV crew and others. They had done a lot of preparation and were heavily involved in technical, behind-the-scenes work to make the jurors’ jobs smooth and on schedule. (I also appreciated that there was catering to help keep our energy and focus up.)

Round One: Overview

In the first round, we did a quick look only at images; we didn’t look at statements or the title, year, media, dimensions, etc. This was just to see everything and get familiar with the entries. If you can believe it, we started at just after 9 AM and finished by noon.

A note about the format… In this first round, each ‘slide’ of the deck contained one entrant’s images. If there were three images, it filled the ‘slide’ well. Some people submitted photos of one artwork: an overall view, and detail views. Others submitted three different artworks. This is not a distinction that made a big difference to me. But, if there was only one installation view, with no details, it seemed to be a missed opportunity to fill the screen with more visual information. Conversely, when only cropped views were offered, I wanted to see an uncropped image to understand the full extent of the object.

Round Two: Initial ‘Keepers’

In the second round, jurors were asked to voice whether we’d each like to keep none, one, or multiple images to see again in the next round.

We went through all the entries again, this time, with supplementary texts. If I remember correctly, titles, years, media, and dimensions appeared under each image in this round.

An artist’s statement was shown on a large monitor. To be honest, we really could only skim the statement in this round. The shorter, clearer statements, with headers identifying sections, worked better for me. When entrants submitted works that looked disparate, brief statements about each work or project were helpful. I found long, narrative paragraphs too wordy and rambling for my tastes.*

We also stated if we had personal connections with the artist in this round. We recused ourselves or shared relevant context if necessary. I recused myself from advancing artists who I had personal connections with in this round and round three.

Round Three: Cull to 250 Images

The next day, we spent the morning narrowing down the number of images to 250. We went a little slower, spending more time reading the statements. I think this is when we really got a sense of the artist’s intent. Spending the time in this stage really made the final round easier. We went past our scheduled lunch time, and I’m grateful that the support staff bore with us.

Round Four: Final Selections of 100 Images

In preparation for the final afternoon, the staff printed our selections of 250 images and taped them to the walls. Then each juror was given a colored dot sticker and asked to select 25 images to make up the 100 selected works to appear in New Glass Review. Jurors are also asked to write a few sentences about 25 works, and it was generally agreed upon that the works we picked in this stage are also the ones we would write about.

A window case behind glass of nine printouts, each bearing a photo of glass art, with colored dot stickers below.

Sample printouts with dot stickers from past jurying processes on view in the exhibition New Glass Now | Context.

There’s an element of chance in this final stage. Some works that I wanted to choose were already picked by other jurors by the time I made it to that area of printouts.

Full disclosure: In this stage, I selected some artists whose work I had previously recused myself from. I felt that if the other jurors advanced it to this final stage, it was fair game for me now.

We were also given the chance to add an unlimited number of dots to other juror’s selections, so our initials would appear next to the works. This also had some element of subjectivity—I noticed that sometimes jurors spoke favorably about some works in early rounds but didn’t add their dots in the final round. For me, for better or worse, the many small decisions, considerations, and a certain level of decision fatigue gave way to gut instincts by the end.

Observations

I think this process is really efficient for the time frame available. One constraint is that some images that may have benefited from clarifying statements were cut in round two. But given the enormous task of whittling down images, the various subjectivities, positions, and interests of the jurors, and Susie’s varied concerns related to the history and role of New Glass Review in the glass field at large, I’d say there’s a generous mix of rigor and chance in the process. No artists should be discouraged from applying again in future years.

I appreciate the democracy and transparency embedded in the New Glass Review.

Signage that states, "Methodology for Selection. New Glass is democratic in a way that few curatorial projects are. Usually, exhibitions are initiated by one curator who solicits art work from an artist they have researched. By contrast, any artist can submit to New Glass, and all of the artists are given equal consideration. Instead of one curator selecting, New Glass invites a group of people from outside the Museum to select from these submissions. The selectors do not have to agree about every work, instead a piece can be accepted to New Glass even if it was chosen by a single selector. The selections of each panelist are identified in both the New Glass publications and exhibitions, including this one, by publishing their initials alongside their choices."

A didactic text from the exhibition, New Glass Now | Context.

Advice: Apply!

In the process of preparing to be a juror, I reviewed New Glass Review 38 and 39, as well as New Glass Now (sort of a super-version of New Glass Review 40). The juror’s selections varied widely. I would not want any potential applicants to feel that New Glass Review favors any particular look, style, medium, or technique.

This year’s jurors were fortunate that the jurying coincided with the New Glass Now | Context exhibition on view in the CMOG Rakow Research Library through January 3, 2021. This exhibition is a great overview of the history of New Glass Review and how it and CMOG have been formative in fostering the field of glass art. It’s also interesting to see how Susie is shaking up things with new energy.

A case with "New Glass Review 1" in vinyl, displaying the first and most recent issues of New Glass Review.

A display from the exhibition, New Glass Review | Context.

The exhibition, New Glass Now | Context, includes this display showing that all submitted entries become archived at CMOG. This is a really generous additional benefit. Even if works are not selected for publication, they become part of this institution’s archive, available to researchers. I really loved Lenka Clayton’s and Jon Rubin’s “Fruit and Other Things” project using the archive of past entries to the Carnegie International, and I would love to see artists and researchers dive into the New Glass Review archives for future projects.

I see applying to competitions as a skill that artists develop with practice. Personally, I think it’s fair to advance entrants who are skilled in photographing and presenting their works to their best competitive advantage; writing clear, concise statements that add to the works rather than undermine them with cloudy thinking or contradictory info; arming themselves with knowledge about the formats of the submission and review process (hint: this is the point of this blog post!); and strategizing appropriately.

This skill can be learned by attending professional development workshops (and applying that knowledge!), going to info sessions whenever available, practicing the art of writing, investing in good documentation, not waiting until the last minute to apply to an opportunity, being strategic about which opportunities you apply to rather than taking scatter-shot, cut-and-paste approaches, and asking fellow artists to give feedback on your submissions.

A Caveat

The jurors were asked to share feedback about the process. It sounds to me that the organizers are interested in making improvements, so the application may shift slightly in the future. These notes reflect my experience, during this one particular jurying session of New Glass Review, solely.

Takeaways

Each juror will submit an essay on our perspective, as well as short statements about 25 of our selections. I appreciated the opportunity to articulate what I’m interested in as a viewer, and what I saw in the works I selected. I think this is a unique aspect of juried artist’s competitions that makes a jury feel less de-personalized. As an applicant, I always appreciate getting any feedback or encouragement, but most organizations don’t have the capacity to give feedback. I can’t think of any that includes jurors’ direct responses like New Glass Review.

I felt honored to be part of the process. I am coming away with a lot of images and knowledge about contemporary glass art from the past 18 months. I’m very grateful to learn about so many glass practitioners around the world, to be exposed to so many artists’ artworks and practices. I hope that New Glass Review 41 acts as a starting point for readers to learn more about these artist’s practices.

I’m grateful to all the artists for preparing entries with care and intention.

Huge thanks to CMOG, Susie, Violet, Whitney, support staff, and the fellow jurors for such a wonderful opportunity, the great support, and generous hospitality.

*Addendum: Unsolicited Advice on Writing Artist’s Statements

If you’re interested, here are some writing strategies I’ve picked up over the years.

One strategy is to print out your artist statement, use scissors to cut out each sentence, and then cut out any words that aren’t necessary or communicative. This is nice for artists who like to work with their hands. Also, taking it off the screen and making it mechanical can help you focus on individual words and phrases.

A chart in the shape of an inverted pyramid with three sections. The top section states "Most newsworthy. Who? What? When? Where? Why? How?" The middle section states, "Important Details." The bottom section states, "Other background info, general info."

The Air Force Departmental Publishing Office (AFDPO) derivative work: Makeemlighter // Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inverted_pyramid_(journalism)

Another method to try is to use journalists’ inverted pyramid. (See graphic and link at right.)

The last tip is to use headers. Think of them as signposts for navigating a text. Usually, setting the header in all capitals and extra space are enough to distinguish it from body text, if you can’t style the text otherwise.

(While Susie emphasized that we’re selecting artists, not writers, to me, clear writing is an indication of clear thinking. I like to know what artists are thinking about their work and what they are trying to do. If they can’t articulate it clearly, I can’t understand the work as well. I did allow some leeway for non-native English entrants in this regard.)

belonging, Meta-Practice

Residency Wrap-Up: Haas Institute for a Fair and Inclusive Society Artist-in-Residence Program 2018–2019

The Who, What, When, Where, and How of my Haas residency

To help other artists interested in residencies, I usually write residency wrap-ups that give an inside look to my residency experience. I find that there is only so much information one can glean from the organization’s web site. The more you know about the residency, the easier it is to tell if the residency is for you and what to expect.

No two artists will have exactly the same residency experience. This is especially true when I’m writing about inaugural residencies, which may be seen as pilots by the organization. Regardless, I’ll share my experience for the sake of transparency.

Who

Haas

The Haas Institute for a Fair and Inclusive Society is a research institute at UC Berkeley that explores many different areas related to inequity. One of those research areas is othering and belonging. You can learn more at Haas’ website, their section on othering and belonging, and on their YouTube channel with videos of past Othering & Belonging conferences.

AIR Coordinator

Evan Bissell is the Haas Institute’s Arts and Strategy Coordinator. He was my primary contact person at Haas. I met with him regularly and he conveyed Haas’ expectations to me. I think Evan is uniquely positioned to coordinate this residency program. He is a longtime community-oriented artist in the Bay Area who holds a Master’s in Public Health and City Planning and teaches on art and social change at UC Berkeley. I’m not an academic, and I was a little intimidated about partnering with a think tank. But Evan is fluent in art and research. His feedback on formal concerns and artistic process was helpful. And, his input on how the work fits or intersects with Haas’ work was reassuring and complementary. In many ways, he was like a “fixer,” who helped me figure out what kinds of support he or Haas could offer. In some aspects, such as in parts of the book, I thought of Evan more as a collaborator.

What

Haas invited artists essentially “to create original work… to illuminate and advance our understanding of belonging… [in projects] that explore practices of dialogue.”

The residency included:

a $10,000 honorarium
a platform at the Othering and Belonging conference (1,500 attendees)
amplification in the Haas Institute news magazine and digital media (here’s a link to an interview in their newsletter)
support from Haas staff

Additional funds for materials were considered. (I asked for about $6k to cover travel, materials, studio rental, printing, etc. Though I reside in NYC, I did not have to pay for accommodations since I could stay with family in the Bay Area.)

My Project

You can learn about the Belonging Project at Belonging.ChristineWongYap.com.

A book shares the stories I collected, as well as the certificates, bandannas and maps I created in response to the stories.

I presented certificates to commemorate 25 places of belonging. Photo of MedShare volunteers in their San Leandro warehouse: Shana Heede Hassol.

I printed bandannas inspired by carried belonging. Photo: Lia Sutton.

When

November 1, 2018 through May 1, 2019. (The webpage says it’s a year-long residency but it’s technically only six months—or only about five months leading up to the conference.) I was interviewed in early October and notified in mid-October.

The residency culminated with a display of the work at the Othering and Belonging Conference in early April.

My Time Line

I traveled to California three times for this project, for a combined total of about three months. I did two five-week stints. The first was for outreach; the second was for production. The third trip was to prep and attend the Othering and Belonging Conference.

The generous stipend allowed me to focus on this project for 30–50 hours per week from mid-November to late February.

The schedule was tight; I’ve encouraged Haas to allow future AIRs more time. It wasn’t just that six months is a short time. It was also the timing around the winter holidays. I found it challenging to schedule workshops and find volunteers since semesters and organizations’ programs were ending, and students were doing finals. I also happened to start my project right when the Bay Area was suffering extremely bad air quality days that disrupted school and work routines.

Where

Haas is located on the UC Berkeley campus. The program is actually more akin to fellowship in that you aren’t provided with a space. The Haas office is small, and not set up for an AIR. In fact, many Haas staff and researchers work remotely in far-flung locations.

Where I worked

For one month, I printed at Kala Art Institute. I was previously a Fellow at Kala, so I was familiar with Kala’s studio, staff, and rules. I asked them if they would barter studio fees for conference admission; they agreed. Going back to Kala was a great experience. The staff and community of artists wholeheartedly welcomed me. They handed over keys and letting me get to work right away. A sense of belonging and interdependence are tangible there. It feels like those values are in the DNA of the place. I spent many 10- to 12-hour days working there.

Kala Art Institute has a huge printshop for intaglio, letterpress, screenprinting, lithography, digital media, and darkroom processes.

I printed the certificates on the Vandercook SP-15 letterpress.

I screen-printed over 100 bandannas using their vacuum table.

Aside from Kala, I worked at my family’s house and did offsite workshops and meetings all over the Bay Area, from Benicia to San José. Fortunately, I could borrow a family car. I transcribed, edited and designed in my apartment in NYC.

The conference

The conference was at the Oakland Convention Center in downtown Oakland. Haas gave me two columns which were 6 to 8’ wide each to display my project on. I created an interactive mapping activity, launched the book, displayed the bandannas, and showed a slide show of certificates on a video monitor they arranged for me.

The columns inside the Oakland Convention Center where I presented my project during the Othering and Belonging Conference.

I invited conference attendees to add their place of belonging to a map of the Bay Area.

Participants could fill out a map maker card.

Participants could add stickers representing the 15 qualities of belonging to their map markers describing their place of belonging.

Participants were invited to pin their map markers to the map.

I launched the book, “100 Stories of Belonging in the S.F. Bay Area” at the conference.

I presented the other outcomes of the project at the conference, too, including these screen-printed bandannas inspired by people who said they carried their belonging with them.

[Photos above: Courtesy of Lee Oscar Gomez.]

A bar chart titled "Which two qualities of belonging are salient to you and your place of belonging?" Responses from 104 attendees of the Othering and Belonging Conference 2019. Connectedness: 66. Authenticity: 23. Family: 22. Well-being: 22. Accepted: 19. Growth: 19. Familiarity: 13. Meaning: 12. Self-worth: 9. Agency 8. Safety: 8. Access: 7. Autonomy: 4. Confidence: 3. Continuity: 1.

In the mapping activity, I asked participants to pick two of the 15 qualities of belonging we identified in the book, 100 Stories of Belonging in the S.F. Bay Area. Participants selected connectedness almost 3x as often as the second-most selected quality, authenticity.

How

Application

Haas held an open call for applications for the AIR program. I can’t remember how I heard about it. The application was refreshingly streamlined. All you had to do was email a short letter of intent, a CV, and a link to a website (or 10 images, or 3 minutes of video). There was no fee to apply (hooray!)

From the pool of several dozen applicants, some were interviewed via video chat, and one was selected. I was honored to be selected, and doubly honored to learn that the jurors included Brett Cook (whose murals I’d admired for years) and Roberto Bedoya (who has written seminal essays on creative placemaking).

Process

First, I met with Evan and we started by self-organizing: I came up with a timeline, a budget, and a draft of outreach materials (I wrote my “dream” budget and a “get-by” budget, they opted for the “get-by” budget and I made it work). He gathered feedback from Haas staff, and I made amendments.

As anticipated, the outreach phase was the hardest part. Fortunately, I lived in the Bay Area for over 30 years, I worked with many organizations, and I knew a lot of artists and art professors. Evan helped by connecting me with groups, reaching out to his own networks, and hosting a dinner. Some groups reached out to me after seeing Haas’ announcements, or individuals submitted their story after seeing the call in Haas’ newsletter. Evan also helped out by having materials translated into Spanish.

All the submissions made a 170+ page Google doc. When I was working on compiling, reading, and editing the submissions, I got caught colds, twice in four weeks.

I was happy to be back at Kala and to enter the production stage. Printmaking is very humbling. You have to be methodical and plan thoroughly. I learned a lot.

Lessons and tips

The experience made me adopt some principles that systematically prioritize patience over productivity:

Never skip steps.
Don’t overbook your schedule.
Do one thing at a time.
Take breaks.

This makes for better results, a more sustainable pace, and a healthier and happier attitude.

From past residencies, I’ve learned:

Taper off production the last few days of a residency.
Leave a whole day to pack and ship projects and materials.

Administration

This is going to sound extremely boring and unsexy, but I think administration, communication, and organization were crucial to a successful partnership. This is an unusual residency in that Haas is most interested in belonging and dialogue; they leave you tons of leeway in how you structure and execute your project, who you choose to work with, what you ask for, where you work, and when you accomplish benchmarks. Being self-directed and having self-management skills are critical. Again, it sounds banal, but in my wrap-up phone call with Evan, we realized that since we’d kept each other informed along the way, there were no major surprises or changes we needed to debrief.

Getting reimbursed in the UC system involves a lot of paperwork. I recommend that future AIRs learn about the documentation requirements, be diligent about keeping receipts (especially anything related to travel), and expect that check turnarounds will be lengthy.

Afterword

This is a really amazing opportunity for any artist who wants to tackle a self-directed project around belonging in the context of researchers interested in city planning, public health and more. I’m so honored and grateful to have been the inaugural resident. It’s been a tremendous opportunity to realize this project, to partner with Haas, to collaborate with many supportive community organizations, and to be entrusted with so many contributors’ stories. I feel that the seeds of this project were planted in 2016, and the fruits of this labor can be nourishment for the future.

A Postscript

Years ago, I had the chance to be considered for a residency at a very large tech company in California. I declined because I knew I’d regret it (money comes, money goes, but regrets haunt me for years.) Later, when I learned that their residency came with a $10,000 stipend, I didn’t second-guess my convictions, but I couldn’t help but think about what I would do with that much money.

It just so happens that the Haas honorarium is the same amount as that tech company’s. I did this project for so many other reasons beside the money. But this coincidence reaffirms that I did the right thing saying no. I garnered the same amount of financial support without compromising my values. And I did it partnering with a deeply ethical organization that actively promotes values and social justice. This helps me feel a sense of self-congruence for me as an artist, the projects I make, and my greater purpose as a human. It gives me a sense of maturity and self-assurance about what I am doing, and that being true to my principles is always the right choice.

Meta-Practice

An Eye-popping Application Fee

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a $50 application fee for an open call for a group exhibition until now.

I’ve encountered $45 to 65 application fees for residencies, and $35 fees for open calls for three slides and $5-10 extra for additional slides, which could add up to more than $50 if the artist chooses. In any case, paying $45 for any fee seems expensive to me.

In principle, I think it’s an organization’s job to review slides of artists who are being considered for their programs. Reviewing entries is part of the cost of running the program. For galleries, looking for artists and viewing their artworks is part of the work of curation.

I get that the amount of entries can be overwhelming, that a lot of labor goes in, that jurors should be compensated, and that organizations want to offset those costs. (I’ve been a juror and I have worked at a gallery organizing submissions.) I also get that NYC is an expensive city to live in, and that open calls are a way small organizations generate income.

But, I also know that jurors may spend only a few minutes reviewing each entry. It’s up to individual artists to decide if having their work reviewed by unnamed jurors for the chance to exhibit in a group show is worth it.

Criteria I consider:

Who is the gallery? Where is it located? What is its programming like? What is their track record or reputation? What is their level of professionalism?
- Will they handle my work with care? Will they properly care for, install, invigilate, deinstall, and pack my work?
- Is the website well-designed, well-organized, and up-to-date, with a useful archive of past shows? Do captions properly credit artists and link to their websites? Or is there only a Facebook album of snapshots from the opening, where the primary message is “Look how many guests attended” rather than “Here are the artworks that form the content of the exhibition”?
- Are past shows well-conceived, consistently high in quality, well-staged, and well-lit? Is the gallery in good, well-maintained condition?
- Does the gallery double as an events space, increasing the chance that the work will be damaged?
What is the potential benefit of participating? What is the gallery’s location? Who is its audience? What are their hours? In other words, who will see the show and will they be interested and likely to support my work? What else is included in the exhibition? Will the make a catalog, host an artist’s talk, etc.? What is the value of that amplification?
- Who are the jurors? What is their track record? Are they ethical? How aligned are their interests with my work? What is their institutional affiliation (sorry to have the institution validate the individual; it’s one consideration), and how aligned is that institution with my exhibition goals?
What is the potential cost of participating? What is the fine print? Do I have to frame unframed artwork? Do I have to pay for outbound and return shipping? Will I have to travel to install the work, attend the opening, and pick up the work? Will they assume any liability for damaged artwork? What is the split in any sales?

Meta-Practice

Dusting Yourself Off

Toggling between visualizing and detaching from success.

Recently I poured my heart into a major art application. But when I received the rejection letter, I was already moving on to the next thing. Here’s what happened.

My art business goals are to apply.

Of course I want my applications to be successful. But I don’t write goals based on external validation. I can only control what I do. I write my goals so that my job is to keep throwing my hat into the ring.

I have also tried to be more ambitious about what I apply to. Ambition is not natural to me. I’ve also avoided applying to grants, because they seem like more work with lower chances of returns. But I needed to get over this hang-up.

I’d heard of the Queens Museum Jerome Foundation Emerging Artist Fellowship (EAF) before. It offers funding of $20,000 to develop new work, support from staff for one year, and a solo exhibition at the Queens Museum. This was my first time applying to it. In the past, I didn’t consider it—I just assumed that I don’t or can’t work at a scale that would justify $20,000. I had a self-perception problem.

Visualizing Success

Setting ‘stretch goals’ gave me a push I needed. I started the process thinking: My chances are very low. The odds are against me. My project seems dissimilar to past projects they’ve funded. I had a protective, pessimistic mindset.

I started the process to fulfill a goal, then awkwardly tried to bridge the interests of the program with my own. After working through half-baked ideas, I arrived at a project that clicked. It made sense for me as a next step as an artist. I got more excited and invested. My self-belief grew.

It became easier for me to visualize success because my project was authentic.

By the time I finished the application, I thought: This is a strong proposal. It’s a great fit. It stands out in a good way. I saw myself doing this project. By writing a proposal I believed in, I saw that I could do projects at this scale, and that I am worthy of this amount of support and recognition.

Detachment from the Outcome through Attachment to the Project

The project took on a life of its own. There’s a noticeable energy in the flood of new ideas in my sketchbook.

I knew I could strengthen my proposal by confirming interest from community partners. I emailed strangers and colleagues, and got anxious waiting for their responses. When a few responded with enthusiasm, I felt high with gratitude. It validated the strength of the project. Something happened inside me, and I committed to doing this project with or without the EAF.

I started brainstorming other ways to make this project happen. Since I scaled it up for the grant application, I started thinking about how to scale it down or adapt it to other open calls. I plugged dates in my calendar, comparing application deadlines and notifications. The EAF become my Plan A. I started forming Plan B, C, and D. It gave me a sense of agency.

The Emotional Cost of Attachment

After I submit an application, I put a note in my calendar on the notification date, and I try not to think about it until then.

But I really poured my heart into the application, and so I was nervous and excited when the EAF notification date finally arrived. I checked my email… Nothing. Then over the next few days, I kept checking my email… And the web page to see if the notification date changed…. And my spam folder…. Nothing. This took me on an emotional journey of anxiety, a little bit of frustration and resentment, dread, resignation. I couldn’t tolerate the uncertainty. Stopping the pain of uncertainty became more urgent than the desire to secure the EAF. This is not a mature, emotionally intelligent response. But the deadline for the call in Plan B started creeping up, so I pivoted.

When I finally received the rejection, I was bummed out momentarily. I sort of shrugged, thinking: Well, good thing I had already started Plan B. I wasn’t entirely non-attached, but I moved on relatively quickly.

Of course I would have loved to receive the EAF. It was Plan A because it was the most well-funded, most advantageously-timed option.

I’m grateful for the process—it helped me identify a project I feel passionate about, connect with partners excited to work with me, and find creative momentum that will carry me forward.

I like thinking about how sports and art competitions are alike. For example, if you sign up for a competition—say, a Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu tournament—your goals might be to intensify training, gain competition experience, and test yourself. But if you also want to win the gold medal, you have to visualize yourself doing so. You can’t aim for less. Same with an art competition. You should write the best possible proposal you can.

However, you can only control your own effort and mindset. You can’t control the outcomes, because of the role of other competitors and judges. You may win a gold—in which case you shouldn’t get too cocky and back off your training. You may not win—then you have to be resilient enough to cope with your disappointment; be a good sport; avoid jealousy and excuses; and resolve to learn, train hard, and do better next time. Regardless of the outcome of a competition, remember the long game.

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”

—variously attributed or mis-attributed to Winston Churchill and John Wooden

Meta-Practice

Goals and Deliberate Practice

How much progress are you making towards your art goals?
Are you strategically improving weak areas?
How do you stretch out of comfort zones?

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DELIBERATE PRACTICE

In “Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance” (London: Vauxhall, 2016), psychologist Angela Duckworth shares Anders Ericsson’s concept of deliberate practice:

Set a stretch goal.
Apply full concentration and effort.
Get immediate and informative feedback.
Repeat, with reflection and refinement.

This is different from going through the motions, or drilling what you already know or are good at. This is focusing on a weak area, and setting out to do something that is beyond your current skill level. Then you fail, ask what went wrong, reflect, and try again. It’s frustrating, uncomfortable, and painful, but Duckworth says you can learn to tolerate the discomfort and find gratification in the struggle.

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GOALS & COMFORT ZONES

When I read about deliberate practice, my response was of simultaneous intrigue and resentment. I recognized that I need to be more strategic, and to stretch out of my comfort zone more often.

I usually set my one-year goals in the summer, so I’m about two-thirds of the way through my goal-year. I’ve made good progress… on the things I don’t mind doing. For example, I’ve applied to 5 residencies, and submitted my work to 6 open calls for exhibitions. I feel really good about that!

However, when it comes to tasks I dread, I’m excelling at avoidance. For example, to stretch out of my comfort zone, I set a goal of applying to three major grants, because I need to push myself to do more ambitious projects. In the past 8 out of 12 months, I’ve only completed one grant application.

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STRETCH

Inter/de-pen-dence: A Game is now featured on playtime.PEM.org, the Peabody Essex Museum’s site accompanying their current exhibition on play.

Coincidentally, “stretch” is a tactics card in Inter/de-pen-dence: A Game, now playable online at playtime.PEM.org.

Sarrita Hunn (my collaborator) and I invited artists Torreya Cummings (Oakland, CA), Malcolm Peacock (New Brunswick, NJ), and Ronny Quevedo (Bronx, NY) to play with us, and are posting the transcription of the dialogue-based gameplay weekly.

In Round 3, Torreya drew the tactics card, “Stretch” and shared how stretching, for her, is often a matter of asking for support from partner institutions. It followed after Ronny discussed the most significant form of support he received, and I gave an example of Ronny connecting me to Working Classroom in Albuquerque.

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While getting out of comfort zones can be stressful, it’s a trade-off for opportunities for improvement and support.