GratitudeGreetings everyone… it’s been awhile, huh? I do apologize for the long breaks in my newsletter this year. As I believe I said at one point this spring, I don’t want this to turn into a broken record of struggle and bad news… and the fact that I’ve only released one issue since writing that probably speaks for itself. Those who have been following my work for some time know how things have unfolded. After about a decade of growing my business as a side job, I decided to take the leap a couple years back and try to make a go of things full time. Unfortunately I committed myself to this in the months immediately preceding a global pandemic, and 2020 did about everything in its power to derail my career. Somehow I managed to cling to just enough faith to keep going, and thought that if I could only get to the point of doing shows again (after nearly all venues had been cancelled last year) things would work out. That might sound naïve, as the art show circuit is extremely hard to make a living at, and completely littered with broken dreams, but again- I had several years of experience building up to this. I’d come to have a certain level of expectation regarding how much I could make, at minimum, at each show. I crunched the numbers, and thought I could hedge my bets through sheer quantity of venues; and by focusing on a combination of college and resort towns where- without sugar coating it- people are more apt to have money to spend. That’s just one of the realities of finding success selling art, you need to go where people are willing and able to invest in your work. So I gave it a lot of thought, applied to shows all over the country, and set a fairly grueling schedule with major festivals almost every weekend. I dug in and hit the road anticipating this to be the year that would turn my life around. And… I got my butt handed to me. Like I say, I went into this drawing from the experience of many years worth of successful appearances at farmer’s markets and art shows, mainly in the Midwest, and armed with what I believed to be worst-case scenario projections. Sales figures that I’d come to expect from any show, even if it stormed all weekend, and even when anything that could go wrong, did. I probably repeat that for my own edification more than anything, as I have to remind myself that I wasn’t merely throwing foolish hopes into the wind. I knew what I was doing- or so I thought. But what I didn’t realize is how ultra competitive nature photography is out west. Save for one prior appearance in Montana, this year was the first I’d participated in any shows west of the Missouri River. And it wasn’t a problem of trying to mix it up with people who had work superior to mine. It was more a case of repeatedly finding myself in large shows vying for attention amidst dozens of other photographers- whose work mine was on par with- but who had far better displays. This was my biggest downfall. Most of the photographers that are having success out west seem to be finding it selling large pieces, and their booths are essentially high-end mobile art galleries. Many have huge tents with expansive wall space, intricate interior lighting, some actually have flooring, and they’re selling prints quadruple the size of what I generally have in stock. People are drawn in and wowed, and that’s where their money gets spent. The other problem I had was even when I realized this, I couldn’t do anything about it. Unfortunately I sold off a lot of my inventory without replacing it last year- just trying to stay afloat, so I came into this season needing to make sales and restock. But I was also now counting on sales to pay rent and other bills too, and just wasn’t able to get ahead enough to reinvest in larger artwork. As a result, my display was admittedly far from impressive for most of this summer- just a smattering of small metal prints that at times weren’t even enough to fill my walls. And it doesn’t matter how wealthy the locale is, you’re not going to survive in this business unless you can get people to come into your booth for a look. One weekend after another I’d find myself in a new town, often going hours between having anyone so much as step foot in my booth, and even longer between piecing together a few meager sales. It was soul crushing. I’d set out to chase my dream, but it quickly felt more like a nightmare. My sales numbers consistently dropped to tallies just half of those worst-case projections. At many shows I was barely selling enough to recoup my booth fee for the weekend. Some I didn’t. On top of this was the cost of fuel and other expenses, running all over the Mountain West. More than once I sold plasma to scrape together gas money to get me to my next show, only to arrive running on fumes and riddled with anxiety knowing I somehow had to sell enough photography to at least get me back down the road again. I was sleeping in my car on city streets. One show I actually spent the weekend sleeping in my booth. Meals were a luxury often sacrificed- I survived most days off of a couple of granola bars, and maybe a peanut butter sandwich eaten alone in the dark at night. But I was trying. Each day I put on the biggest smile I could muster and gave it my absolute best. Other artists would come into my booth- photographers I respected- and tell me that my work was really good. They were just as perplexed as I was to hear that I wasn’t making any sales. So I kept trying. It was all that I could do. Ultimately I did have to pull out of two of the shows I’d been accepted to- Bozeman, Montana and Normal, Illinois- because I was unable to come up with the booth fees by their payment deadlines. Other than that though, I did everything I could to keep going. While my social media usage was also fairly sporadic this summer, I do recall making a Facebook post at one point telling how I kept hearing George Straight’s “Amarillo by Morning,” and how much those lyrics were resonating. Bob Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone” also kept popping up… unfortunately with equal resonance. While I’ve never wanted this newsletter to be a recurring saga of bad news, I’ve also always meant for it to be an honest look at what it’s like trying to make a living as a nature photographer. This was my first real season of hitting the road full time, and my summer turned out to be pretty devastating. It really beat me down, in a lot of ways, at a time when I so badly needed something to finally feel good about. That’s just the way it was. But I kept trying. When I returned to Iowa in September, I knew the final stretch of shows that awaited- two in Davenport and one in Peoria, Illinois- would determine the fate of my business. By then I’d managed to get some bigger pieces in stock, and had worked really hard to make other improvements to my display. Though it’s still not quite where I want to it be, I finally felt like I was putting more forward than just a hopeful smile. And it paid off. Those three shows, back to back to back, ended up being far and away the best of my career. I won awards both weekends in Davenport, and later learned I was in serious contention in Peoria. I have no problem admitting that I am still completely humbled and was just blown away by all of this. After a summer of giving it everything that I had to give, this was the little bounce back I needed to at least think I might be able to keep going with this after all. I’m extremely grateful for how things ended, but finally having some late sales success isn’t the only reason why. As I was packing up in Peoria, aware it was probably my final show of the year, I looked at my sales tally sheet and was surprised to realize how many note cards I’d sold. Ninety-seven over the course of the weekend. Now note cards obviously don’t bring the profits of fine art prints, but they’re still something that really matter to me. I make each individually by hand, and it’s always such an honor to know that every one sold will be used to send a meaningful message from one person to another. Congratulations, sympathies, thank you’s- celebrations and acknowledgement of the special moments, or love shared, in somebody’s life. Cards to be mailed to friends across the country, sent with pictures drawn for grandparents, notes left to cheer someone up- and hopefully many smiles or happy tears on the receiving end. How incredible is it that my work is used in this way? To know that something I’ve had a part in creating can actually touch someone’s life? Ninety-seven more lives, after Peoria. What a privilege. That got me curious, so I decided to go back and look at the season as a whole. It turns out I sold 744 cards this year. 744 lives touched. 744 acts of expression and moments of sincere, authentic connection. I must confess, it’s kind of overwhelming to look back now- knowing through this season how broken and insignificant I often felt- and realize that at the same time my work and efforts did have meaning- hopefully bringing a bit of joy to somebody’s day. For that I am truly grateful. And there’s more to this season that doesn’t come out in lamenting the struggles- things that happened in spite, or sometimes because of, the hardship.
While I kept most of this to myself for a good part of the summer, when my family did catch on to how things were going they stepped up with unconditional love and support, and showed me that they will always have my back. Honestly, this still feels like perhaps the biggest takeaway, as through ongoing battles with depression I know I’ve kind of ostracized myself. As my confidence sank over these months I felt like a hopeless screw up- so having anyone’s backing was something I’d long stopped believing I deserved. The season afforded some special experiences that if I hadn’t been out there giving my best shot, I wouldn’t have had either. One evening while watching trout rise in a high alpine Colorado lake, seeing the sunlight wash over surrounding peaks, I was reminded why I love photography so much- for the chance to share these moments of magic and wonder with others. I knew again that this is what I want to do with my life. And joining Nature First, initially as a writer then later stepping into an ambassador role, has given me the opportunity to network with photographers from all over the world; and to play a larger part in advocating for ethics in the field, and in working to protect our wild places. For one weekend in July, I got to sell my photography in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I didn’t sell very much, mind you… but this still felt personally significant. When I was in my early twenties I took a formative road trip with a group of friends, and Jackson was one of our most memorable stops. I still recall standing in a Grand Tetons National Park gift shop marveling over local photography, and thinking how incredibly rewarding it must be to sell your work there. (Now I can start dreaming about how it must feel to do so successfully. LOL.) And as I mentioned before, I had the chance to meet and talk with some pretty highly accomplished photographers, some who have made a living on the art show circuit for many years. Each and every one looked closely at my work and told me I was good enough to be there. Some offered suggestions on things I could do to try and improve my display, and all gave encouragement and told me to stick with it. As one told me without pulling any punches, “the first couple years of trying to get everything dialed in can be brutal. Survive this, and you’re going to be fine.” So that was my 2021 season in a nutshell. I think too often our feelings of failure are in actuality the confusion that comes with a juxtaposition of reason. When we’re trying to justify ourselves amidst the rules and gauges of success in an often shallow and money driven world, while pursuing a life and passions that are anything but. Of course we all have to make a living. Buy food to eat and pay our bills. And it’s in trying to eek out an existence, especially when barely managing that much, or when we feel received with overwhelming indifference, that what’s really important gets overlooked. We can lose sight of the treasures of higher impact. The things we can offer by baring our hearts that bring others joy. The ripples we create that we’re sometimes not aware of. It’s so easy to fixate on problems and hardship that we suffer a disconnect from what really matters. We forget how special it is just to touch a single life. To help put a smile on one person’s face. We forget, when people repeatedly leave us feeling underappreciated and unseen, that there are still others who will always be pulling for us and care. I feel like these are things that I’ve always known, but again, when times get dark it’s so easy to lose sight. And sometimes the reminder in all of this comes through trial by fire. Life challenges our beliefs by putting us though hell, and then asks if we still hold the same truths and ambitions on the other side. I do. And for all of this, I am grateful. Recent LinksI haven’t done a whole lot of writing in awhile, but am trying to get back to it now, so I do have a couple of quick links to share… (And for anyone wondering hair boogers = nose hair… And for the
record, I have addressed this since.) Then maybe more of local interest to my Tipton or Eastern Iowa friends, our work with the Holbrook Society continued last month with our first big fundraiser. You can find a summary along with photos and some video links HERE, which include Quinn Early’s question and answer session, and our introductory discussion of future plans. The night was definitely a success, and I even survived my first public speaking attempt in about twenty-five years. Somewhat. My babbling might have suggested otherwise- I felt about as nervous as when I took that same stage for my first band concert in fifth grade- but it was really a privilege and means so much to me to try and make positive contributions in my hometown. A heartfelt thank you goes out to everyone who was there or has supported this cause. This was only the beginning, so please stay tuned for lots of great things to come. Other NewsFor those wondering about calendars- yes, I am doing my full line up with U.S., Iowa and Tipton versions again this year. (The photo at the top of this newsletter is a little sneak peek at the 2022 Tipton cover.) The calendars are in transit, and I’ll be sending an announcement with order links out to my full mailing list tomorrow. The Tipton and Iowa editions will also be available again at Family Foods . The first shipment was delivered today, so
they should be on the sales floor soon. Parting ThoughtsSo... I'd actually written one more segment to share here, which tells a story about the above photo, ties in to some of what I wrote about in the opening, and discusses my focus moving forward. However, I recognize that this issue has already gotten pretty lengthy, and I'm feeling a little self-conscious about that. We all have limited time, and I appreciate that you've all given so much of yours to read this far. So what I'm going to do instead is publish the rest of this as a blog entry. That way, anyone who is
interested in reading further can go fill themselves a nice cup of coffee or tea before settling in for the conclusion- or do so this weekend at your leisure- and others can be let off the hook. I promise I'll try really hard to remember that too.
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