Please note that with the "Artist's Statement" suggestion, I'm only proposing it as an exercise. You don't need to critique the whole genre or develop an ideological position about artists' statements in particular or the art world in general in order to benefit from it. Just write a short paragraph that provides a positive description of who you are as a photographer and what you care about.
Consider it a paragraph-long introduction to you...for people who don't know you. I'll quote a sentence from Steve Caddy's Featured Comment to the "Catch Fire" post: "The statement is a stab at helping to shed a little light to help orient the viewer."
And yes, write it in the third person. That's the genre. Go along. :-)
Civil War generals
I actually took my own advice and tried the exercise yesterday evening. I'm not suggesting you share yours, because perhaps such exercises work better if they don't have to be displayed to the world and opened up to criticism. But I'll share my attempt just as an example, as a topic for discussion, and also because...well, it surprised me what I came up with! Honestly, I had no notion of where I was going to go with it when I sat down to write.
I started with "Mike Johnston is interested in..." and look what came out:
Mike Johnston is interested in portraiture and portraits of all types, especially informal, candid, and environmental portraits. This interest first showed itself at age six when he vandalized his parents’ collection of old National Geographic magazines by cutting out portraits of all the U.S. Presidents to make a "collection," a transgression for which his parents, generously, decided not to punish him. As an older child he became a great aficionado of the Civil War and decorated the walls of his bedroom with portraits of Civil War Generals and other historical personages. Books of Civil War photographs functioned as his introduction to the medium of photography, though not consciously. His first published photograph, taken at age 16 or so, was a portrait of a French restaurant owner and her chef in Holiday magazine, in an article written by his father. His first "show," in the dining room of the prep school he attended, consisted almost entirely of casual portraits of faculty members and fellow students. When he worked as a photographer for hire in the '80s and '90s he was mostly commissioned to do portraits. He most enjoyed making portraits of kids and young people, often with their parents or other family members. More flexibly, the concept of "portrait" can often be detected lurking behind other photographs of his, from family snapshots, to pictures of cars or dogs, to depictions of interior spaces or even trees or found objects.
Hmm. Well, apparently my first thought, when my mind is a blank, is that I'm a portrait photographer. I don't think it would have occurred to me to describe myself that way if someone just casually asked me.
I'm going to have to think about this. Was that just an easy way to go when I needed to come up with a sample "artist's statement" for publication here? I don't do portraits any more, largely because no one really needs them any more, at least at my level. People take selfies now.
But when I think back, there might be something to this. Portraits were the only specific thing I ever marketed as a pro. Generally I advertised myself as a lower-level jobber photographer who would do any sort of work, and I mostly got "any sort of work," but whenever I "asked" for the sort of work I actually wanted, it was portraiture.
I earned the most money from portraiture. I charged $675 for a sitting back in D.C. And that was more money then than it is now.
...And I got it, too, which is a crucial point! It doesn't matter what you ask for your services; what matters is whether someone pays it.
I photographed some famous people—at least, famous in the context of D.C.'s prevailing political culture back then. Including a U.S. Supreme Court judge, and a television talk show host.
It also seems to have been the only area in which artistic creativity on the one hand and commercial ambition on the other intersected for me—I developed several distinct styles I liked, and devised at least one specialty—the "engagement portrait," by which I meant a casual portrait of a couple just before their marriage. (I didn't like photographing weddings, but I liked the challenge of making pictures of couples that hopefully showed a little bit about how they felt about each other.)
Genius idea
And when I sat down to write, I was thinking of a particular long-ago circumstance. When I first got into photography, I took a job moonlighting at a framing shop so I could learn how to frame my own work. There I met a co-worker named Judy, who would idly talk about how she was going to open her own frame shop one day. At the time, I dismissed it as daydream-talk—Judy was not a hard worker as an employee. But Judy was made of sterner stuff than I thought—she did indeed open a frame shop, only a block away from where I lived in Georgetown. And it prospered, too.
At the time, I'd been having a peculiar problem. I had purchased a display advertisement—offering portraits—in the Yellow Pages (the commercial phone book, if anyone is too young to remember). And the ad drew customers. But I soon realized that I had little idea what these customers envisioned from the word "portrait." Which wouldn't have been a problem, except that everybody did seem to have something in mind! Everybody had their own conception of what a portrait was, yet few of them could put it into words. So what would happen is that I'd make a portrait, and they'd be dissatisfied because it didn't match their expectations, their preconceived idea about what they assumed I was going to do.
To counteract this, I asked Judy if I could put up some of my favorite portraits in her Georgetown shop, and she agreed. I only hung "personal work"—the kind of artistic portrait I most preferred to do, in my chosen style. My deal with her was that I'd send prospects to her shop to look at my work (it was my marketing portfolio, you might say), and, in return, I'd drop off the finished product at her shop and instruct my clients to pick it up there. Which would of course be a perfect opportunity for them to go ahead and get it framed, giving her a sale. I think she even agreed to give me a small percentage of the profit.
Examples of what my customers would pick up at the frame shop. Fiber-base prints, dry mounted and matted, in plastic bags. Not coincidentally, ready for framing.
I thought this was a genius arrangement. Along with all its other advantages, I really did want my clients to frame my work, the better to protect it for posterity.
And it worked great, as long as it lasted. Prospective clients saw exactly the kind of portrait I most wanted to do. Not only did they want me to do the same sort of thing for them, but sometimes they could tell me which specific picture they liked best and why. Compared to what happened with the Yellow Pages ad, it was night and day. I went from getting clients who had mystery expectations they couldn't communicate to me, to getting clients who wanted precisely what I could most easily provide.
Unfortunately, I had a traumatic life-event not long after, which triggered a relapse of my alcoholism, so the portrait enterprise fizzled. But it was the closest I ever came to being able to do exactly what I wanted to do and get paid for it.
I guess the next thing to think about is whether any of this should have any implications for the future. I'll go ponder that....
Mike
ADDENDUM: Finally identified the comment that inspired the "Catch Fire" artist statement post. I think I might be the one who lost it—I think I added it to the "Access" post as a Featured Comment but then got my wires crossed in publishing it and it got lost. Anyway, it was from Dave Jenkins and this is what Dave said:
Sometime after my book Rock City Barns: A Passing Era was published in 1996 and became an instant best-seller, I received a letter from the well-known art photographer Maria von Matteson, who proposed arranging a joint exhibit with her and the great Florida Everglades photographer Clyde Butcher. The show never happened, but one thing that Maria said to me stuck: she said 'You need to write an artist's statement that defines you.' So I did, and this is what I came up with. 'My domain is the old, the odd, and the ordinary; the beautiful, the abandoned, and the about to vanish away. I am a visual historian of an earlier America and a recorder of the interface between man and nature; a keeper of vanishing ways of life.' As a commercial, architectural, and occasional wedding photographer, I've done a lot of things that don't fit within that statement. Yet, for the past 22 years I've known who I am as a photographer and have sought to work as much as possible within that vein, including magazine articles and my most recent book Backroads and Byways of Georgia.
I wrote about this on my blog A Life in Photography.
Thanks to Dave and my apologies to him (and, er, to everyone) for misplacing his comment in the first place.
Original contents copyright 2020 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.
(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:
Keith: "Now I'm seriously thinking of having a go at an artist's statement. Not that I'll publish it anywhere. Before I read your blog on the topic, I thought such things were an act of artistic pretension; a demonstration one could do 'artist talk.' Now I see it should be more an act of definition, of helping the viewer understand what they're about to see."
Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.
