How many times have we, upon watching a movie for the second or third time, discovered something that we missed the first time we watched it—usually a detail that is more than an Easter egg, rather a detail that subtly shifts a meaning or adds to a character’s development or contributes to the plot? If it’s a well-made movie, the odds are that this happens quite a lot. There is a lot to a movie—too much to absorb at one sitting. The production team, chiefly the director, has spent months constructing the world of the film and the details are a contributory part of that world, whether we notice them the first time through or not. In fact, much time in the making of the film was spent ensuring that important details were included.

This quest for detail extends to nuance in the dialogue and performance. Perhaps the most extreme example of this was Stanley Kubrick, who is reputed to have done 30 or more takes for every scene. This sort of effort is not about achieving “perfection,” but about being sure that all the pieces, even the smallest ones, work together to build the universe in which the action takes place.

This sort of dedication to detail does not belong exclusively to film directors. Stage directors have been known to spend entire rehearsals on five minutes of finished production or to spend hours on line readings and motivation. They too are creating a world that must be complete with details and nuance.

Not limited to the performing arts, the use of detail to make a complete art work can be found in other arts as well. In photography, for example, there are photographers who spend hours in front of the computer, adjusting detail, color, lighting, and shade when they could have just taken the picture, processed it quickly and moved on. These photographers are following the example of Ansel Adams who spent hours in his darkroom doing exactly the same thing because he believed, “You don’t take a photograph, you make it.”

The same approach holds true for landscape painters who spend a great deal of time reproducing lighting effects or the bend of grass, or the portrait painters who concern themselves with more than the eyes and mouths of their subjects, but with details of clothing and background. Choreographers often spend a great deal of time fixing the details of dance moves, so there are not only the dance steps, but other movement as well as the attitude of the dancers. Composers worry not only about the main themes in a piece of music, but the tiniest leitmotifs and riffs as well.

Almost all real artists spend enormous time and effort on the details of a piece, because they know that the details make the whole work of art what it is, and that no piece of the whole is too small for consideration. Moreover, it does not matter whether the work of art is ephemeral or permanent. So, regardless of the art, the wise artist would do well to pay close attention to all the details, not just the overall story or subject matter because the details are what really makes the work of art come alive for the audience, what makes it a whole work of art.

One of the problems that face theatre majors is which branch of theatre to specialize in. Many theatre majors enjoy and are good at more than one area. Of course, there are those who know exactly what they want to do, but others have to figure out whether they would rather concentrate on acting, directing, design, costumes, props, construction, lighting, sound, or front-of-house operations. What usually happens is that individuals choose a main area of concentration, but continue to work in other areas as well—at least for a while. The question then becomes how to decide which to make the primary area and which to make secondary.

Musical instrumentalists very often avoid such a decision by not limiting themselves to a single instrument. Often they will play a range of instruments, often one as well as another. For example, some musicians play several wind instruments or a range of reed instruments or a variety of stringed instruments. Many, many musicians play piano as well as their other principal instrument. A great number of vocalists play one or more instruments as well. Additionally, some musicians also compose or conduct or arrange or all of these as well as play several instruments.

The same thing happens in film studies. Individuals discover that they are writer/directors or producer/directors or director/actors or director/cinematographers or some other combination of tasks rather than concentrating on a single function in the movie industry. Again, they may consider one area primary and others secondary or they may be equally involved in multiple areas or it may vary from project to project.

This also happens in other areas of art. It turns out that people who are artistically talented often are talented in a number of areas. Of course, as in theatre, there are some who are solely interested in a single art, and work to practice only that. However, the number of artists who are talented and proficient in multiple arts is rather extensive. Here’s a quick list: writer/musician, film director/still photographer, comedian/painter, singer-songwriter/photographer, singer/actor, singer/dancer, dancer/choreographer, musician/producer, painter/photographer, actor/director, actor/musician, designer/musician, gourmet chef/glass artisan. Some of these people are famous; some are not so well known. And certainly there are others, but these are the ones that quickly jump to mind.

Unfortunately, there are no rules to finding one’s place in the arts or about deciding which art(s) to practice. If only one art interests you, then practice that art. If you are talented in more than one area, you may well decide that practicing a single art will result in a better income than trying to do multiple things at once, so you concentrate on one art and let the others become hobbies or occasional interests. Of course you can do the opposite: hone your skills in all the areas that interest you, so that you can work in any one when the opportunity presents itself.  Remember that the practice of multiple arts can be either simultaneous or sequential. There is nothing that tells you that you must do it one way rather than another.

Whether you are single- or multi-talented, the real key is to find out where you fit, which approach to the arts fits you best. You may discover that one approach is far more appealing than any of the others, or you may find that your approach to the problem evolves as you practice and grow as an artist. So take some time and evaluate the paths that are available to you; as you work your way through the possibilities, answers will come. And remember, you can always change your mind.

One of the truisms about humans is that we—most of us, anyway—are creatures of habit. The other thing about habits is that they can govern large chunks of our time, or are just perhaps the way some little things get done. Sometimes these habits are purposeful; other times, they sort of sneak up on us.

Purposeful habits occur when we make conscious behavioral decisions about how we spend our time. For example, an artist may decide that they will work only on art in the mornings from 9:00am until 1:00 pm, five days a week, and use the rest of their time for other things. After following this pattern for a while, it becomes ingrained, habitual. It’s something that the artist does without thinking about it. And so, without thinking, the artist works on art at least four hours a day, 20 hours a week, every week without fail. Occasionally the artist may work longer, but never less. Probably this is a good habit, particularly when compared to the artist who works on art whenever the mood strikes, regardless of the time of day. The artist with the habit is likely to be far more productive.

As noted, habits may govern little things as well. Perhaps our artist begins each work session with morning pages. This, according to many, is also a good practice to have, and therefore a good habit to cultivate. It is likely that such an artist will have an off-day, or at least an off-session should they one day neglect to do their morning pages.

And so it goes. Artists develop all sorts of behaviors consciously, behaviors that often turn into habits. All sorts of things become habits whether the artist intends it or not. For example, the first thing the artist does in the morning is have a cup of coffee. It’s a small thing with very few consequences, unless that the artist feels that they need that cup of coffee, and without it, the day isn’t right.

And, of course, there are habits that are considered bad, often associated with the intake of substances that are not healthy. Having a habit is quite different from occasional use. If the artist again needs to intake a substance at the end of each work session, there is likely a problem that will have to be dealt with sooner or later. Also worth mentioning in this category are procrastination and scrolling social media, both of which can become unhealthy habits.

Occasionally, we are forced to change our habits, which is very disconcerting, to say the least. This happened to a number of artists during the pandemic, when a number of us had to completely alter the way that we worked. This was more than unsettling for many of us; it was the equivalent of having our worlds turned upside down. Some of us adapted quickly; others took more time. Before it was over, most of us had replaced our old habits with new behaviors that were well on their way to becoming our new habits.

Then about the time those habits really took hold, the pandemic was over and the world tried to go back to the way things were before. And here we were stuck with pandemic-era habits that really had no place in the post-pandemic world. And a number of us are still trying to make the transition back to a face-to-face world and possibly return to our old habits, even though considerable time has passed.

There are probably many lessons to be learned from this series of events. The ones that seem important to me are that we need to periodically evaluate our habits to determine whether they are indeed helpful or just the way we have come to do things. If we find them lacking, then we certainly should make an effort to change them to behaviors that are more positive. It’s not something that we can’t do. We know that because when it was forced on us, we, all of us, modified our habits to accommodate the situation. So now what we might consider is exercising more control over our daily behaviors—particularly those that we gained unconsciously and especially those that have impact on our art.

Entire books have been devoted to the subject, yet in his book The Creative Act: A Way of Being, Rick Rubin says that nobody really knows how or why a work of art is created. “We are dealing in a magic realm. Nobody knows why or how it works,” he writes. We do know, however, some of the steps involved, even though we understand very little about how those steps work.

First comes the idea—but from where? It seems that ideas for art works can come from virtually anywhere: a snatch of conversation overheard in a restaurant, observation of a couple crossing the street, a phrase or snippet of prose, a riff of music, a glance at a picture, a memory, a fragment of a dream. The story goes that the idea the culture-shattering play A Doll’s House came from a brief news article that Henrik Ibsen read. Anywhere. Why one particular idea of the many that an artist encounters in the course of a day intrigues the artist is the mystery here—especially an idea that strikes others as uninteresting or mundane.

Once the artist has the idea, they play with it, which is to say they examine it, look at it from all angles, study the implications, trying to determine if the idea has potential as a work of art. Perhaps they make some scribbles and doodles or perhaps jot some notes or make some sketches, again trying to establish the potential of the idea. The result of this play is the determination that the idea has traction or not. If not, it is discarded, its place taken by another idea and the process begins again. If the idea has traction, the artist will move to the next part of the process. The criteria for this decision are unknown, and probably vary from artist to artist.

Shaping and crafting come next. This stage, at least, has some rules and principles. There are aesthetics to consider, and there are notions about which colors go together and which arrangements of words are acceptable. There are principles of design to consider—or disregard. There are elements of style which may or may not be adhered to. There are key signatures and tempos. This is the stage where parts are added to the idea to make it into a fully-realized work of art. And this is also the stage where pieces are taken away. And there are very few rules about what to add and what to take away. Within the guidelines of the craft of the discipline in which the artist is working, the work is done primarily by instinct and experience, and again no one really knows how the artist does that, only that they do it and shape the work of art before them. During the latter part of this stage, the artist may discover areas of the art work that just do not work; this will demand a reworking of that section and re-integration of that part into the whole. Again this is done by instinct.

Once the shape of the work of art is determined and most pieces incorporated and others removed, comes the polishing of the piece, when the artist examines the work in detail, adding tiny bits here and there, and trimming tiny bits away as well. This is the time when artist effectively finishes the work. Here again, the artist’s own instinct and sensibilities are at work, inexplicably.

Next comes publication of the work. This can mean any number of things, but whichever form it takes, this is the stage where the artist releases the work into the world either by formal publication, or showing the work, or simply making others aware of its existence. The artist may have a predetermined method of showing their work, or may choose a different avenue for each piece.

Not all artists will adhere to the steps outlined here, but most will, although each artist will approach the problem in their own way using their own working methods. What doesn’t change is the mystery of how or why a work of art is created.

In the “Classical Albums” documentary Cream: Disraeli Gears about the blues/rock band Cream, one of the band members talks about the immediate artistic chemistry that the members of the band experienced when they first got together. That chemistry is a thing that all great bands have. In interviews band members talk about how they “click,” then go on to talk about how they feed off of each other when they are creating. It occurs to me that this is true of any artist who is involved in a collaborative art—and some who are not considered traditionally collaborative.

Actors, for example, will often talk about working with other actors and the on-set/on-stage chemistry they experience with those others. They tend to feed off of each other, which ups both of their games. If we look at the body of work of film directors, we find that they tend to do their best work when directing a small number of actors repeatedly. Again the artistic chemistry is what makes that happen.

The same is true of stage directors as well. In my own experience, some of the best work I have done occurred with actors with whom I had worked before. It’s the chemistry—the almost mystical clarity of communication that is experienced between director and actor. It is as if we are all thinking on the same wavelength, so the work becomes unified, and very, very strong. One supposes that it is the fact that we have worked together previously, but that’s not all of it, because it is not true with all actors with whom I have worked before. I think it must have to do with a shared sense of what we are trying to accomplish. This, of course, is not to say that I have not done good work with actors with whom I did not share a mental connection—just that it is more likely that better work will result from working with those with whom I “click.” Other directors report similar experiences.

The same experience is to be had when, as a photographer, I work with models with whom I share chemistry. These turn out to be my favorite models, whom I repeatedly consider for shoots, because, even though others do good work, it is much better, much easier with those who have chemistry, and seem to anticipate direction rather than waiting for it or taking off on some unrelated track. Painters of models probably experience much the same thing.

Even artists traditionally considered non-collaborative, such as novelists, will talk about the rapport they have with their editors or first-readers. It turns out that writing, at least the final stages, in not quite so isolated an art as we may have thought.

And of what use is this information? For one thing, we can come to recognize that we will do better work if we can find partners with whom we share artistic chemistry. Perhaps we can cultivate a small groupof collaborators (or a large one) with whom we naturally connect in order to our best work. Or perhaps, more the more ambitious of us could find ways to develop that connection and establish chemistry with new artists, so that we effectively develop a pool of potential collaborators.

A week or so ago, I was discussing AI with a professor of art; his outlook was very pessimistic. When the topic turned to creativity, he went into a small tirade about the potential impact of AI on creativity. He said:

I also wonder what it will do for creativity. Will it help or hinder? Already my students look to social media and the web to find inspiration for problem solving. They don’t look into themselves for ideas and possibilities. They want to see what someone else did and mimic that. It’s easier, and, of course, there is no baseline for quality in that research.

And he went on to elaborate.

Of course, he’s right—some people will always take the easy way. For example, I know of a small graphics department at a nearby company that, since the advent of the World Wide Web, has not created a single piece of creatively original work. They spend their time “researching”—which really means finding something to mimic, if not copy outright. In their defense, however, I must note that they are terribly understaffed, and are often faced with unrealistic deadlines, so copying and rearranging is simply a method for survival.     Not everyone, however, is interested in taking the easy way.

We know that students do spend enormous amounts of time on their phones, as do we all. But are we all looking at TikTok or Twitter or playing video games? Or are we rather doing legitimate research by using the tool that is most easily available? My guess is that there is a mix, and I have discovered that it is a fool’s game to try to guess what someone else is looking at on their phone at any particular time. Just yesterday, I was having lunch with a friend and we were discussing a movie, the name of which neither of us could remember, although we remembered the actors and the plot quite well. The answer was right there on the phone once we asked the right question. That was not exactly creativity, but it was legitimate research, albeit for conversational purposes.

And when one is working creatively, who is to say that looking one place is superior to looking another? Artists might well look into themselves for inspiration, but that self-search might well trigger the need to do some outside research, and there is no tool handier than the phone. Of course, one might prefer a desktop or laptop or a physical library or museum. The point is that in finding creative solutions to problems, one might use whatever technology is at hand for research. And that research can then trigger ideas and original solutions to whatever problem is being considered.

Certainly, we all know that it is really easy to waste time using technology. Whether one does that or not has nothing to with technology itself, but rather to do with personal discipline. We can fritter time away on various web sites, or we can utilize the same tools on different web sites to find that piece of information that we need to continue the project at hand.

To not use technology to aid creativity seems to be crippling ourselves for no good reason. If the tools exist to aid our creative work, we should learn to use them, and then pick the best tool to do the job.

The current state of affairs in American school districts, some libraries, and arts organization is that it only takes one complaint to cancel what the majority might benefit from if these organizations weren’t so easily intimidated. Two recent cases illustrate this trend, one in Florida and one in Utah.

In Florida, one parent complained to the Miami-Dade School District about Amanda Gorman’s Inauguration poem, “The Hill We Climb” along with several other books. The complaint was promptly referred to a committee, where it was determined that one of the books was “balanced and age appropriate and would remain available for all students.” The others, including Gorman’s poem, were restricted to middle-school students only.

A not dissimilar situation recently unfolded in Utah. Again one parent was the complainant. The complaint was that the King James Bible was unsuitable for children due to “vulgarity and violence.” The parent did provide eight pages of passages to show that the Bible is inappropriate. The Davis School District committee concluded that the Bible “does not contain sensitive material” according to Utah’s criminal code, which defines pornographic and harmful materials. Thus, the book was allowed to remain on high school library shelves. It was, however, removed from elementary and junior high schools. This complaint and result was quickly followed by a second complaint by an individual demanding that the  Book of the Mormon be removed from the Davis School District school libraries due to violent content.” The same committee will review the book.

In both of these cases, the books were not banned outright, but restricted because they were “age inappropriate.” One has to think that all the books in an elementary or middle-school library have been vetted by educators and librarians, only to have their judgment “corrected” by an individual parent.

And the threat of a single complaint is spilling over into public libraries and the arts as well. The complaint of a one parent caused a Texas elementary school trip to James and the Giant Peach to be canceled, thus depriving an entire class the opportunity to experience a children’s theatre production rather than keeping one girl home. A theatre director I know is, because of the touchiness of her administration, very concerned about receiving any complaints at all about any production. Needless to say, this has a chilling effect on the choice of plays and the manner of production.

One wonders whether the schools and libraries who cave to the demand of a single complaint have it right. It is, after all, a single complaint, not a majority clamoring for the removal of a certain title. Wouldn’t it be more responsible to say to that individual, “don’t read it,” or “don’t let your child read it,” rather than penalize all who use the library? Perhaps the library in question could keep a list of restricted patrons rather than a list of restricted titles. That way, the vast majority of those who don’t object to the material being available could be better served than by removing the book from availability because of single complaint.

And all of that goes double for those books that are not just “restricted,” but entirely banned. It is obvious that most of the book-banning and book-restricting demands are politically motivated—and do not represent a majority of library patrons. And let’s not forget that the majority of books being banned are by minority authors, many of whom, as Gorman says, “have struggled for generations to get on the bookshelves.” Perhaps author Stephen King has put it most succinctly: “Book-banners, after all, insist that the entire community should see things their way, and only their way. When a book is banned, a whole set of thoughts is locked behind the assertion that there is only one valid set of values, one valid set of beliefs, one valid perception of the world. It’s a scary idea, especially in a society which has been built on the idea of free choice and free thought.” And it only takes one.

In a discussion of the last post, “Artist and Artisan—the Differences,” a friend of mine wondered how different the answer would be if posed to a different AI. So I did exactly that. I queried Google’s Bard using the same prompt: “In an essay of approximately 500 words, explain the essential difference(s) between an artist and an artisan. Document all quotations.”

This is Bard’s answer:

The terms “artist” and “artisan” are often used interchangeably, but there are some key differences between the two. An artist is a person who creates art, while an artisan is a person who creates objects using traditional methods and materials.

One of the main differences between artists and artisans is their motivation. Artists are motivated by a desire to express themselves creatively, while artisans are motivated by a desire to create functional objects. This difference in motivation is reflected in the different types of objects that artists and artisans create. Artists typically create objects that are meant to be appreciated for their aesthetic qualities, while artisans typically create objects that are meant to be used.

Another difference between artists and artisans is their level of skill. Artists typically have a high level of skill in their chosen medium, while artisans may have a more specialized skill set. For example, a painter may be skilled in using a variety of brushes and paints, while a carpenter may be skilled in using a variety of saws and hammers.

Finally, artists and artisans often have different audiences. Artists typically create art for a broad audience, while artisans typically create objects for a more specialized audience. For example, a painter may create paintings that are meant to be hung in galleries, while a carpenter may create furniture that is meant to be used in homes.

In conclusion, there are some key differences between artists and artisans. Artists are motivated by a desire to express themselves creatively, while artisans are motivated by a desire to create functional objects. Artists typically have a high level of skill in their chosen medium, while artisans may have a more specialized skill set. Finally, artists typically create art for a broad audience, while artisans typically create objects for a more specialized audience.

Quotations

• “An artist is a person who creates art, while an artisan is a person who creates objects using traditional methods and materials.” – Merriam-Webster
• “One of the main differences between artists and artisans is their motivation. Artists are motivated by a desire to express themselves creatively, while artisans are motivated by a desire to create functional objects.” – The Difference Between an Artist and an Artisan
• “Another difference between artists and artisans is their level of skill. Artists typically have a high level of skill in their chosen medium, while artisans may have a more specialized skill set.” – The Difference Between an Artist and an Artisan
• “Finally, artists and artisans often have different audiences. Artists typically create art for a broad audience, while artisans typically create objects for a more specialized audience.” – The Difference Between an Artist and an Artisan

In all fairness to Bard, I must confess that this is the response to the second time I posed the prompt; I failed to properly save its first response. I also learned that Bard prepares three drafts of its responses, which is also useful. While Bard does remember what and when you queried, it does not itself save the responses. I do remember that in the first response, the quotes were from individuals, not quotes from the response itself; it’s curious that Bard interpreted the term “quotations” differently on the second pass.

In any case, while this information is much the same as that provided by ChatGPT, the presentation is markedly different. Bard’s answer is more conversational and less academically structured. And, although ChatGPT’s quotations are less relevant, they were better integrated into the body of the response. It is difficult to say which is actually better; I tend to like the ChatGPT response better in this instance because it seems more sophisticated, but everyone will have to judge for themselves.

Both of these entities were reported to have been updated this week, so improvements will continue. And new programs come on line almost daily. AI extensions for web browsers have recently been announced. ChatGPT is now connected to the internet in real time. It’s rather remindful of the advent of digital photography, except the technology is moving exponentially faster. Already, academics I know are using AI to create reading lists and course outlines. They report that they are not perfect, but only need to be tweaked to be useful. And it was also reported this week that publisher Bloomsbury unknowingly used an AI-generated image for the cover of a newly-published book; novellas are already being written using AI. And most of us are already using the most rudimentary forms of AI—the spellchecker and grammar checker.

So it becomes a matter not of whether we will use AI, but more a matter of when and how much. Tom Comitta, writing in Wired, contends that one can detect the human hand in every aspect of creativity using AI. As in digital photography, there will always be those who eschew AI, but most of us will begin to employ it at least a little. The real question is how we can use these new tools to enhance our art and help us better communicate our messages.

The answer is, of course, “as large as possible.” So perhaps a better question is, “when is the audience big enough?” This is a question that in one form or another I have put to a number of artists who work in different media, and the answers reflect both the artist and the media involved. Some theatre artists, for example, say that it depends on the venue while others say that it is a matter of the average audience size for that particular genre in that particular theatre. One director I know says only that there should be more people in the audience than there are on stage.

Visual artists, of course, differ in their answers, and those answers have to do with whether an audience are those who look or those who buy. Musical artists take into consideration the type of music being played, type of amplification, and the acoustics and ambience of the space. Some artists will answer the question with “when it provides enough revenue to break even”—or make a profit. Some artists don’t seem to be concerned with income; they just want to make the art. Every artist, it seems, has a different answer. And perhaps that means that we are once again asking the wrong question.

To get to that, we must ask what artists want from the audience. Is it enough for the audience members to sit through the presentation or look at the work on display, or do we want more? Most artists do want more, but what is the “more” that they want?

If we are trying to get rich, we will give one answer. If we are just trying to make a living from our art, we will give another. If we are trying to do neither, what are we trying to do? Perhaps we should examine our motives for making art in the first place. Are we trying to entertain, create beauty, change minds, challenge political stances, instill empathy, highlight a social problem, impact the audience members in some other way?

Once we can articulate why we are creating art in the first place, then we can better determine when the audience is “big enough.” In other words, how many of our audience will have to “get” what we are saying for us to be satisfied that  our work is successful in what it is trying to achieve? That is, how many must we entertain? How many must perceive beauty? How many must change their political stance? How many begin to understand empathy? How many recognize that social problem? The number, of course, will vary from artist to artist, but it would be well for each artist to know the answer for themselves.

Perhaps a greater problem for artists are that we may never know how many of our audience were impacted by our work in the ways that we intended—or when. (I once sold a piece a full month after the show in which it was shown.) We can, in some instances, discover how popular our work is by the numbers in our audiences or the number of likes we get on social media, but we can never really know who we have actually touched with our work—unless the audience member tells us. The best we can do is to keep our eyes on our goals, continually evaluate our methods and motives, and keep producing work that we are proud to have done.

It’s fairly common knowledge among artists that not everyone will like everything we produce. A piece has to resonate with an audience member to be appreciated, particularly to the point of purchase, and even then it’s a hit-or-miss proposition. Ask any artist who has rented a table at an arts fair and displayed work, or who has tried to get poetry published, or a comic accepted anywhere. In some of those instances there are gatekeepers, while in others, the art is presented directly to the potential audience—either physically or electronically. Still it’s unpredictable who will like what, and even more random when trying to determine who will buy what.

Many of us cannot afford to keep renting art show spaces, or self-publishing with no accompanying marketing effort. But we can’t not show our work; the result of that would be absolutely no sales. So we seem to be caught, and do the best we can—showing our work when opportunities we can afford present themselves, and holding back when we have no affordable alternatives. Given this situation, what are we to do?

Since not everyone is going to like everything we produce, we need to examine the relationship between our work and our potential audience. We need to realize that our work and our audience should match. This realization often leads artists to modify what they do so that what they try to say does appeal to everyone. This, of course, waters down the artist’s voice and, more importantly, the message of the piece.

Rather than modify our art, we would do better to concern ourselves with our potential audience. To increase our chances at finding those who might find our work resonant, we could do one of two things: (1) If we can find an existing potential audience whose members are interested in the sorts of things we have to say, we increase our chances of sales tremendously. (2) Failing that, we might develop an audience whose members are interested in the subject matter of our art.

The first alternative is perhaps a little easier—it means that we don’t enter every art fair we can afford, or show our work in every possible show. Rather, it means that we pick our shows carefully, that we research what sorts of work have been shown in the past and whether there are particular criteria for work that might match our own interests. Show listings are not all that difficult to find on the internet. There are a couple of web sites dedicated to directing artists to shows, and usually the criteria for the shows are clearly stated. This is not something that can be said of most art fairs.

Developing an audience is a more daunting task. However, there are at least a few conferences a year, and a number of books devoted to just that. Admittedly, these are aimed at the live theatre market; however, there is much they can teach artists in all media. Theatre folk are constantly trying to match material that they want to produce with potential audience and determine ways to increase the size of that audience. Some are very successful at it, so there is much they can teach the rest of us.

The point is that once we realize that our art doesn’t have to speak to everyone, the sales/marketing side of our artistic lives become just a little easier. Once we learn to curate and cultivate our audience, we can spend more of our time concentrating on actually making the work that matters to us, and that is the important thing.