Show & Tell, Version 3.01

"Art is making something out of nothing and selling it." (Frank Zappa)

Eleven art shows in 12 weeks. Three states and 8,387 miles. Four record-setting shows (sales-wise) and only one real stinker. Phewww!

But how can it be September? Last thing I remember, it was early June and I was packing the truck for our first summer show. I've been driving for three months, stretching canvas 'till 2 AM, and framing an endless line of prints.

It's a good thing we have such interesting customers to keep us entertained on our journeys. When perfect strangers walk into our booth and take in my photographs, Tracy and I just never know what might come out of their mouths (summer samples below).  My scattershot responses often catch them off guard, as well.

So, what did we do on our first weekend off all summer? We gathered friends, climbed a mountain to pick huckleberries, and then trundled off to the pub for a greasy dinner and a chance to catch up on a summer's worth of gossip. It was a good start for our return to normalcy -- whatever normal may be.

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"It looks like somebody's brain at a Grateful Dead concert," he tells me, pointing at 'Gossamer Wings.' Sorta' makes me wonder about the stories he might share after a couple of beers.
     
                       
                         
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"These are spectacular. Keep taking pictures." (Argghh. Don't you read my blog? I don't 'take pictures,' I create photographs.)

"Now," he asks seriously, "are these pictures taken with a 'real' camera?" Oh, the directions I could run with this one -- if only Tracy wasn't listening in...

"I go to a lot of art shows and I see a lot of photographers. I usually think, 'I can do better than that.' But not you. You're good." Wow. How's a simple country boy supposed to respond to such a compliment?

"Now, do you do the photography and the painting, too?" Yes, I tell him. I don't even try to explain the concept of light painting to him.

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She's staring at 'First Light.' "I want to cry, that's so beautiful! That's exactly what it looks like." Finally, someone who's seen what I see. I meet so many people who have never seen the red rocks of Lake McDonald, or the colors in the Milkyway, or even the path of the full moon.
 
"These are fabulous!" another woman declares after buying a print of 'First Light' and two others. "No," she corrects herself, "they're better than fabulous!" Happy to be of service. Tell your friends...



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"These are more than photographs," she struggles for words, "you capture a feeling." Hmmm. That's a good thing, right?

"You have the best photography. It's just so much more intimate than the others." Maybe that explains why I blush so easily...

"I like to see animals when they're happy." I like to see customers when they're happy.

She's decked out in beads and tie-dye. "What do you do, give the animals Valium when you photograph them? They're all smiling." What a coincidence. She's smiling so much more than the other customers...

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"There's a horse with a Buddha eye."
There's a person with a colorful imagination!

"What is that?" asks 5-yr-old girl. I tell her, it's a horse's eye. She looks at me, puzzled, "I didn't know horses had that color mascara."



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"Did you take lessons?" the couple inquires. "My brother-in-law says he's gonna' buy a camera and do this. I told him to take some photography lessons, but he said that cameras these days do everything for you."  Go ahead, I laugh to myself, make me look good.

"Thank you," he says in earnest. "I want to shake the hand of a patient man." Just don't ask me to babysit, I reply.

"I gotta' get a trout photo -- so I know my enemy." Sounds like maybe he's lost more battles than he's won.

                         ****************************************************************

That one's a moonbow,

I tell him.

He points to the canvas

hanging next to it,

"So that one's a duck-bow?"

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"Your photography really stands out from the others," she explains. "Take that mountain over there" (points to booth across from me). "You see it in different seasons but it's the same thing over and over again. Your pictures are different. They say something." Comments like this usually leave me muttering, blushing, and staring at my feet.

He asks in all seriousness, "So, you worked for National Geographic?" Comments like this just leave me laughing out loud...

"You really capture the fur and feathers -- they're touchable." That's because I'm the rare 'Montana Zen Hunter,' a pacifist blend of Raven and Coyote... (Hmm, that sounds like a roasted coffee bean mix.)

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"It's raining ducks!" she tells her mom.

"She'll love it," she declares after buying a print for a friend. "Her cats will probably sit under it all day."

"That mom has it figured out. That's what I need to do," she explains while making pushing motions with her hands.

"Yeah," he tells her, "but they don't show the rest of the picture. An eagle comes and eats them." Steady there, John. Bite your tongue. You were once a teenage male, too.

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"I'm a photographer and I don't normally buy other people's work, but your photos are phenomenal." Not only was he complimentary, but he also bought two prints.

"Where do you find these?" Well, they're everywhere. You just have to learn how to see them...

She points at 'Peaceful Lamb' and tells her husband, "Every time you order rack of lamb, I'm going to show you this picture."

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"I've seen that one before. That's from Hubble (the space telescope)," he tells me matter-of-factly. Uh, no, actually I was on planet Earth when I created that photo. "You took that?" Yes.

"That's a real photo?" Yes. "Wow..."

My thoughts exactly, but for different reasons...

             

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"This is above and beyond what you normally see (at art shows)" Flattery will get you places.
 
"I'm enjoying your paintings." Don't even go there, John...

"I like your photography," she says. And I like your taste in art, I shoot back. Tracy rolls her eyes -- did he really say that?

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Show & Tell, Version 2.01

"Good teaching is one-fourth preparation and three-fourths theater." (Gail Godwin)

All of you good, intelligent people with cameras out there, I hope that you appreciate my ongoing educational efforts on your behalf. At arts and crafts shows, I try my best to explain to the public what it is that we do with our cameras. Most of these people are pretty sharp, and some of them are pretty funny, but some need a considerable amount of educating.

This is where I come in.

For some reason, dazed people are drawn to my imagery -- sorta' like lemmings to a cliff. I take their hits so you won't have to. This spring I've been shovelling the shi, stuff pretty deep during our shows. Hopefully, you will find an educated and appreciative audience when you show your photographs.

Call it public service. You're welcome. I think.

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"Are these real?" she asks in total seriousness. I immediately reply, "No, they're fake." Then in a low, quiet voice I tell her, "It's all in your imagination." (This is why Tracy doesn't like for me to do shows alone.)

"How'd you get that one duck to turn around?" he asks. I say without hesitation,
"I didn't. I made all the rest of them turn around." (I never know what will come out of my mouth until it's too late.)

"Are all these photos hand-taken?" she inquires. Okay photographers, 'fess up. Which one of you out there is photographing with your feet? Well stop it! You're making the rest of us look old fashioned.

I point out that her favorites are all photos of baby ducks. "I think it's a maternal thing," I tell her with my professor voice. "I think you're right," she says in surprise. "You're better than Freud."

"That's a wierd picture of the duck," she admonishes me. (Actually it's a grebe, not a duck, and most people think it's funny, not wierd.) I just bite my tongue and smile sweetly -- Tracy would be so proud.

"It's alright now. You know ya' can't please everyone so ya' got to please yourself."  
The background music is playing Ricky Nelson's "Garden Party." Suddenly I realize that Ricky is reaching out to me from 1972!

"I could sneak off into the woods with my camera and never get any shots like these."
Me too. That's why they invented planning and practice and research.

"Oh, I love that dragonfly," she motions for her friend to look. But her friend turns away, "Don't show me. I already mortgaged the house."

Tracy says, "My husband is the photographer." The customer responds, "And are you the artist?" So the next time Tracy says, "My husband's the artist." The customer asks, "Are you the photographer?" Some people are sneaky that way, always probing for a crack.

Tracy turns over a matted print to show my bio and mug shot to a lady customer. "He's cute," the customer says. "You should keep him hidden." (My favorite comment! Hey, wait a minute. Is that why we moved to the end of the road?)

"Your photos rock!" But I just want them to roll out of here.

"I just love talking to you," a repeat customer tells me. "It's so..." "Educational?" I offer. "Astronomical!" she declares.

"I have this hanging in my livingroom, and I never tire of it." she kindly tells me. "I saw it from 40 feet away and knew I just had to have it. Thank you for your art, it's just beautiful." You're welcome, and thank you for your good taste.

I explain how my image, "Many Moons Ago," shows the moonset on five consecutive nights, requiring almost a week's work to create one photograph. Not difficult enough, apparently. He challenges me, "Are you going to be more ambitious next time and go for ten nights?"

"C'mere honey, look at that one. If we had space to hang something..." he suggests to her. She interjects, "You could put it in the dog kennel!" Hey, whatever you want lady. I've got dogs to feed, too.

"I used to be a hunter but now I hunt with a camera, basically," the big guy tells me. "I'm moving to Montana and I can't wait. Gonna' get me some pictures." For some reason, now I feel nervous about wearing my cammo.

"Did you really take these?" he asks. Hmmm, which path do I lead this one down -- the boring truth or an interesting if not totally improvised story? "Yes," I confess regretfully, unable to come up with a new story on such short notice. He caught me off guard.

"I love that [Chief Mtn. Moonrise]. I could stare at it all day." Maybe, but she went home with a different image instead.

"That's gotta' be airbrushed, right?" he asks, trying to impress his friends with his intelligence. (Some magazines, not photographers, used to airbrush photos of models. But that became obsolete when Photoshop arrived 20 years ago.) "No," I tell him through slightly clenched teeth, "they're just photographs." He tries to save face, "Well, this is oil here, right?" "Yep, you caught me on that one." (No, not really. That's also a photograph.)

"Did you photograph that, or did you just imagine it?" He's pointing at "Eagle Talons." I look at the canvas print. It's five feet long. Almost two feet tall. Weighs a couple of pounds. I slowly look him over and think to myself, please, please tell me that you didn't operate a motor vehicle to get here.

Even the artist in the next booth over, behind a curtain, chortled when she overheard that one...

                       

"Education is the ability to listen to almost anything without loosing your temper or your self-confidence." (Robert Frost)

Show & Tell, Version 1.01

"Life is a long lesson in humility." (James M. Barrie)

Some days I have to wonder about my sanity. Especially those days when I find myself in my booth, acting like an artist, selling photographs at arts and crafts shows. Thousand of people funnel through every show. Perfect strangers walk into my 10' by 10' world and take turns tossing compliments and insults at me. A lot of the comments are both amusing and confusing at the same time.

On balance, it's amazing what an artist endures at these shows. But we do this for a living. Some days, we also do this for fun. And having experience with both species, I'm here to tell you that people are way less predictable than grizzly bears. Some people in my booth speak of the sublime, which I don't deserve, while others seem oblivious to their rudeness, which I also don't deserve. Trapped in a 10-foot square, my mood gets batted around between mountain tops and sewer drains.

Below is a small collection of quotes that were said or overheard in our booth in just one month, November, 2009. Try a little taste of what people feed us at art shows. If you find yourself alternately laughing and scratching your head in bewilderment, then welcome to "mi vida loco."

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"I'm one of those obnoxious people who likes to come look at things I can't afford."

"This is probably egotistical, but your talent is just amazing."

"Boy, you have a lot of luck with your camera." (Boy, just imagine if I had any skill, too.)

"I'm sorry my money's a mess. My mom says that's why my life's a mess."

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"It's an elk," says the wife, exasperated with her apparently unrefined husband. "You want to hang it next to the Kramer picture? Maybe I should beat you more."

"So whud'ya do, smear your lens with worms to get all those fish to come up?" (You know, for some reason I never thought of that.)

"It gives you hope that all things are possible."

"I'm glad I'm not a duck. I wouldn't be able to jump."

"I love it. I put it right by my bed. It makes me so happy to look at it."

"Look at the the ducks in the fence!" (Um, actually it's three images of the same tree, side-by-side. Sorta' thought that might be obvious.)

"What kind of crazy duck is that, a stupid duck?" I tell her, it's a Bufflehead. She replies, "A knucklehead?"

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"Very nice" she says. "I'm impressed, and I don't say that very often." Her husband agrees, "No, she doesn't."

"Now, are these paintings or photographs?" They're all photographs, I say. "And then you paint them?" (Must. Not. Pull. Hair. Out. Must. Not. Pull...)

"I don't know what it is about your pictures, but they sure speak to me. We must march to the beat of the same nutty drummer." (And I thought I was the only one hearing those voices.)

"I rated your's the best work in the whole fair." (Blush slightly.)

"Did you see the guy over in aisle one? He's got some nice photos. You should go see." (Turn red slightly.)

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"My dad tried to catch a baby moose, then the momma moose came out. My dad's an idiot."

"Oh, so that's a real place?" (Yes. I don't show my photos of imaginary places to just anyone, ya' know.)

"That's so beautiful, it almost brings tears to my eyes," she says while staring at canvas print of Avalanche Gorge. Her friend chimes in, "When I build a house, I'm gonna' have walls." (Excellent idea, very practical.)

(I often have to explain how I stay awake all night, taking photographs at five-minute intervals to create moonbow photographs. After hearing my explanation,)

"Do you do anything else with your life?"

"Okay, there's smoke coming out of my ears."

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"Now I feel either very inspired or very envious. I'm not sure which way to go."


"Your work is very literate. You say what you mean very clearly."


"These paintings look so real!" (Yep. I'm very literate, you know.)

"You've got an eye, you've really got an eye." (I've really got two, but that's just between you and I.)

"I took a picture of a photograph once that caught my eye." (He pulls out his cell phone to show me his copy of someone's copyrighted photo. Thanks for stealing, I think to myself.)

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(Looking at my photo of a Northern Harrier -- a hawk.) "That's probably the owl that got my cat." (She leaves, and the next customer says,) "Probably a Great-horned Owl got her cat. Good for the owl."



"Make that island a boat and you'd have so many men dreaming they were there," she says of one of my Wild Goose Island photos. "We have vivid imaginations."




"Up where we go fishin' we see two, three eagles at a time, but I've never seen five together before."



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"There's a little bit of humor in your things." (Life's a funny thing.)

"You know how many boxes of unframed art I have?" (as she paws through unframed art).

"All the 'ews.' That's all we can say, 'Ew, ah, ew, ah.' Hahaha!"

"Talk to John," mother says to her 8-year-old son as she walks away.

"Do you have any room on your walls?" she asks her girlfriend, but then answers for her. "No, of course not."

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"You don't see too many crows," he says as a compliment, while admiring my Raven photograph. I just smile and say, thank you.

"He is just so handsome!" (I overhear her say. I rush out from behind the booth, much to my disappointment. Oh, you mean the Raven.)

I go into a long explanation of the technique of light painting, and how I used it to create my First Light image. He ponders for a bit, and then speaks his eureka! moment, "I've got a headlamp. I should try that sometime."

"It captures a soul." (But I'll be happy to release it for a small ransom.)

"I love the peacefullness of the lamb because I need the peace in my life." (She walks away without the peace.)

"There's a sheep and lamb like we used to have. Can you smell them?" (Sorry. I probably shouldn't have eaten that burrito for lunch.)

"I'm sorry, but that photo is just precious." (I'm sorry, but I wish it was just irresistable instead.)

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"Your last name is 'Fine'?" (No, but our business name is John Ashley Fine Art Photography.)

"I'm a, well, looking at these photos I wouldn't call myself a photographer."

"You take all these yourself?" Yes mam. "You just sit there forever?" Yes mam.

"You're from Montana? Oh, of course. Where else could you do this?" My thoughts exactly...

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John's Stimulus Plan

"You make a living by what you get. You make a life by what you give.” (Winston Churchill)

We just returned home from our first “Spring” art show of 2009 to find our tulips starting to bloom -- in glass jars on the kitchen counter. Just beyond the kitchen window, it was 14 degrees with 9 inches of fluffy new snow. Ahhh, spring in Montana. Just trying to walk the dogs can be downright stimulating.

I’m hopeful for some of the stimulus plans springing up these days. I think they will help melt our fears and frozen finances, and accompany us into the halcyon days of summer. Currently, none of the plans target artists. But if I was handed a pile of money, I would just double-down and produce even more art until all of the money was gone. My goal has never been to become rich and famous, and I am pleased to report that I’ve been quite successful so far. I just want to spend a quiet, introspective life that enables me to share the wealth that I create. But wealth is not the same as money. Therefore, I used the last few days to hatch my own stimulus plan.

This past weekend, thousands of people paid good money to walk around an art show. They explored the islands of creativity, looking at artworks that may or may not stir their emotions, and visiting with artists who would otherwise never cross their paths. Art changed hands, and friendships were born. But after touring the show, half of the people walked out empty-handed. Did they get snookered out of six bucks? Hardly.

Artwork on display creates emotional responses, and people soak it up with various degrees of thirst. Most of the time, people who seek out and enjoy the artworks only “pay” the artist with compliments. A careless and insincere compliment becomes a hurtful insult, but one heartfelt compliment can be a gift that makes an artist smile for weeks. We brought home a little money and lots of compliments, and we’re still smiling and a little perplexed.

At almost every show I hear some version of, “These are the most creative photographs I’ve ever seen!” from people who get momentarily lost in their emotional response to an image, only to watch them walk away without buying a print. This can be perplexing behavior to see from the artists’ side of the relationship. One minute you’re sharing your wealth and the next minute you’re just part of a circus, dazzling their senses while they eat handfuls of popcorn.

At art shows, we’ve handed out thousands of business cards that feature our most popular image on the back side. We could have left it blank. Only once (that I know of) has our business card led to a sale of that particular image. This small gift is a net loss for us professionally. But personally? What is the value of making a total stranger feel good for a moment? If someone in my booth breaks into a belly laugh, but walks out without buying a photograph, our interaction adds nothing to the GDP.

But just how much is the laughter worth to that person’s health? And what is it worth when Tracy and I get caught up in their infectious delight? What about the next time they stumble across our business card, and turn it over to smile at the image again? This doesn’t help us feed our dogs, but our “net loss” must be generating some amount of wealth in the human ecosystem. We might make the same amount of money by selling fewer images at higher prices, but then our little emotional response generators would hang in fewer homes, and thus generate a little less wealth.

Therefore, the question becomes one of somehow balancing wealth and money. This can become a twisted conundrum. To me, art should be a soothing balm for the masses, not reserved for the uppity income brackets. By and large, artist are gawd-awful salespeople. We live too close to the heart, and our creations can sometimes end up worth more to us emotionally than they are worth financially to others. The vast majority of artists never even dare to try and sell their works. Many of us would much rather give our creations away to those who "get it," those who respond emotionally -- if only we could still afford groceries. Hence, the "starving artist" stereotype. I’ve met one or two salesmen who happen to be good artists, and they always seem to do well, but I know scant few artists – myself included – whose salesmanship equals their creativity.

(Personally, this relates to the reasons why I don’t photograph the same old rented bears and captive birds that every other wildlife photographer sells. I don’t want to take those same old images, even though they sell well, because they hold no emotional value for me.)

So I spent the weekend hatching a new plan to carry us through. It is brilliant in its simplicity. All I really need is one curious patron who is rich but wants to become wealthy. And all they have to do is share enough pesos to keep us in beans and rice (and to keep our dogs in dog food). That, in turn, will allow me to share every bit of wealth -- in the form of art -- that I can wring out of my remaining days. This is my stimulus plan, such that it is. We are currently accepting applications.

Such were the thoughts rumbling around in my head as the art show was winding down. And that’s when a neighboring artist walked into my booth with a gift for me -- a cartoon drawing that I had “paid” compliments on earlier. In a simple act of kindness, he chose to share it with me instead of selling it. In that moment he gave up a future sale, but his warm generosity made both of us feel wealthier.

These days, during this stubborn economic winter, we need to be brave enough to spread a little bit of money around. But more importantly, we also need to spread more kindness and real wealth around with the people we meet. If we can afford a little bit more of this behavior, then spring is sure to bloom a little bit sooner.

"Laughter is the closest distance between two people." (Victor Borge)

Bringing Smiles to N. America, One Photo at a Time

"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened.” (Dr. Seuss)

We are home for a day. Back from one art show, getting ready for another. Just enough time to change the kitty litter, restock our inventory, and jot down a few words.

Our Spokane show was a success, in spite of a new booth location a few acres beyond the back forty. We adopted many of our photographs into good homes. As usual, “Leap of Faith” was the top seller, and it did a good job getting everyone to smile and laugh in our booth. If life is a give and take, then there’s lots of living going on in our booth.

While we were telling stories and packaging up photographs, hundreds of people took the time to share little bits of their life stories with us. We met Justin, a gallery owner with enough ideas and energy to make me feel like an old man. And Tracy, a young photography student, who felt so inspired that she worked up the courage to ask if she could correspond with me as she works her way along her own photographic journey. (I happily agreed.) And Marilyn, a lovely spirit who related our Eagle photograph to a recent personal tragedy in her life. Her story tugged on my heart, but she stood with an inner peace and quiet grace.

And then there was Bette. For many years now, Bette and Grace have been two of our biggest fans and best customers. Every year at the Spokane show, we would watch for the two of them working their way through the crowd as they zeroed in on our booth. Hugs and squeals all around, and then Bette would produce a fresh loaf of homemade bread from her bag – a treat we would savor. Then they would take their time, pouring over everything in our booth, telling everyone within earshot that they, too, needed to have one of these or two of those. But their zeal for life was most evident in the loving banter that bounced between the two of them like a tennis ball at Wimbledon. They are “Friends for Life” like you’ve never seen.

But this year was different. As Bette zeroed in on us with hugs, Grace was missing. Instead, Bette was searching the show with her daughter, worrying aloud that she might not find us -- and then what would she do with the loaf of fresh bread hidden away in her bag? I waited as long as I could, but I had to ask about Grace. As a few tears escaped, Bette explained that Grace is no longer able to walk through the show. Medical issues have taken Grace’s memory, and she would no longer recognize us. All of the unknowns would be overwhelming for Grace, and all the joys of “Girls’ Day Out” will live on in Bette’s memory alone.

In spite of her heartbreak, Bette pushed through. She awoke Sunday morning, baked a perfect loaf of cracked-wheat honey sourdough bread, and drove off in search of her “artist friends.” She poured over every image in our booth, picked out a photograph, and declared that we had made her day. She floated away, happy, smiling – and unaware that I had slipped a package of greeting cards into her bag while she wasn’t looking. They’ll show up when she gets back home. Maybe she’ll write a note to Grace, and maybe the photograph on front will make Grace smile. I sure hope so.

This morning, back in our Montana home, we smiled silently while savoring our “Bette Bread” toast for breakfast. Love shows up in many forms.