Nobody Listens to Artists

It only took a week of being a full-time artist to learn one of the abiding truths inherent in this business: Nobody listens to artists.

Truly, the quickest way to get a door slammed in my face was to say something like,

“Hello, I’m an artist, and I’d like you to look at a few of my…” SLAM!

Nothing could shut down a business conversation faster than uttering the A-word in the first person. Ad executives, gallery owners, architects, store managers, business administrators, charity directors, teachers – all dismissed me routinely, usually before I had the chance to show them any of my artwork.

“Leave a card and we’ll call you if we need you.” Operative word: Leave.

Friends and relatives often responded similarly, with a modicum of disappointment and a quick sendoff, occasionally leavened with a polite, sympathetic smile thrown in to make me feel better, and visible relief at my (hopefully) hasty departure.

This was a big change from how I was used to being treated, a completely unexpected consequence of my decision to step out of the hospital and into the art studio.

                                                  Quack

Sure, I understood that ‘art’ was, generally speaking, a hobby, for most people a diversion rather than a calling. For me though, my career change was just that, and nothing less than that – a move from one profession to the next. I had the talent and the drive to succeed as an illustrator and a designer, and I had the work to prove it. Besides, with degrees in biology and medicine, I had the background to handle drawing assignments on subjects ranging from wildlife to healthcare to robotic technology. Why was it so hard getting anyone to pay attention?

As a doctor, I was accustomed to being taken seriously - often a little too seriously for my liking. That’s one reason I wanted to explore the arts, to get away from the regimented solemnity and enforced humorlessness of the hospital.

The trouble was that

 artists aren't professionals.

After years of academic and clinical training, I knew how to conduct myself professionally, to communicate clearly and concisely in a face-to-face interview. I did my homework, too, staying up late planning schedules and strategies, following leads, putting together a balanced mix of appointments and cold calls. I arrived for meetings in plenty of time to review my presentation, and my appearance: Combed hair, shined shoes, business suit, tie with matching pocket square, fashionable overcoat.*

Heck, I even carried an expensive leather (leather!) artist’s portfolio chock full of my work, neatly arranged in an understandable, logical progression from graphic design to illustration to my own brand of composite drawings. I showed up with a positive attitude, a firm handshake, and a winning smile.

“Oh. You’re the artist. Leave a card.” Such reactions were as baffling as they were consistent.

Lacking experience to the contrary, I assumed people in one line of work respected the ability of others to perform well in their chosen professions, at least until they had demonstrated otherwise. The trouble, I came to understand, was that artists aren't professionals.

Artists are a lot of things. We’re thoughtful, innovative, hard working, and usually we’re an awful lot of fun. We’re free spirits, too: Quirky. Eccentric. Weird. In the world of business, that makes us strange, and suspect. And since our work schedules seldom fit the usual nine-to-five routine, we’re often considered unreliable and irresponsible, or worse, lazy, living off the sweat of others who aren’t afraid to put in a full 40-hour work week.

But we’re not professional. Professionals are people with real jobs. Professionals work for someone else, every day, for a thing called a regular paycheck. We free-lance artists work for ourselves, at whatever assignments we can get, for whatever pay we can negotiate. And once we’ve successfully completed a project, we’re… what’s the word? Oh, yeah… unemployed.

The working world seems to frown on this business model. Projects come through or they don’t, feast or famine, with frequent interruptions in cash flow. For beginning artists especially, these uncertainties make it difficult to secure adequate housing and studio space, or to make regular payments on car notes or insurance premiums (assuming loans or insurance coverage are even available). Even artists with long track records, substantial client lists and above average business sense are vulnerable to dry spells that can unravel years of financial success.

So, art is not a real profession, it seems, unless you happen to be a real professional artist. We all know a number of these. They’re household names. The ones whose work we recognize. As a rule, they died a long time ago.

Then there are the few successful artists who live and work outside of the stereotype. We know their names, too. We recognize their work. We might even recognize them if we saw them on TV, or hanging out at a restaurant downtown. We understand that they get paid a lot of money for their art, and we wish that we had bought one of their pieces years ago when it was affordable, before they became well known - before the world recognized them as professionals.

That’s the second enduring 

truth of the art business: 

As soon as someone other than you 

likes your work, and is willing to tell 

someone else about it, you’ve arrived.

But how do you know when you, as an artist, have crossed that line? How do you tell when you’ve made it?

That’s just it. You don’t. Someone else tells for you.

That’s the second enduring truth of the art business: As soon as someone other than you likes your work, and is willing to tell someone else about it, you’ve arrived.

You can't be that person. Your squeak won't grease your own wheels.

“Hi, I’m an artist, and my work is awesome!” will get you nowhere.

Fortunately, though, that ‘right person’ can be just about anyone else:

“Hey, have you seen this dude’s work? It’s awesome!”

That kind of recommendation will get you recognition, and sales, and contracts to make more of your art. If you are fortunate enough (and persistent enough) to string together a number of recommendations like this, you just might stay in business long enough to build a career in art.

Our business plan at DS Art is built entirely around these two truths. We want our clients and customers to be happy with our work, and our work ethic. We understand that every piece of artwork that leaves our studio is an ambassador for our future success, and that every customer we earn becomes a potential cheerleader for (or against) our creative ability, our professionalism, and our future .

Just don't take our word for it.

*In hindsight, this could have been part of the problem. I can recall but one episode in those early days when I received a bona fide art commission, entirely on my own. The client was in a bind, facing a tight deadline. He needed to speak with someone right away, and would meet with me only if I could get to his office within the hour. That office was more than 50 miles away, which left me no time to shower, shave, or even change clothes. I jumped in the car and drove to the meeting ‘as-is’. The client took one look at my scruffy weekend beard, dirty sneakers, worn jeans, and rumpled jacket, and instantly awarded me the job. Apparently he needed an artist, rather than a professional.

Left Wing Patriot

Yes, I’ve been called Left-Wing. 

Progressive. Pacificist. A bleeding heart tree-hugger. 

That’s okay. I’m an artist. It’s expected of me. And it’s mostly true. 

After all, I was raised in a religious tradition that emphasized forgiveness, understanding, and the Golden Rule. On top of that, I was trained to be a healer, and once took a solemn Oath that said I would do my best not to harm other people.

So it is that I find myself in a most interesting position philosophically, when I am researching, creating, and marketing my recent series of military drawings. This very question came up not long ago, when a conscientious friend asked me to explain how I could, in good conscience, justify the "glorification of war" in my art. 

In response, I told him that I felt a strong desire to balance my usual peaceful tendencies with the need  to support the equally dedicated individuals who are sent out to fight on my behalf, who then return home broken and changed, and find that in return for their sacrifice, they are offered little or no safety net. As an artist and a healer, I felt I could do something to help. As a responsible citizen, I felt I had no other choice.

These fighting men and women, and the people who care for them, are the ones who appreciate my intimate pictures of warcraft. If I do my job well, they will want to share my pictures with others - to support not only my calling as an artist, but also the various Wounded Warrior organizations that receive a significant portion of the proceeds from these drawings. 

For the record, I have no beef with anyone who puts on a uniform and follows orders. In fact, I applaud them all for choosing, then earning a place along a most honorable career path, for whatever reasons or circumstances might compel them to serve. More important, I salute them for setting aside their personal rights and freedoms so that I can selfishly enjoy my own. And I do, without reservation or apology. But not without gratitude.

To create Uncommon Valor, Follow Me, and the honorary military drawings that will follow them, I have worked hard to put on the skin of Soldiers and Marines, as much as a civilian ever can, in order to offer an authentic visual experience for them. In the process I have opened doors that have been closed to me before, and have had the opportunity to enjoy meaningful conversations and positive relationships with people from across the political spectrum, many of whom I am now privileged to call my friends.

Yes, I sometimes poke fun at others with my drawings - the medical community in particular. I have earned my stripes in that world, and feel comfortable taking them on as an insider, though always in good fun. 

For the military, I choose to speak in their terms, as a matter of respect for their ethos, and their unquestionable personal sacrifice, in order to fulfill a need that is being largely ignored by our politicians and their corporate partners. As a citizen, I will continue to work politically to try and build a better, more tolerant society, for everyone's benefit. With my military drawings, I am working artistically to support the millions who were and are willing to give up their lives so that I can draw funny pictures for a living.

I see no contradiction in that. If my efforts are successful, I will profit enough to help even more of them.

One of the best experiences to come from this adventure occurred over a long dinner, in the company of a retired Marine major, decorated for wounds received in three wars. After several hours of discussion, sometimes animated, he finally said to me, "Son, you and I are definitely on opposite sides of the political fence. But it appears to me that we both have our elbows on that fence, and we're leaning toward one another."

To my mind, that's the only way We as a People are going to solve our problems, by making bold connections, and making ourselves understood through civil discourse. That discourse is only possible because of a select few who are willing to die in its defense.

I think that's worth a little glorification.

Don

My Kind of Art

Whenever people talk to me about my drawings, the same questions come up again and again. At art shows, in classrooms, and in general conversation, folks are curious about the unusual approach I take to art, and how I came about drawing in this manner. From time to time I will try and offer explanations and excuses regarding my choices of style, media, and subject. Consider this my first installment.

Did you invent this approach to art?

No, I did not invent this stuff. Artists have been juxtaposing images for centuries, for their own entertainment, for practical communication, and sometimes even for pay. For example, Aztec writers often drew separate pictographs together, combining the names of those objects to make new words. (I can only imagine what the cave paintings at Lascaux or the Anasazi petroglyphs would say if we knew the languages of the artists who made them.)

Many artists have embraced this idea of drawing lots of pictures inside a larger one. Most attempt this as a harmless diversion, an innocent experiment in design and technique. The results usually sit quietly in their portfolios while the artists murmur ‘Look what I got away with’, and vow never to do such things again. Having successfully completed one of these projects, few of us are misled sufficiently to repeat the error. Fewer still are foolish enough to try and make a career out of it.

What do you call this style of art?

What style is it? Beats me. If this approach to picture-making has a widely accepted name, I haven’t heard it. That’s probably because there aren’t enough artists doing it to constitute a Movement, or even to catch the attention of the people who decide on things like art trends and style names. (If you know any of these people, please invite them to visit our studio, or at least the web site.)

Perhaps the most famous artist to create these complex images is Giuseppe Arcimboldo, who painted in this style (above) back in the late 1500’s. Some historians have lumped Arcimboldo’s brand of art into a larger group called Mannerism. Dali considered him the first Surrealist, even though similar designs were created before his time. Contemporary artist Octavio Campo refers to his version of this kind of painting as “Metamorphic”. Other observers add these designs to the broad categories of Puzzle Pictures, Optical Illusions, or even Trompe l’oeil. They could just as easily and accurately be called Still Life. The designs that include double meanings or other elements of wordplay are Visual Puns.

Aren’t these just collages?

Somewhat surprisingly, my pictures are not collages. Collage is a physical assemblage of paper, photographs, news clippings and the like, all glued together to make a design. (No scissors for me, thank you. The temptation to run with them is overwhelming.)

I assemble my designs in my head and directly on paper, first in pencil, then in ballpoint ink. For lack of a better term, I call my art works Composite Drawings, Composite Images, or just Big Pictures Made Out Of Little Pictures. If you can think of a more interesting descriptive phrase, I’d be delighted to hear it.