Steve's Digital Watercolor Workshop -- based upon the Purple Iris original watercolor painting -- nears completion and will be available for sale shortly on the Steve Henderson Fine Art website.

There are a lot of people out there who want to learn to paint, period, or who want to improve what they are already doing, and Steve's first Digital Watercolor Workshop covers the basics, and beyond, step by step in a friendly, easy-to-use format that you can follow along right on your computer or television screen.

After years of doing workshops for private and community organizations, Steve is pulling together people's main challenges and questions into a veritable workshop in a DVD case, and at the conclusion of the tutorial, students will have a Purple Iris of their own -- uniquely theirs -- and additional skill and ability with the watercolor process.

If you subscribe to our newsletter, Start Your Week with Steve, you will be one of the first to learn when the Digital Watercolor Workshop is available.

The licensing of Steve's artwork is handled primarily by Art Licensing of Vermont, which maintains a library of Steve's images for manufacturers and wall art companies who wish to produce products -- which can be anything from jigsaw puzzles to coffee mugs, from greeting cards to mouse pads --  featuring Steve's artwork. If you are a manufacturer and are interested in Steve's art, please contact us directly, [email protected], or contact [email protected].

 

Presently, many of Steve's works are available as open edition art prints through a variety of online and instore retailers, including Kirkland's, Wayfair, Prints.com, iCanvas, Amazon, and many more. Visit Steve's Art in Stores to shop for Steve's art at your favorite spot.

 

Wall art comes in all shapes, sizes, formats, and editions -- from an original painting to a print to a poster to a greeting card, and the prices vary accordingly.

 

In the world of prints, there are many factors, but one of the major differences lies between an open edition and limited edition print, although frankly, with the advent of quality print on demand businesses, limited edition prints are struggling to maintain their place in the marketplace.

A limited edition print is so named because its run -- the number of these prints that are created and sold -- is limited to a specific number, say, 200. Each run is determined by size and any other qualifying factors; for instance, you can have a limited edition run of an image in a 12 x 15 size on paper, another run of 16 x 20 on paper, a third run of 12 x 15 on canvas, and so on. If you purchase the 5th print sold in the 12 x 15 on paper run, then somewhere on the print will be written (generally in pencil, since this is difficult to forge) 5/200, which indicates that your print is the 5th piece out of a total of 200 to be created in this particular run.

 

The print may or may not be signed by the artist (if the artist is alive, it really should be), and if so, will be of increased value. It also may or may not include a Certificate of Authenticity, a piece of paper or form that lists out the run size, the number of your print in the run, and information on inks and paper, and the date that the print was created.

 

Technology Defined Limited Edition Prints

 

Limited edition prints came into being because in the earlier technology of printing, a truly limited number of images could be produced from the printing plate before the quality of the print was no longer high, and the plate was then struck, or destroyed. With these type of prints, the lower the number, the higher the quality of print, because this represented a fewer number of times that the plate had been used. As mentioned earlier in this article, because many prints are now being created digitally, this issue of truly limited editions is no longer in place. There is no limit to how many prints can be successfully printed digitally.

 

If the limited print is still being created "the old fashioned way," by etching, lithograph, letterpress, or other such methods, then the "limited" term truly does mean something, and there is added value to the work by virtue of its number being limited.

 

Whether or not the limited edition print is digitally or traditionally produced, one that is signed, on archival quality paper using archival quality inks, and accompanied by a Certificate of Authenticity will likely cost more than an open edition print (but significantly less than the original painting), simply because it has been in more direct contact with the artist. Sometimes, people buy limited edition prints with an idea that they are an investment, but as with many items, their worth is subject to many things, not the least of which is limited availability, as well the exigencies of the market. There is no guarantee that a limited edition print will be worth as much, or more, as what was paid for it, simply because it is a limited edition print, in the same way that there is no guarantee that an original painting will be worth as much, or more, as what was paid for it.

 

As with any artwork, if you are going to buy a limited edition print, make sure that it's because you like the artwork, first. To learn more about buying artwork, check out our article, 5 Super Easy Tips for Choosing the Right Artwork for Your Home.

Open Edition Prints Are Affordable

 

If you opt to purchase an open edition print, you are in good company, and the options for what you can buy are increasing. Open edition prints are a terrific way for people of all budgets to add art to their walls and lives, and it is a major reason why Steve licenses his work to be created as wall art home decor, and why we offer it on our website in our Prints, Gifts, and Cards page and at Steve Henderson Collections. Art belongs in all of our lives, regardless of  income, and open edition prints make fine art a reality for more people. Open edition prints are often  printed on paper or canvas, and the quality of the substrate depends upon the manufacturer creating the print. This is one of those Buyer Beware things, as not all businesses will produce the same quality of product. Look for a reputable company (like Fine Art America, which produces Steve's prints and products), and don't hesitate to contact customer service with questions or concerns.

 

 

You can look through, and shop for, Steve's prints, gifts, and cards available through Fine Art America below:

 

 

Buying art directly from the artist isn't such an unusual thing. In these days of galleries and exhibitions and professional art organizations and non-profit art cooperatives, we've been trained into thinking that we can't deal with, talk to, or see the artist directly, but really, this is one of the best ways to purchase art.

Why? First and foremost, when an artist doesn't need to compensate for a gallery commission, he doesn't need to raise his prices to adjust for it. That's definitely a winning factor for the purchaser.

Just as importantly, the purchaser learns more about the painting and the painter, adding even more interest to the artwork.

Now when you live in the same town, or near to, the artist in question, you can frequently call to make a studio visit, and thereby view the artwork in person. When you live across the country, or even on another continent, this is more difficult, but as we purchase more and more items over the Internet, buying art online opens up wider vistas of possibilities for our walls.

At Steve Henderson Fine Art, we encourage people to look through the website and enjoy the images of Steve's various works. On each page, an artwork will be identified by its medium (oil, watercolor), size of the painting itself -- unframed -- in inches, whether or not it is framed, price, and availability. When a client finds a piece in which he or she is interested, we encourage them to read about Our Prices, which gives an overview of why Steve's works are priced the way they are.

Anyone who has looked for original fine art quickly learns that artwork has no hard or fast rule for how it is priced, and some really dreadful work out there is priced very, very high. Our Prices seeks to demystify some of this process, and further you along in your art purchasing education. Fine art, skillfully executed, is the result of an artist's passion and expertise, and producing a beautiful painting takes time and ability.

Once a potential client finds an artwork in which he or she is interested, the next step is to contact the artist. We have a Contact form on our site -- it's easy to fill out, and if a form isn't your thing, we provide a direct e-mail to Carolyn, the manager of Steve Henderson Fine Art ([email protected]). We also chat with clients over the phone or via Skype, and this communication process is designed to answer clients' questions and provide more information about the artwork and how it will fit into the space that the client has designed for it.

Do not be shy about this communication process -- purchasing art is, indeed, a process, and an artist's happiest clients are those who have had all their questions answered and feel confident about the artwork they are purchasing -- they know its colors and subject matter, and how those elements will fit into the environment they have set up for it; they measure out its size on the wall to get an idea of how it will hang there; they are conversant with the artist and know more about the painting they are looking at; they are comfortable with the final price and have worked out with the artist a means of paying for it (we frequently set up no-interest payment plans).

Of course, hitting the PayPal Buy Now button is always an option, and many people who purchase signed, limited edition prints and posters do so with the same confidence that they download an e-book, but always, the option to contact the artist and get those questions answered is a valid one.

Don't be shy.

“Am I an Artist?”

I can’t help but wonder how many nuclear physicists get up out of bed each morning and ask themselves whether they are nuclear physicists.

Granted, if one is a nuclear physicist, one has concrete evidence of the fact – education, background, job title, and hours of working each day with whatever it is that nuclear physicists work with – but an artist has a few concrete pieces of evidence as well:

 

Paint; canvas; brushes; paper; pencils; clay; some sort of easel, palette, or workspace – all of which are jumbled together somehow to create a painting, sculpture, piece of jewelry, or some other product that others look at and call “art.”

 

So it would only make sense to call the person who made it an “artist.”

 

Ah, but nothing in life is simple, and many people – some of whom are nuclear physicists – work at a day job and do art on the side, in the evenings, on the weekends, in place of eating lunch – and while what they produce looks like a painting or a sculpture or a piece of jewelry, they torture themselves by asking all the time,

 

“Am I an artist?”

 

“Am I a real artist?”

 

Some people ask themselves this so much that they stop producing whatever artwork they have been producing, until they can get an answer to the question.

 

But to some extent, does it really matter?

 

And whose definition of “artist” are you using anyway?

 

This is what I recommend: go ahead, keep asking yourself the question if you insist, but don’t stop creating whatever it is that you create, and don’t let the question fill your mind and crowd out ideas for your next piece of work.

 

Your next piece of Art work, that is.

"Do people still buy fine art in this economy?"

My mother, ever the practical woman who lived through the Depression and successfully raised five kids to adulthood, always has good questions.

The answer is, "yes," but as in everything in this ever-changing, never-got-your-finger-on-it economy, they do it differently.

Ten years ago, when house prices were literally and unsustainably going through the roof, people purchased art, as they purchased many things, as an impulse item. Today's buyer, however -- especially collectors who live real-people lives with mortgages and angst at the gas pump -- looks at the art several times, oftentimes contacting the artist directly via e-mail, phone, or in person to discuss the work itself, as well as the price, payment information, and payment plans, if available.

The result is that, when the collector takes home the painting, he or she feels good about the purchase, because it was made with an eye to the budget. It's actually a better, more sustainable, and less stressful way of treating oneself.

Artists, as well, are finessing their products to the need of the marketplace, many offering fine art, archival prints of their paintings, some for the price of a bottle of good wine or a family evening at the movie theater. The difference is, once the wine is gone or the movie is over, the money is gone; but with the print, the art stays, becoming a part of the buyer's daily life.

At Steve Henderson Fine Art, we are committed to getting real art into the lives and homes of real people, and for this reason we welcome hearing from you who are interested in Steve's work. If you've never contacted an artist before, don't be shy or feel that this is something "real collectors" don't do. Increasingly, collectors across the board are finding that direct contact with the artist, before and after purchasing the work, enhances their appreciation of their collection.

Good questions always deserved to be asked, and they deserve good answers. You can reach us through our Contact Form on the Steve Henderson Fine Art Gallery website.

We also offer a complete line of Signed, Limited Edition Prints, starting at $55, and regularly offer Workshops for those pursuing their painting path.

These are not easy days in which to live -- there is much uncertainty. There is, however, also much beauty in the world around us, and a painting -- be it original or a print -- captures that beauty and allows us to lose ourselves in it, over and over, any time of the day or night.

No one wants to be a failure, in their own eyes or that of others. For this reason, there is a preponderance of books, DVDs, and other teaching matter designed to teach us -- be we artists, knitters, marathon runners, short order cooks, or gardeners -- the secrets to successfully doing anything we have an interest in doing.

Do you want to know the sure-fire methods to paint the perfect portrait? There's a DVD for that.

How about marketing your work and getting into  any show you try for? There's a book for that.

The fail-safe way of communicating with with any human being and  getting them to do whatever it is you want them to do?  DVD and book.

If there's something that you want to learn how to do, not only is there a corresponding workshop, seminar, video product, book, class, or teacher, but too many of these resources promise to impart secrets that you didn't know existed, and you obviously don't have.

It reminds me  of the vitamin ads. Or the "You, Too, Can Be a Millionaire Using my Unique Techniques" books. The problem does not lie in the actual  imparting of information -- after all, that's why we buy books and attend workshops and watch DVDs -- because we want to learn, and these resources, hopefully, have the information we need to do so.

The problem lies in a promise that is more than anyone can deliver:  the secret to success.

Seriously, if there were such a thing, how long do you think that it could be kept a secret?

And yet, we keep chasing after it, convinced that we alone are out of the loop, that we're poor because we don't follow techniques 1 through 6, that if we're savvy enough to find the right resource then we'll join the ranks of the elite.

Logic tells us, however, that if we're going to run a triathlon and finish it, much less place anywhere, then we're looking at months of disciplined training: working out, day after day, even when we don't feel like it; eating right, to the point of saying no to cheesecake; running in the wind, bicycling uphill, swimming when it's cold -- continuously keeping at it and incrementally improving.

If there's any secret to success, that's it.

When I want to watch the Norwegian Artist cringe, I hum the 1974 Morris Albert song, "Feelings," which, if you haven't heard it, goes something like this:

 

"Feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelings. Wo-wo-wo feeeeeeeeeeeeeeelings. Wo-wo-wo feeeeel you .  . . again . . . in my arms."

Believe me, once you've heard it, you never feel the same about feelings again.

 

Feelings are funny things, and if you are over the age of two, you've probably internalized the advice that you shouldn't make decisions based upon them. While this is good advice, it doesn't take into account that there are two wildly divergent meanings for feelings, and too often,we confuse the two:

 

Feelings, definition one: our emotions. Artists are familiar with this definition, not only because societal wisdom asserts that they are a tangled mass of uncontrolled emotional angst, but also because they do seek -- through their skill, discipline, and thought, to imbue both raw and controlled emotion into their work.

 

Feelings, definition two: our visceral gut reaction -- call it instinct -- based upon the compendium of our background, experience, analytical ability, and intelligence.

 

Definition two, which is not what Morris was crooning about, is the one we want to pay more attention to, but frequently do not, because we confuse it with definition one.

 

Think of it, how many times have you found yourself in a situation and thought, "Something about this doesn't feel right"?

And your next thought is probably, "But I shouldn't make decisions based upon my emotions."

 

Let's add a third thought: You're not making a decision based upon your emotions. You're making a decision upon that visceral internal voice -- the one that subconsciously collects information from your past and your present and gives you distinctive, sometimes urgent, advice about what you're planning to do with your future.

 

There is nothing wrong, and quite a bit right, about listening to this inner voice. It will guide you in everything from the next subject matter of your painting to whether or not you really want to sign that contract with the art museum, and one of the worst things that we can do is ignore it because we're afraid that we are being led forward by our ever-changing emotions as opposed to the extreme inner sanctum of our intellectual voice.

 

We need both kinds of feelings, in our control, to move forward as artists and artist businesspeople.

 

The short answer to this question is that an original painting is one of a kind, and when you purchase an original, you purchase the only one in existence.

 

Over the years, printing methods have improved phenomenally, and many printed images look quite, quite excellent -- almost as good as the original. 

 

The keyword is "almost." There is no comparison to an original painting, which catches the light in a unique way because of the texture of the paint on its substrate. It is, indeed, an investment.

 

Prints Are an Affordable Means to Enjoy Art

 

That being said, not everyone can afford an original painting, and prints provide a an affordable means of adding art to one's life and walls -- an extremely important matter in a world that is increasingly focused on facts and numbers and the bottom line. Without art, we become spiritless, hard-edged and cynical.

 

A print, which can be done on all sorts of papers, canvas, and other substrates, using all types of inks and employing different kinds of printers, is a multiple of an original. When you buy a print, you are buying one of many – an unlimited many, in the case of what is called an unlimited or open edition print; or a specific one of many, as in a limited edition run of 50 prints, which means that only 50 prints of a particular painting, in a particular size and on a particular paper or canvas, are created before the artist removes the printed work – again in a particular size on a particular subsurface – from circulation.(To learn more about this, read our article, What Is the Difference Between an Open Edition and Limited Edition Print?)

 

Because the artist does not need to invest hours and hours of painting time into creating each print, he is able to offer the image at a lower price, opening the opportunity of enjoyment to a wider number of people.

 

The Snobbery of "Art Investment"

 

Again, the keyword, or keywords, involve two factors: affordability and the ability to possess and enjoy art. There is a certain snobbery in pseudo art circles that originals are the only way to go, which limits the enjoyment and owning of art to those who have the money to pay the original's price. There is an added snobbery, as well, that the original art needs to be an investment, something that will continually increase in value, so that the owner can add a pride of financial acumen to his or her opinion of themselves. And because this investment generally doesn't involve reasonably priced originals by contemporary representational artists, but rather, overpriced existential abstracts or pop pieces by a limited list of names -- alive or dead, often New York based -- art is squeezed into the province of the very rich.

 

Owning this type of art becomes a status symbol, much as driving a particular type of car. The primary purpose of art -- to seek and show truth, and to open this world to people, is lost in the world of art investment.

 

But for the smart person -- the one with enough confidence in him or herself to purchase something simply because they like it and it makes them happy, prints are a very real, very affordable option to add depth, dimension, thoughtfulness, and joy to their lives and interior decor. To learn more about buying artwork and feeling comfortable doing it, check out our article, 5 Super Easy Tips for Choosing the Right Artwork for Your Home.

 

At Steve Henderson Fine Art, we sell original paintings and commissioned work (this latter being specific, customized paintings created at the request of the client), as well as prints (framed art, canvas, metal, wood, posters) in all formats at Steve Henderson Collections. We also, through Steve Henderson Collections, sell Steve's images on everyday products that people use all the time -- phone cases, coffee mugs, home decor throw pillows, tote bags -- even shower curtains! It's all part of getting art into the lives of real, hardworking, ordinary people -- where it belongs.

 

When the Norwegian Artist studied art at the university, his professors urged him and all the rest of the students to "find your style, find your subject matter, and stick with that one thing. You need to be known for a certain size of work, a specific color palette, and one kind of subject matter."

When you're 23 and your professors are in their 50s, it doesn't occur to you to ask back,

"But you don't actually show or sell your work yourself. What makes you think that this way of thinking works?"

When Steve became an illustrator, in order to put food on the family table, he quickly discovered that the ability to create wildly divergent subject matter in multiple color palettes embracing a spectrum of styles was not only an advantage to him as an artist -- a great learning curve for increasing your skills -- but also a requirement of the job. Twenty years of this enabled him to do a lot of experimentation and move forward in his understanding of various media and style.

As a fine artist, he enjoys painting representationalism with an impressionistic flair, but he does not insist that every painting be approached, or handled the same way: only thick paint, or only glazing, or only deep shadows, or only strong contrast -- the subject matter, the size of the work, the mood of the piece dictate the other elements involved in bringing the scene that his artist's eyes see to completion on canvas.

"Artists artificially limit themselves by this outdated -- and probably never valid -- notion that they must be 'known' for a specific style or subject matter," Steve says. "They're not selling flash drives. And come to think of it, even flash drives are coming out in different forms -- I saw one shaped like a bird that looked like a toy that a child would get in a fast food meal."

In the back of his mind, Steve has a half-dozen paintings ready to paint when he finishes the one he is presently painting, and the queue includes figurative, seascape, landscape, still life, with the final result being one of these, or none at all but something completely different, the choice being made, basically, by what he feels like doing.

"If an artist does not feel free to experiment," Steve says, "how will he ever grow? How will he ever discover a technique that brings about an effect he has been searching for? Artists are humans, not machines, and the very nature of humans is that we explore, dare, push limits, and create."

Recently in Poland, my homeland that I've never actually been in, a young art student chose to forgo standard procedure and covertly hung one of his paintings in a major Warsaw gallery.

“I decided that I will not wait 30 or 40 years for my works to appear at a place like this,” Sobiepan told reporters. “I want to benefit from them in the here and now.”

So do we all, son.

While I smile at his effrontery -- and wonder at how he smuggled a painting in, past the guard, and managed to pound a nail up there without anyone noticing -- I am also consternated that such an attitude reaps its own reward: while the museum took down the painting from its briefly stolen space, they re-hung it in their cafe. And the artist is reaping attention and benefits because of what he did -- not because of what he paints.

"Someone will buy it just because of the story behind it," the Norwegian Artist said at the breakfast table this morning. "His career is made, not based upon his skill as a painter, but because of his nerve." (Actually, the N.A. used another term that rhymes with "halls" or "stalls.")

It is eminently understandable the young man's frustration at getting through to museum officials, gallery personnel, magazine editors, professional art organizations -- any group sets up its criteria, and after awhile, that criteria can get in the way of its original intention: to seek and showcase fine art, whether it is done by an established name or by a struggling, emerging artist.

Realistically, some good art gets shown, but so does bad art, simply because once the artist has broken the barrier and made his name, he could paint old Playboy calendars from the mechanic's back room with compost-derived paint and get it hung, showcased, admired and sold.

So the young man decided to take a short cut.

But in the same way most of us have learned to be wary of Uncle Rob's famous short cut that shaves 30 miles off the trip, our common sense tells us that anything worth having is worth working for. If the old guard doesn't work -- if the museums close their ears and the major art organizations pick the same old things over and over for their prize winners and the galleries sniff that they're full and the magazines print a new article about the same artist three issues in succession -- then find a different road.

Not only will it not be a short cut, it will probably be longer, and since it isn't very well used, it won't be as easy to follow, but it will get you to a different destination, with different scenery along the way.

I'm not big into New Year's Resolutions.

I know, lots of people say that, but I actually mean it. I don't deliberately make promises -- to myself or others -- that I can't keep.

That being said, there's no reason why we can't pursue improving ourselves -- all through the year -- and if an arbitrary date spurs us into trying to make  positive changes in our lives, then Happy New Year, everyone.

The key thing about successfully making changes, however, is reality, something distinctly missing from our brains after four weeks of too much chocolate, alcohol, drearily depressing office parties and too little exercise, sleep, and time with a good book. Too often, when we set our goals, we set up unrealistic ones -- not because they're too big, but because achieving them is beyond our control.

Like this favorite:

"I'm going to lose ten pounds."

How?

By eating better? By exercising more? Even if you succeed at this, you may or may not lose ten pounds, because what you drop in fat you may gain in muscle. Ultimately, you cannot control whether you lose those ten pounds, but you can control what you do in your plan to get there: you can eat better. You can exercise more. And by doing so, you may lose ten pounds.

So let's put this into the life of the artist, (who may, or may not, incidentally, want to lose ten pounds):

"I'm going to improve my sales this year!"

How?

By advertising more? By participating in more shows? By attending every artist's reception in a 35-mile radius and hobnobbing with the gallery staff (easy on the truffles and cookies, by the way, or you may gain ten pounds)?

These latter three are actions that you can control, and they may or may not result in increased sales, which you ultimately can't control.

I think our fascination with New Year's resolutions arises from a sense of discontent with where we are, and the perception (accurate sometimes, inaccurate others) that our dissatisfaction with our lot stems from some lack, some failure on our part. So, at the end of an old year and the beginning of a next, we list out all the things we want to change so that, by this time next year, we'll be stronger, better, faster, richer.

But improving ourselves is a lifelong process, and the ultimate gain in who we are is the result of deepseated changes at the core of our being: it's not that we're thinner, or more popular, or wealthier, or the possessor of two thousand Facebook followers, it's that we're kinder and more patient, smiling more and frowning less, thanking the person who bags our groceries, offering the benefit of the doubt to the idiot who just cut us off in traffic, listening to a child's loooooooooonnnnnnnng convoluted story of last night's dream when we really want to check our e-mail.

Those slow, deepseated changes -- which arise through little decisions we make as we move through the day -- through time transform us into different, better people who approach our art each day in a different, better way.

The changes may or may not result in better sales and a slimmer physique, but better sales and a slimmer physique, regardless of what we think, do not make us happier people. Being better people, deeper, more genuine people who are solid to the core, is a solid step toward finding what we're looking for.

Happy New Year, Everyone!

 

You'd think that with an artist in permanent residence, there would be ample paintings for the walls, even if we do get to enjoy them only until they're sold. But the Norwegian Artist, like many artists, enjoys collecting the works of colleagues, especially those whom we get to know personally, or, e-personally.

 

To this end, I was at a gallery last week and was just at the point of purchasing a miniature by a talented watercolorist. But I decided to go to lunch first and finalize the purchase in my mind. (This is another great reason for artists to purchase art -- you begin to understand the mindset of a purchaser and see that you, too, do not lightly and impulsively undertake the additions to your collection.)

 

"How long are you open?" I asked the gallery associate.

 

"Three p.m.," he answered.

 

So off I went for Thai red curry beef and coconut ice cream with black bean sauce (this latter is oddly tasty, not remotely resembling refried beans over ice cubes). At 2:40 I was back -- to a closed gallery.

 

While apparently, according to a second associate, it had been a slow day, this really isn't a good reason to close up shop 20 minutes, or even five minutes, early. In our little town, we have a bakery that is successful through no efforts of its own, since it regularly runs out of popular items, employs baristas who cannot make the same two coffee orders resemble one another, and indiscriminately closes early when things feel slow and everyone just feels like wandering on home.

 

Do not try this in your own business.

 

Maybe you're like us, with a studio open by appointment and with much of your communication done via e-mail, phone, and the website -- in this case, while your day doesn't necessarily run from 8 to 5, you also don't have to be on board 24/7. You just have to be on top of things enough to respond well within a business day to an inquiring client or gallery. While I may send an inquiry out at 11 p.m. on a Friday, I sure don't expect a response until Monday or Tuesday, and most people are of the same level of reasonability.

 

But if you do have regular, posted hours, will you please keep them?

 

Regarding that watercolor, I still want it, and it's not the artist's fault that the place closed early. I will, however, let him know, so that he can let his gallery know, and hopefully, I can enjoy a green chicken curry this time, polished off by more coconut ice cream and black bean sauce, with a final dessert of that gorgeous little watercolor.

 

Steve Henderson Fine Art is always open for business, and thanks to the web, his products can be purchased through Fine Art America 24/7.

 

He has

 

throw pillows for sale

tote bags for sale

shower curtains for sale

duvet covers for sale

t-shirts for sale

 

all on his Steve Henderson Fine Art America site.

Art is unique among academic disciplines in that no one really knows what it is.

If we were to talk about math the way we talk about art, the musing would look like this:

"Is long division really math? Because math, true math, really gets into algebra and trigonometry, you know, all those equations that enable us to figure out the distance between us and a particular star, or the genetic code, or the molecular structure of a black hole.

"Division and multiplication and adding and subtracting are just the basics that we use to perform true, real, verifiable math. In and of themselves, they are not math."

But of course we don't talk that way, because we know math when we see it (ask any school child).

When it comes to art, however, either everything is art ("Spacial conceptualization of artifice and indemnification" -- the longer the words and the less sense they make together, the more artlike the product they are describing) or lots of things, like illustration, aren't.

Apparently illustration is not art because its primary purpose is to tell a story or outline a concept, and yet, we are often told that true art's purpose is to impart a message or vision. A bit murky, there.

"Art is something you put on your walls, but illustration is what you find in books and magazines." I imagine that Scott Gustafson and James Christiansen's works are on as many walls as they are in books.

I don't know if we'll ever answer the question, "What is Art?" -- it's one of those unanswerables along the lines of "Why do good people suffer?" -- but illustration has its place in the lineup, whether or not it's on the wall, in a magazine, or on the side of a coffee cup.

Good Question, and one that many artists have, since very few -- especially in this economy -- are able to keep Nutella and spinach dip in the cupboard on art sales alone.

The first thing to do is to stop comparing with other artists -- lamenting that they are "making it" fulltime and you are not.

Remember that you do not always know the full story. They may have a spouse that works in something with a steady paycheck, and indeed, this is frequently the case. They may be retired. They may have a part-time job, related to art, on the side, that they pursue.

Dont' ask; they probably won't tell.

If you work elsewhere for a living, you do not have to wait until you are retired with a pension (I've heard of pensions; my 90-some year old parents had one) before you can pursue your dream of becoming a fulltime artist.

And remember also that you do not have to paint or sculpt full time before you can call yourself an artist.

Look at your week; prioritize; be brutal about the things you're doing now that you really don't want to do and have the option about dropping: committee meetings, volunteer labor at church, children's sports events (seriously, you don't have to attend EVERY one), Facebook playtime, indifferent television watching --

Yes, you're tired at the end of the day, and you feel like a pumpkin, but is there any time at all -- say a half hour -- that you can spend just doodling on the sofa and playing with ideas? Getting started is the hardest part; once you are moving, even slowly, even a few steps a night, momentum takes over and makes the next installment easier. Things always move slower than what we want, but as mothers universally say, any progress is better than no progress at all.

You may, or may not, be able to quit your job and paint or sculpt fulltime, but it's guaranteed that you won't if you don't do your art, in the beginning, at least part time. Life moves forward, step by step, in stages.

Well, neither the Norwegian Artist nor I are over 60 yet, but if we were, we'd give the Artist's Magazine over 60 Art Competition a try.

There is a $15 entry fee per image, with no limit on the number of entries other than what your credit card screams at you. You can enter by mail with a CD of images, or online.

Okay, so $1000 worth of prizes, divided amongst 10 winners, will pay for a celebration of Thai food take out and a bottle of red wine (or do you drink white wine with Thai food?), but the sweet part is being published in the March 2012 issue of Artist's Magazine, as well as on the website.

While you're here, I would be remiss not to mention that you can subscribe to Middle Aged Plague on your Kindle. You can also download it to your computer if you're one of those people, like me, who has hinted and hinted and hinted to friends and loved ones, and not found that slim little box on the pillow yet.

Waiting

 

Yes, all three words sound the same, and that’s frustrating, but meat and meet are homonyms as well, and most of us don’t worry about meating friends for meetloaf. With a little practice, you’ll find yourself sailing – not sale-ing – through the confusion of There, Their and They’re.

 

Let’s start with the easiest one first: They’re. This is an abbreviation for They Are, and the apostrophe is placed to tell us that we eliminated a letter or two (in this case, the A of Are).

 

So the ONLY time you will use They’re is when you are effectively saying They Are:

 

They’re (They are) going to the store.

 

I wonder when they’re (they are) arriving?

 

Now let’s look at Their:

 

Their is a possessive pronoun along the lines of My, Your, His, Her, or Our; it is used in front of a noun – a person, place, or thing – to tell us that the object in question belongs to a particular set of people:

 

Where is their house?

 

The easiest way to figure out whether or not you should be using Their in the sentence is to replace it with His or Her and see if it still makes sense:

 

Where is their (his/her) house?

 

What is their (his/her) opinion on the matter?

 

With this in mind, look at these misuses of Their and see how replacing His or Her makes the error more obvious:

 

Their (His/Her) are six cats in the kitchen. (There are six cats in the kitchen.)

 

The book is on the table over their (his/her). (The book is on the table over there.)

 

Their (His/Her) going to be late for dinner. (They’re – They are – going to be late for dinner.)

 

Their and They’re have pretty specific, limited uses, so basically, everything else uses the word There.

 

You don’t need to worry that There is sometimes a demonstrative adverb, signifying place (He’s over there), other times a controversially defined pronoun (There are a lot of problems with this paper), other times something else.

 

There wears a lot of hats, which is why people misuse it so much.

 

If you speak Spanish, you are no doubt familiar with the term Hay, as in Hay seis gatos en la cocina), or in French, Il y a – (Il y a six chats dans la cuisine) – both terms translate into There is or There are in English – There are six cats in the kitchen.

 

Also, if you can answer the question Where? You’re probably looking at the word there:

 

I see him over where?

 

I see him over there.

 

Put the book where?

 

Put the book there.

 

Want to practice?

 

1)      There/Their/They’re going to be late if they don’t get here soon.

 

2)      I don’t understand there/their/they’re negative attitude.

 

3)      There/Their/They’re are too many cats in this kitchen.

 

4)      Will you be There/Their/They’re by 3 p.m.?

 

5)      There/Their/They’re books are on the coffee table.

 

6)      There/Their/They’re always leaving there/their/they’re books over there/their/they’re on the bathroom floor.

 

Answers:

 

1)      They’re (They are) going to be late if they don’t get here soon.

 

2)      I don’t understand their (his/her) negative attitude.

 

3)      There are too many cats in the kitchen. (Neither They are or His/Her makes sense)

 

4)      Will you be there (where?) by 3 p.m.?

 

5)      Their (His/Her) books are on the coffee table.

 

6)      They’re (They are) always leaving their (his/her) books over there (where?) on the bathroom floor.

 

Still have questions? Contact the Grammar Goddess directly through the Steve Henderson Fine Art website by hitting the hyperlink at the beginning of this sentence.

 

 

 

 

 

Cascadia by Steve Henderson

One of my favorite features of our daily newspaper, other than my own column, of course, is the Letters to the Editor page.

I have to hand it to the people at the Walla Walla Union Bulletin -- not only do they print a balanced array of opinionated writers, from Clarence Page to John Stossel -- they make a genuine point of printing each and every letter, and other than fxing obvius spllng mstakes, they keep the content pure and unadulterated.

With all respect to Misters Stossel and Page, I read the ordinary people first, and as a writer, I get especial enjoyment out of the variety of ways a variety of people have of saying a variety of things.

One itsy bitsy element stops me in my tracks, however, and this is the overuse of exclamation points.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

These little ditties are like Tiramisu, the cloyingly rich Italian dessert composed of Savoiardi finger biscuits dipped in strong coffee, and encapsulated with Mascarpone cheese, spirits, sugar, cocoa, and double cream.

If it sounds like something that you shouldn't eat for dinner every night, you're right. Too much of a good thing.

A good thing!

In the same way, exclamation points are punctuation items meant to be brought out for that special occasion, when the selective choice of the right adjective, adverb, noun, or verb, just doesn't do the job.

Aarrrrgh!

Sometimes an inarticulate grunt or gasp or cry of anguish manages to express our feelings on the matter, but an entire composition of these utterances makes one wonder why the primeval Neanderthal bothered with the scratches on the cave walls in the first place.

Too often, people tack an exclamation point to the end of an insipid sentence, with the mistaken notion that it will somehow infuse hot scarlet overtones into a sepia-toned lithograph:

"This is so stupid!"

or, for even greater emphasis,

"This is soooooooo stupid!"

Aside from the obvious point that calling people or complex issues stupid does nothing to bring the other side into your court, this verbal laziness undermines the integrity of the writer, giving the reader the impression that this person is overly emotional, underly sensitive, and possessive of a working vocabulary of less than 500 words.

The better authors give examples:

"The other driver pulled into the opposing lane and rapidly accelerated to pass me -- in an elementary school zone, during the lunch period, and at the crossing intersection. It is amazing how quickly a stout, middle-aged former heavy weight boxer crossing guard can react."

or understate the issue for emphasis:

"I found the mayor's conduct unprofessional when he flung his Dixie cup of fruit juice at the opposing councilman, and question whether his explanation that he had tripped is a valid one, given that both men were sitting down at the time."

Decidedly, when a writer takes time to frame his phrases into strong constructions -- using words more complex than "nice," "dumb," "cool, man,"  or "gross," then the letter on the whole is not only more interesting to read, it is highly likely that it actually says something, whether or not we agree with the writer's opinion.

So, take that little box of exclamation points and put it in the back of the cupboard, removing it only on special, special occasions -- which, incidentally, pretty much never occur on resumes, cover letters to prospective employees, business reports, or essays for a 101 English paper.

Invest in a physical thesaurus or use an online one, and play with different words in your writing (you might want to confirm the meanings in a dictionary as well -- you can call your fiancee "buxom", but she probably wouldn't appreciate "ample"), and if a particular sentence doesn't have the punch and panache you want without an exclamation point, it probably needs more thought as opposed to a line with a dot.

While you're here, we at Steve Henderson Fine Art invite you to join our free, monthly e-mail newsletter list, in which we summarize the events of the month, including Steve's recent works and Carolyn's recent articles.

Amber Waves by Steve Henderson

Describing art is as subjective as saying that an elephant is big.

You've got that right.

Especially in today's climate, in which actual paintings by elephants are hung side by side with those done by humans, and litterbox sculptures by cats are hawked as masterpieces of feline thought (felines . . . think?), it is difficult for the average person to know the difference between good art and bad.

And do not be misled -- just as there are good movies and bad movies, and well written books and poorly plotted ones -- there are standards by which one can call one painting excellent, and another one, not so excellent.

The problem is, the standards differ depending upon who is talking. The modern expressionist art movement dominated the conversation in the room for most of the 20th century, drowning out sensible questions like, "That is a large red square with a yellow line going through the middle and a blue dot on either side, and it looks like something my eight-year-old could draw. So why is that painting 'better' art than the ocean picture with waves that not only look like waves, but seem as if they are splashing in my face?"

Thanks to the re-emerging representational movement, people of the 21st century are feeling freer to express their opinions about a piece, and both clients and artists are wriggling out of the stranglehold of the upper crusty elite artistes who insist that the only good art is something that not only does not look remotely like anything, but also requires hundreds of multi-syllabic words to describe what it is supposed to be.

While modern, abstract art has its place, it is not the evolutionary pinnacle of humanistic thought, transcending the works of Rembrandt, Renoir, Chagall, Cassatt, or Da Vinci. Some of it is good, and some of it really is no more than the average 8-year-old could do. If you like it, and the price is right, then buy it. If you don't like it, then don't let anyone convince you that you should -- either like it, or buy it.

If your tastes lean toward representational work -- meaning that what is painted actually looks like something, then you as the viewer have the right to wonder why the artist painted something a certain way, and whether he made the head of a figure large and out of proportion because he wanted it that way, or because he couldn't do it any other way. Drawing is a skill, and not all artists have it.

Again, because art is subjective as well as being subject to the interpretation of the artist, there are no hard and fast, quick and easy rules for determining whether a piece is professionally or amateurly done (Naive Art comes to mind), just as there are no hard and fast rules to determining whether a person is a Christian or not ("Does he drink? Smoke? Swear? Watch R-rated movies? Dance, play cards, or wear lipstick? Not a Christian").

As in The Emperor's New Clothes, however, common sense does come into play.

While good representational art does not have to look just like a photograph (after all, if you want a picture of the ocean that looks like exactly like a photo of the ocean, then feel free to buy a photo of the ocean), it does need to stand up to a viewer's logical questions:

1) If people or animals are in the piece, and their body parts look out of proportion, why is this so? Is it because the artist wanted it that way, or because he couldn't do it any other way?

2) If the colors are garish and odd, do they work? Despite the oddness, does the painting still appeal?

3) The painting looks flat, the images without dimension. Again, is this because the artist wanted it that way, or because he couldn't do it any other way?

4) The paint is really, really thick -- all over the entire canvas. Would it have been better if the artist had confined the thickness to certain areas, and played with thinner paint in other areas?

5) Why did the artist choose this specfic subject matter?

The questions are limitless, and the answers enlighten.

Enjoying and collecting art is a pleasurable journey, one in which you learn more as you ask questions; visit artist studios, galleries, and museums; and read. If someone makes you feel stupid, then no matter how much they profess to know about art, they are not the professor for you.

Because the art you hang on your walls is for your pleasure, one of the primary considerations that comes to play is whether or not you like it -- has the artist used his skills with color, brushstrokes, perspective, lighting, shadow -- in effect, paint -- to engage you to the point that when you walk into the room, you walk toward the painting because its immediate visual impact is so arresting and strong?

Do you love this piece?

Then, regardless of whether it is abstract or representational, large or small, colorful or monochromatic, a portrait or a landscape, focusing on a penguin in pink tights or a girl walking down the beach, and, most importantly, whether or not Someone Else tells you that you should, or should not, like this piece, then this is the piece for you.

This upbeat approach to paying the piper  does not extend so far that you give more than you have to, she quickly adds, and one of the most overlooked, yet easily recorded, tax deductions for the artist is that of your mileage.

I will never forget the time we packed 25 paintings (and they weren't miniatures) into our Honda Civic and drove six hours to deliver them to the Lawrence Gallery in Sheridan, OR. Unpacking the vehicle, we felt as if we were in one of those Marx Brother movies featuring multiple people continuously emerging from a little car. The gallery representative told us later that she enjoyed watching us as much as she did viewing Steve's work.

The point to this article  is not, however, that we need a larger vehicle, but that driving is a part of the artist's business day, and as part of that business day, the mileage you put on the car is eligible for an IRS mileage deduction, in 2011, of 51 cents per business mile driven, providing that you are not already claiming depreciation for the vehicle you are using.

Before I go further on this, let me insert the caveat that I am not an accountant and do not purport to be. The information in this article reflects what I have learned in the process of marketing Steve Henderson Fine Art. Ultimately, it is best for an artist in business for himself to consult with an accounting professional regarding his individual tax situation.

Back to this mileage thing: take note of the phrase, "per business mile driven."

Now according to CPA Man, our accountant who is also the tax assessor who plays the piano at the non-profit theater group (we really do live in a small, small town), when we drive our paintings to a gallery, as we did to the Lawrence; or when we deliver to or pick up from a show; or when we attend a reception; or when we pick up supplies for the office; or when we mail a business letter at the post office; or when we do anything connected with our business and drive our car to do it, we can deduct 50 cents per mile driven.

In order to do this, we need to keep a record of this mileage, and this is really a simple thing:

1) Buy an inexpensive monthly planner -- the kind with big boxes for the days of each month -- for each  car; we get ours at the Dollar Store.

2) When you head out for a business-related errand, record your starting mileage in the box of that day's date. Also record the purpose of the errand (mail letters; deposit checks at bank; attend show; meet with client; deliver painting; purchase supplies, etc.).

3) When you return from the errand, record your ending mileage below the starting mileage.

4) Write the total number of miles driven for that errand below the ending mileage. If you have piggybacked personal errands in with the business ones, deduct these and record only the miles driven for business purposes.

5) Keep this log throughout the year.

6) At the end of the year, transfer the mileage driven to an Excel Worksheet -- I record the date, number of miles, for what purpose, and in which car; I then total the miles for the month, and ultimately the year, presenting this spreadsheet to CPA Man as part of my tax receipts.

7) Keep the monthly planners, along with a copy of your spreadsheet, with your tax records.

You will be surprised at how the miles add up, and with them, the deduction. The amount of time you are spending in the car may also explain why you have been so frustrated lately, about not having enough time in the studio!

Gentle Readers: We invite you to join Steve's monthly e-mail newsletter for information on recent work, upcoming shows, classes, and events.



Ah, Facebook.

This is the social media that we all love to hate, complaining about how people are replacing face to face contact with the electronic buzz. I resisted for years but finally caved in, to the chorus of my youngest teenager crowing, "I'm the one who got you started on Facebook!"

Thanks, honey.

Unlike my daughter, however, I plunged into Facebook less for the experience of typing inane comments to my friends and family as I did for the opportunity to publicize Steve's original oil paintings to a broader audience, and I find that Facebook has its unique and valuable place in the overall marketing plan.

First of all, understand that there is your personal Facebook account (in which you have the option to type inane comments to your friends and family) and your business Facebook page (in which you decidedly do NOT post inane comments) -- the two are different, and should remain so. (By the way, in order to set up a Page for business, you do need a personal account already in place.)

I advise that you not use your personal account, or a variation thereof, as your business presence, but that you set up a specific Page for your art business. There are two primary reasons for this:

1) On your personal account, people can post all over your wall about anything; on your business Page, you alone post on your wall. Others are relegated to the Others section.

2) On your personal account, people send you Friend Requests which you either accept, reject, or ignore. On your business Page, people hit a one-stop Like button to join, and do not have to wait for you to notice them and respond to their requests (I had one business sit on my Friend Request for six months; guess how that made me feel?).

Okay. So you've set up your Page and sent out Friend Requests to everyone in your personal friend list. That gives you a base of fans. As your friends tell their friends, or as people discover you on your website, through exhibits and shows, via newspaper articles,  from your business card, from the Facebook icon link that you append to your website  --  there are myriad ways to get your name out there -- then some will join your page as fans. We have fans who check Steve's Facebook on a daily, semi-weekly, and weekly basis, and we always want to make sure that they have something to read.

Now what?

When I first set up the Steve Henderson Fine Art Facebook page, it was difficult to know what to post beyond floating a recent painting and saying something about it:

"Morningtide -- rich in detail and brushstrokes -- a piece of the Oregon Coast adds to a Tuesday." Then the image, the link.

This is good -- keeping your fan base up to date with your latest work.

But you can easily take this a step further, again, with the idea of providing more complete information as to what you are up to:

1) Have you been accepted into a show? Then post it on Facebook. As I prefer to limit my posts to once per day, so as to not inundate followers or overwhelm me, I will post an image of one of the paintings that will be in the show, with a link either back to the website or to the show itself, if a webpage has been set up for it. The next day, I'll post an image of another painting that will be in the show. And so on, until every painting to be in the show has been posted. This way, each work gets its day in the sun.

2) Have you been accepted into a gallery? Same thing, one at a time, with links back to the gallery. When Steve was first accepted into Rive Gauche Galleries in Scottsdale, AZ, I posted daily through his Norwegian Artist site the paintings that were to debut his gallery entrance and a brief story about each.

3) How about your latest blog? Post the link, along with an image of your work.

4) Do you teach or conduct workshops? Post it -- before the event, during, after, along with photos and that ubiquitous link.

5) Traveling for reference photos? Post some photos, and link back to your site. If you paint something from the references later, post an image of the painting along with the story.

6) Do you put out a newsletter? Let your Facebook fans know, along with a link back to your website E-mail Newsletter Sign-up Form.

Think of Facebook fans as the people that they are, and tell them what you're up to.

And while we're at it, a few things you might want to avoid posting:

1) Anything embarrassing or that makes you look foolish or unbusinesslike. This includes questionable photos from that studio party, which, incidentally, would be best not to post AT ALL, including on your personal site.

2) Whining. "How come more people don't sign up for my Facebook page?" "Sales are really down." "I'm discouraged and don't feel like painting today." These are all valid thoughts that you can share with your manager, therapist, or mother, but not your Facebook business fan base.

3) Verbal detritus. "Gonna paint!" "Gettin' ready to paint!" "Thinkin' about painting!" Well, duh. If you're an artist, you're probably going to paint. If you are going to take the time to write something, then take the time to write something: "Spent last week pumping out the basement after that freak flash flood that caused the leather sofa to split into two. This week it's time to paint!"

Facebook is a huge social media phenomenon, but it is not the alpha and omega of your marketing strategy. It's a part of the whole, kind of like somebody's eyebrow or ear lobe -- important, unique, distinctive, useful, and worth looking at.

If you’re married to an artist, there’s a high likelihood that you are not an artist yourself.

Now don’t get all feathery here, I’m not saying you’re not creative, and I’m not saying that two artists can’t live together (God knows how), I’m just dredging up the observation that frequently, when one half of the equation is an artist, the other half tends to be, well, how shall I phrase this?

More businesslike?

Now the artists will be poofing up their plumes.

But face it -- it is the rare artist who thinks about publicity, marketing, bookkeeping, and website maintenance as much as perspective, value, contrast, form, color, and point of view.

My own journey into managing the Norwegian Artist’s professional art career began with one of those casual statements you throw out without thinking of the eventual implications:

“If you want some help with filling out a show application form or something, I’d be glad to do it,” I mentioned over tea and toast one morning, feeling especially magnanimous. After all, I reasoned, what were we talking here – an hour, maybe two, every week? Small price to pay for spousal contentment.

One show turned into two, then three, then more as I researched the Internet for additional options in our area and beyond. And as you know (but I didn’t), it didn’t stop with the initial paperwork (a lot of that, incidentally) and sending of the check; acceptance brought a new set of responsibilities from shipping or delivering the artwork to setting up inventory forms, communicating with the people running the show, coordinating attendance at the reception, and attaching myself, trophy-wife like, to the artist’s arm.

And then, when the first work sold, I needed to figure out what to do with the money. Seriously.

Our debut year found me researching tax regulations, financial operations, spreadsheets, recordkeeping. Living in a small town where my accountant is also the county tax assessor as well as the piano player for the non-profit theater organization, I networked in the grocery store or, better yet, the library. Whenever I discovered someone who knew more about a topic than I did – and just about everybody knew more than I did about a lot of things that I needed to know – I backed this person into a corner and extracted information from them the way a vampire drinks blood.

And the Norwegian Artist , when he wasn’t working his day job. . .

painted and painted and painted and painted – providing me with more fodder for more shows and eventually galleries, private clients, and community events.

My one-hour a day commitment quickly grew to a second job, and I found myself phone chatting with an officer of the state revenue department who warmly and with gentle humor walked me through my first state business tax form; once we hung up, I drove to the library where Janice and Heather the Librarians gave me two-on-one instruction in how to set up an Excel spreadsheet, starting with a definition of what a spreadsheet is, anyway, and why I might meet one;  done there, I walked two blocks to the Historical Depot, where they were setting up an art show and wanted several of the Norwegian Artist’s latest pieces.

And I exhilarated in every bit of it.

The learning curve was steep, and in a short space of time I went from someone who couldn’t send an e-mail or understand why you have to hit the Start button to turn off the computer to a reasonably accomplished intermediate computer user who actually understands 10 percent of what my computer geek friends talk about over coffee. (Have you noticed that these types drink coffee, not tea? Is it something about being wired in every facet of their beings?)

I’ve set up customized inventory sheets, maintain a Master Record of Steve’s work, whipped out Artist Statements, Biographies, Resumes, and brochures (to the point that I now do them for others), and discovered the wild world of professional blogging.

What started out as a sideline painting endeavor for Steve, with the impossible dream that somehow he could quit his day job and make a living as a fulltime artist, is day by day turning into a tangible reality.

And all because I offered to fill out a show application.

I am not saying that you – spouse or significant other of the artist – have to be obsessively and energetically driven to the point that you make your mate’s art career an integral part of your life. I am saying that, if you are linked with an artist, you probably think a certain way, and possess a certain mindset and roster of skills, that uniquely qualify you to address the marketing half of the equation.

You may be able to keep this to a half-hour a day.

But I’m betting, once you get launched and see how electrifyingly exciting it all is, you won’t want to stop.

I know. I know. You would much rather be in the studio, painting.

However, selling the art that you create involves a requisite amount of office time, and one of the places where this precious time can be most wasted is at your e-mail inbox.

Let me start by saying that, in the same way that you open your mail --  ("Did the check arrive?") -- and answer your phone every day, so also should you designate a daily visit to your e-mail inbox.

Think about it: when you write a business inquiring about their product, don't you expect an answer, and a timely one at that? And if you don't get one at all, how does that make you feel about the business?

It's established then: regularly checking your e-mail is a must, and a good minimum is once a business day. In managing Steve Henderson Fine Art, I am at the computer five days out of seven; Steve checks on Saturday; and on Sunday we shut down, allowing ourselves one day free from responsibilities other than reading the  newspaper and taking a nap.

I always get a surge of pleasure seeing the  Inbox bolded and a healthy number to the side. However, this pleasure rapidly diminishes if the majority of those messages are cyber junque: business flyers and postings trying to sell me something, forwarded jokes from friends and acquaintances, and invitations to play Farmville on Facebook.

This electronic detritus clutters up the mind along with the machine, and the first step toward making your daily desk time more efficient is to permanently get rid of these distractions.

If you do not already have a designated e-mail address for your business, do so now, and reserve it for business use only.

I use my business e-mail to interact with clients, art galleries, workshop participants, students, art organizations, publishing organizations and such -- relying on my personal e-mail account to handle Facebook contacts, Stumblers, Twitterers, friends and family, and any businesses that have to do with that personal life (such as the friendly folks at Upton Tea who keep me happily supplied with my favorite beverage).

By doing so, I ensure that when I open up my business e-mail, I am not wasting work time with the latest book offering from Amazon, movie suggestions from Netflix, or fabric sale teasers from Joanne's.  "I'll just take a moment to follow this link" is the electronic equivalent of "I'll just pop into the espresso shop for a quick shot and a chat with whoever is there."

Now that you have a clean business account, work through your list with whatever system works for you -- chronologically, by date, most important first, easiest first -- whatever makes you purr. The important thing is to ensure that you address each and every message, because if it was important enough for someone to send it, then it is important enough for you to at least look at.

There is an old adage about paperwork that recommends touching each piece of paper just once --  either filing it, answering it, or throwing  it away.

Now I'll be the first to admit that paperwork is my bane, and that I handle many a piece more than once, especially as I transfer an unwieldy stack of tree product from one side of my desk to another, then to the top of the cabinet, then to some interior drawer (and not, unfortunately, the overstuffed filing cabinet).

But e-mail is more immediate than much that comes from the postman, and the best way to keep on top of it is to follow the advice for handling paperwork, with a few modifications:

1) Open up the file and read it. If it's junk, delete it. If you never want to receive junk like this again, mark it as junk so that it will get in the right box next time.

2) Answer it.

3) If you can't answer it now but will do so later, mark it as unread (so that it stays highlighted) or categorize it with a color (blue for gallery interactions, purple for show notifications, etc). I prefer to do both.

4) Once you have answered something, send the original e-mail to a designated file in your inbox: Show Applications, Queries, Comments, Associations, you get the idea. I confess that I do this 50 percent of the time, which means that my general Inbox is still pretty messy, but the Search index in my Microsoft Outlook account is a good one, opening up drawers and rifling through the files in all sorts of locations.

Of all of your daily office activity, keeping on top of your e-mail is at the top of the list, but if you get into the habit of spending a focused, designated time to answering that day's mail, you will be able to pick up the paintbrush and do what you really want to be doing, guilt-free.

At least, that is, concerning your e-mail.

I'll be honest with you. We don't know any multi-millionaires, unless, of course, they are cleverly disguising themselves as teachers, fire fighters, insurance agents, auto mechanics, or one of those people who has a mystery job that defies anyone figuring out what they actually do ("I'm a catalytic trades officer of global kinesthetic systems management").

If we were dependent upon rich people alone to buy art from Steve Henderson Fine Art, well, we wouldn't have much of a Sold section.

As it is, we enjoy an eclectic melange of clients from all walks of life and income bands, and one thing this diverse group shares in common is their delight in their individual collections of original art.

Yes, that's it -- ORIGINAL art.

Now, galleries being run the way they are, we generally don't get to meet the folks who purchase Steve's work via that route, but those clients who visit our studio directly or who contact us through the website   have educated us in the various ways that people of ordinary means can afford extraordinary, one of a kind art.

Generally, most of them set aside "fun-money" funds, and, rather than let it trickle out bit by bit into lattes and theater tickets and white-bagged lunches, they designate an amount each month and go shopping once they've put enough in the account. When they work with us, we work with them, either holding aside a work until they have reached their financial goal, or establishing a customized payment plan, or creating a smaller, more affordable work of similar (but not identical) nature to the larger one that they can't quite yet reach.

What we don't do is make prints of Steve's work, because his client base is adamant about owning original work, unlike anything that anyone else possesses.

And in that area, our non-millionaire clients are just as wealthy as the upper echelons, because the work that hangs on their walls is displayed on no other wall, anywhere -- not in Steve Martin's collection, or in the powder room of Bill Gate's mansion, or in the hallowed hallways of the White House.

"Well, but Steve isn't as famous as the artists whose work hang in those places." (I can hear the sniff.)

While some of our clients do purchase with an eye to investment, all of them choose one of Steve's paintings because it speaks to them somehow, and having it on their wall where they can see it every day brings pleasure into their lives.

In this way, everyday-people collectors have an advantage over the uber rich -- people of modest means buy an artwork not because it will triple in value over 10 years, or because it can be stored in a climate-controlled vault for future trade or sale, or because their art purchasing agent advises that this is someone to keep an eye on, but because they like it.

There are a number of emerging and mid-career artists out there producing work every bit as excellent -- sometimes more so -- than that produced by longtime big name top guns whose prints of their originals are priced at more than an ordinary person can afford (and don't be fooled -- a print is a print is a print, and the likelihood of it being a solid financial investment is about as secure as paying the kid's medical school expenses by selling off all of those "collector" plates advertised in the Sunday newspaper).

We all like to express our unique individuality -- through the food we eat, the clothes we wear, the cars we drive -- how liberating to think that owning real, bonafide, beautiful, and unique art is within the reach of all of us.

"In marketing myself as an artist, do I really have to blog?"

No.

However, blogging is a tool -- and a valuable one -- in getting your name out there, beyond the mailbox at the end of the driveway.

For those who do not enjoy writing, blogging can be as simple as posting a photo of the latest work along with a brief description and a link back to the website. This is quick, painless, and minimal; however, since thousands of artists limit themselves to no more than this, it is also easy for one's blog to be lost in the shuffle. Unless you have avid followers who kick down the doors of the studio before you finish putting on the final brushstrokes, there is not enough information and there are not enough words in the blog to attract the attention of searching people and search engines.

I regularly post updates on Steve Henderson's work in one of our many WordPress blogs, The Norwegian Artist. Depending upon my mood, I will be whimsical (Is the Norwegian Artist Boldly Painting Star Trek Paintings? Will He Be Doing This for Five Years?) or serious (Dream Big), but my goal is to say something of enough interest that someone stops long enough to read it.

My ultimate goal is two-fold:

1) To acquire a regular reader through e-mail sign-up, bookmarking, RSS feed, or whatever options are available to let subscribers know that I've posted something new and

2) To direct people to Steve's fine art website, where I hope that they will stay awhile, browse, sign up for updates and e-mail newsletters, contact one of Steve's galleries for more information about his work, and contact us about purchasing a painting from the site.

To this end, I blog; I post updates on Facebook; I stumble around on StumbleUpon and I tweet on Twitter; I send press releases to our local and regional newspapers; I send Steve's information and bio to both online and paper magazines.

It is very much a learning process, and I have time to explore it because, quite frankly, I don't paint. Steve does.

It is possible, however, to fit blogging around the painting or sculpting schedule, and here are a few ideas:

1) If your website supports a blog, like Fine Art Studio Online, use it. At the very least, post an image of your work, give the blog a catchy title, and write a sentence or two on the piece.

2) Sign up at  WordPress.  Blogger, or any of the many free blog supporting sites out there (Google "Top Blog Sites" and wander through the list until you see something that you like) and send out a duplicate of what you've blogged on your website. Link back to your website.

3) Set up a Facebook page for your art business, and, every time you blog or post an image of your work, incorporate the link onto that day's post.

4) Let's go back to that "Catchy Title" part -- I am far more willing to read an article with a headline that grabs me by the hair and yanks me into my seat. Just make sure that whatever your title refers to actually has something to do with the story. People feel cheated when they feel misled, as anyone who has looked up a YouTube video entitled, "Funniest Cats Ever!" to find an article about somebody's product instead.

5) Whatever you write, use real words that sound like ones that real, living people -- and not characters from a Jane Austen novel -- would use. Consign "synergistic flow of organic ecstasy" to the nether regions, and just write as if you were speaking. (The only people who use the term "synergistic" in verbal speech are seminar charlatans.)

 

If you don’t know when to use him and me or he and I, don’t feel bad. This problem is so common that I literally wrote a book around it,Grammar Despair: Quick, simple solutions to problems like, “Do I say him and me or he and I?”

 

The answer is fairly straightforward, so let’s get started:

 

Let’s say you’re heading to the movies with Bob and you’re not sure how to phrase this: do you say, “Me and him went to the movies,” or “He and I went to the movies,” or “Him and I went to the movies,” or “He and me went to the movies”?

 

Start by temporarily dropping off the He or Him, and see what you have left.

 

Would you say, “I went to the movies,” or “Me went to the movies”?

 

 

You’re right: “I went to the movies.” Remember the “I.”

 

Now, leave the “I” for a minute and look at He/Him. Would you say,  “He went to the movies,” or “Him went to the movies”?

 

Yes: “He went to the movies.”

 

So, if both you and Bob go to the movies, you will say, “He and I went to the movies.”

 

(Yes, it is also correct to say, “I and he went to the movies,” but this sounds stilted and awkward. It is not wrong, however.)

 

Before we look at another sentence, this is a good time to mention that Steve's work is available as affordable prints, cards, phone cases, pillows, duvet covers, tote bags and more. Check out our Prints, Gifts, and Cards section. You can also shop directly from this site at the end of this article.

 

Okay, let’s look at another sentence:

 

Do you say, “This gift basket is for her and me,” or “This gift basket is for she and I,” or “This gift basket is for she and me,” or “This gift basket is for her and I”?

 

 

We’ll use the same technique of temporarily getting rid of one of the two people and focusing on the other. Let’s concentrate on I/me:

 

Do you say, “This gift basket is for I,” or “This gift basket is for me”?

 

Yes, it’s for me.

 

And do I share this basket with her or she? In other words, is it, “This gift basket is for her” or “This gift basket is for she”?

 

Yes, “This gift basket is for her.”

 

 

Putting it all together, you'll then say, “This gift basket is for me and her,” or “This gift basket is for her and me,” the latter which sounds a bit smoother to my ears.

 

That’s it. There aren't many magical formulas out there, but this one is as close as it gets. Whenever you’re faced with two or more people in the sentence and you don’t know whether to use he/she/they/we/I or him/her/them/us/me, figure out what sounds right, one person at a time, then put the whole thing together at the end.

 

 

Before you leave, please check out the art on the site, or look through the images below to purchase affordable wall art prints, home decor (pillows, duvet covers, shower curtains), note cards, personal products (phone covers, tote bags) and more through Steve's Fine Art America products. Purchasing is safe and secure through PayPal, and every item comes with a 30-day guarantee. Add color, fun, and art to your life!

 

 

 

As much as it sounds like a no-brainer, writing an e-mail is actually more complicated than what it seems.

It doesn't have to be, but e-mail etiquette has never really been set into place, so that more of us than there should be receive missives like this:

"im going to be there tomorrow sometime cuz i will be in the area but i dont know when so dont bother to wait for me."

Well, at least there was a period at the end.

If you are communicating by e-mail, especially on a professional basis, keep these elements of common sense in mind:

1) Consider this an electronic letter, complete with salutation (Dear Person:) and sign off (Sincerely, Me).

2) Use paragraphs to separate your thoughts, just as if you were writing a letter.

3) Follow conventional rules of capitalization, punctuation, grammar, and sentence structure. Don't forget to capitalize your "I's," and consider drafting your e-mail from your computer keyboard, not your phone.

4) If this is a professional letter, keep the tone formal.

5) Take the time to check out your e-mail program for a customized Signature option. In Microsoft Outlook, you'll find the Signature button on the toolbar that shows up when you generate a new e-mail.

6) Incorporate your website address into your signature.

7) Consider writing all of your e-mails in this fashion, even non-professional ones. That way your default is the correct one.

Do these tips sound mind numbingly, profoundly and prosaically basic? Conventional letter and note card writing may be becoming obsolete, but the conventions of doing so can be translated into the cyber world. Let's let the grown ups lead on this one.

Okay. I'll get this out of the way right now: there is no secret.

That's the secret, and the sooner one realizes this and comes to accept it, the more one can save money and time by not buying the books and the DVDs and the seminar tickets and the hourly consultation.

That time can be spent on writing and working and contacting people and improving one's product and researching and brainstorming and studying -- it all adds up to hard work and perseverence, and, if one insists upon having a secret, then that is it.

We have a friend who builds websites for businesses, and many of his clients have this mistaken notion that one of his services is catapulting the website to the top of the search engines by the use of secret tag words and specialty codes.

Granted, the geeky gurus do know some of these and embed them in their website packages, but no geek is an island, and if one knows the words to say, it won't be long before others figure them out as well.

"Well, can't you just write stuff and get my web page near the top?" one client demanded of him.

"If you want to pay me to do so, you can," he replied. "It would be cheaper for you to do that yourself."

"But it's so much work!" she wailed.

A good lesson to learn, early.

Of course, on any path, there are always short cuts, and we have observed people successfully cresting the top of the hill by scheming their way there; one writer I know "markets" her books by visiting various blogs and leaving comments like, "nice," "I agree," or sometimes just her website address. A good spam filter tosses these right where they belong.

While there is nothing wrong about analyzing the clientale base and marketing to its unique needs and interests, the line gets crossed when it comes to finding and pushing people's emotional buttons, manipulating them into doing what one wants by poking their sense of guilt, insecurity, desire, pride, whatever.

The intriguing thing is that this marketing technique works -- very well, indeed -- witness auto ads and beauty products and designer clothing lines -- but in the process of building up one's bank account, one runs a simultaneous deficit in the size of one's soul.

And an artist's soul is, indeed, a sensitive thing. An artist's soul seeks and brings out messages from the world around him, transforming these observations into creations of beauty, or angst, or puzzlement, or some other strong emotion.

This same artist's soul, which can be bruised by a cutting comment or a rejection notice from a show, can be downright mangled by scheming.

Although I have no degree in marketing, that may not be such a disadvantage, since I have fewer things to unlearn. Thirty years as a functioning adult responsible for raising a family and interacting with the world around me have given me opportunity to analyze my own feelings and actions as well as those of others.

I have an excellent product -- the Norwegian Artist's art -- a phone, computer, and the ability to write and communicate in a civilized, grown-up manner. Our particular marketing package does not include a close relative already known in the art world, intimate ties to particular magazines, or high level leadership in esoteric art salons -- some people who enjoy these fruits are superb artists; others are not.

Most artists struggling to make their name and artwork known do not enjoy any of the above three advantages, and their path is a narrow, winding, difficult one that may or may not lead to a view at the top. These artists, however, will move forward more easily once they accept that they do not have these perks, refrain from being bitter about this, and seek to use the raw materials that they do have at their disposal.

It is a good goal, and a lofty one, to make a living off of one's art. Whether one achieves this goal, however, does not determine whether one has made a success of one's life. A truly successful life is one that incorporates honesty, integrity, honor, perseverence, diligence, and a concern for others.

If one chooses to pursue monetary gain by embodying the opposite of the aforementioned qualities, what happens not only to the artist's soul, but to his art?

Well, this sounds like an obvious one, doesn't it?

 Amazingly, many of the local and regional artists with whom we have chatted enter few, if any, shows.

 The reasons for this vary, but one that we increasingly hear is that the artist is unfamiliar and uncomfortable with the online entry process.

 Granted, learning how to grapple the computer to the ground and become its master is an ongoing process, and frequently, when things crash and buttons don't work, the temptation is to think back to the good old days.

 But the good old days involved building a supply of expensive slides, all of which had to be meticulously marked and identified before being carefully packaged and sent to their destination. Entering shows was an expensive and time-laborious process, and an artist could be excused for excusing himself from the whole scenario.

 But today, once all of the ducks are neatly lined up on your computer files -- photos of your work are in their cyber cabinets; the resume is up to date; the artist's statement and bio are written and ready (and if any of these last three are non-existent, check out Especially for Artists and contact me at [email protected] to get this going) -- then entering shows should be a matter of filling out the entry form -- either online or off the printed prospectus -- and sending it along with your images through e-mail or snail.

 Entering shows is valuable for a number of reasons:

 Your name, and your work, get out of the studio. Shows take place all over -- in galleries, at museums, within private businesses -- and your paintings will be exposed to more people than come through the doors of your studio.

 You analyze the quality and saleability of your work. Just because you fill out the form and send in the photos doesn't mean that you'll get in the show -- and indeed, this is another major, yet unspoken, reason why artists don't enter shows: because they may not get accepted.

 It may be that your reason for not getting accepted has to do with the quality of your work. If you enter ten shows and get accepted into none of them, you may want to look at what you're doing and see where changes and improvements can be made.

 But it also may be that you're entering the wrong kind of show for your artwork -- try getting a representatonal painting into a show heavy with abstracts. It doesn't happen, although, ironically, the reverse does. Analyzing shows leads to your analyzing your style and becoming aware of what it is that you enjoy doing best.

 You produce more work, faster. Nobody wants you to become an assembly line artist; however, it does you no good to agonize so much over each work that you don't enter shows because you only have a half-dozen pieces, in the last three years, from which to choose.

 The Norwegian Artist is a prolific and energetic painter -- he also has years as an illustrator behind him, during which time he was expected to produce whether or not the Muse was with him. Entering shows gives you a self-imposed deadline.

 You interact with people within the art community. Either through letters, e-mails, talking on the phone, or physically being at the show and hobnobbing with the participants, you discover and make new contacts, never a bad thing when you're marketing yourself.

 Art shows go on everywhere, all of the time. Within a 100-mile radius of our one-stoplight town, I was able to find enough local and regional shows in our first year to get the Norwegian Artist's name off the property and out into the local market.

 Here are some quick ideas to find local and regional shows:

 Google Art Shows and Competitions in your area -- try your town, the ones 30-miles away, the ones 30 miles beyond that.

 Find the local art society and ask them -- our town has a library that is open 20 hours a week and far more cows than there are artists -- but it also has a local art society. Somewhere around you there has to be a group.

 Read the local newspaper, especially the Art insert -- most papers have a Food and Family Section, a TV Listing, an Outdoor Day, and an Art section, the latter which lists and features galleries, local artists doing shows, competitions, and festivals.

 Join local, regional, and national art groups and receive their newsletter -- one regional group the Norwegian Artist belongs to has a volunteer staff member who spends her time seeking out shows and posting them in the newsletter.

 As with anything, just do what you can do in a set amount of time, pat yourself on the back for getting started in the right direction, and go back to your artwork, guilt-free.

A caveat:

This series of articles is aimed toward the novice marketer, namely those artists who haven't pursued pushing themselves because they don't know where to start and can't see how to take time away from the easel.

If you have been marketing yourself for some time now and want to share your insights, put me on your list! At Steve Henderson Fine Art, we are always moving, engaging, learning, and propelling ourselvs forward.

Which isn't a bad place to pick up after my introductory article, Marketing Yourself While Painting, Too -- First Steps.

The day after I brightly announced to the Norwegian Artist that I would take over the marketing aspect of Steve Henderson Fine Art, I sat at the computer, staring, and wondering where to start.

This is always a good time to make a list, and so I did, writing out ten things I would do to start the marketing process. That list is long gone, but I actually only did two or three items on it before the process of movement enabled me to make a better list. But it included directions similar to this:

1) Contact local gallery to see if they are interested in Steve's work
2) Call library for classes or tutoring in MicroSoft Word
3) Learn how to send an e-mail (did I mention that I was an EXTREME computer novice?)
4) Find out about contests or competitions in the area
5) Look at magazines in bookstore for art-related publications
6) Get list of local wineries that deal with art
7) Get list of private and public art galleries in 100-mile radius
8) Find out about art associations
9) See if newspaper has free listing information for art galleries and artists
10) Look into setting up a website

Actually, for a beginning list, it's not bad, honing in and targeting on our local area first, taking advantage of what our region has to offer.

Now quite frankly, our local area is not a seething denizen of art activity, despite its proclaiming to be so, but there were enough opportunities for me to enter Steve's work in a local show, a regional competition, a frame shop that sold art on the side, a winery opening -- the venues were small, the dientele was not affluent, the recognition was limited -- but Steve was also an artist emerging out of nowhere and exploding onto the scene, and I was a marketer who was still learning how to successfully send an e-mail.

Starting small enabled both of us to learn and correct small issues before they became big mistakes. Talking to a gallery owner whose scalloped potato casserole I had eaten in a community potluck enabled me to practice fielding questions and providing cognizant answers, so that by the time I spoke with the director of a larger, national gallery, I managed to not sound like an idiot.

Entering small shows, whose organizers were not dealing with thousands of entries, allowed me the freedom to call or e-mail the organizers with questions about how to complete the process. I learned about the existence of artist resumes, prose biographies, and statements, and in the process of writing these for competitions, began to navigate my computer and its resources with increasing confidence and skill.

The learning curve was steep, drastic and at times painful as I stumbled and fell down the hill. I found myself having to learn about websites, Internet surfing, computer software, art galleries, art shows, art organizations, bookkeeping, tax preparation, record keeping and business regulations all at the same time. Taken as a whole, it was overwhelming, but broken into parts, listed out as necessary, and performed on a regular basis, I slowly saw progress in all of these areas.

If I didn't know the answer to a question or a problem, I called somebody, wrote somebody, or Googled the question on the Internet -- this latter still the best piece of computer learning advice I have yet to receive.

My initial goal was to promote Steve's art locally and test the waters for people's reactions. Because he is a professional artist with a solid working background in illustration, I knew that the product, his paintings, were of high quality, but what I, and he, did not know in those early days was just where he wanted to go with his fine art. Illustrators are expected to produce a diverse portfolio of styles incorporating a variety of media, but a fine artist tends to plumb the depths of a chosen style and generally works in a favorite medium.

The local competitions and shows were a wonderful practice forum for both of us -- we went to the opening nights, attended the juror's lectures, mingled with fellow artists, and conversed with those attending the show. In a small, relaxed atmosphere, we asked questions, listened to advice, and absorbed what was being done in our region. I applied what I learned to the marketing; Steve finessed his style and subject matter.

In the process, we were slowly building a name for ourselves, and each event in which Steve participated was another accomplishment to put on his resume.

--The Marketing Saga continues in a blog to come . . .