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THE BLOG 07/28/2010 12:12 pm ET | Updated Nov 13, 2015Should Artists Publish Their Own Catalogues?

By Daniel Grant

Artists are told regularly that they must take an active role in the development of their careers, that they must invest their time and energy in this endeavor, rather than waiting for someone else (dealer? patron? MacArthur Foundation?) to do it for them. Many of these opportunities involve artists spending their own money, which brings up the question of whether or not self-pay garners the same art world esteem as when someone else is the underwriter. (I can say, for example, that what you are reading is a great article, but it is probably more meaningful for readers that this magazine chose to publish it.) For some time, the ground has been shifting, moving the line between what is and is not considered acceptable for artists to pay for. Renting out a gallery in order to show one’s artwork still may be viewed as a vanity exhibition, for instance, but increasingly it is common for artists to split the costs of shows with gallery owners — even galleries that exclusively represent these artists — such as advertising and promotion, an opening reception and even repainting gallery walls. That split may be heavily weighted against the artist, but critics don’t ask or seem to care about where the money came from before they review an exhibit, nor potential collectors when they visit the gallery; a review and sales far outweigh older concerns about breaking traditional rules about the roles of artists and dealers. Being the subject of a coffee table art book is another great benchmark in an artist’s career, but the publishers of these books regularly are subsidized by the galleries of the artists and/or by the artists themselves (“One of the factors in the decision to produce a book is whether the artist is willing to contribute to the costs of publishing,” said Carol Morgan, publicity director for Harry N. Abrams, the art book publisher). The means of financing these books are not revealed publicly, and readers don’t inquire: They simply assume that the artist must be a big deal in order to merit the book, which is what the artist and dealer wanted in the first place. Throwing a veil over how the operations of the art world are actually paid for may help maintain older (needed?) illusions for collectors, critics and artists, but even what used to be called blatant self-promotion does not seem as out-of-bounds as it once had.

A growing number of artists have taken to self-publishing catalogues of their work, complete with high quality reproductions of their work and essays by noted critics, that look for all intents and purposes just like those created by galleries and museums.

“Artists are looking for grants, new galleries, museum shows,” said West Palm Beach, Florida artist Bruce Helander, “and they need professional evidence to show that they’ve not just another artist in a sea of wannabes.” He has produced catalogues three times to accompany shows (twice at galleries, once at a museum), claiming that the costs of creating them — averaging $12,000 — were more than made up for by increased sales that the catalogues generated. “A catalogue gets more reviews from critics and more attention from collectors,” he said. “The basis of a catalogue is to transmit visual information to a consumer with a high level of design and quality. Readers then put two and two together and are more likely to form a more favorable opinion about the artist.”

The first catalogue Helander published was in 1995 for his first one-person exhibition at New York City’s Marisa del Rey gallery, which had no promotional plans beyond printing and mailing a postcard. He hired a designer to create an attractive presentation and commissioned Henry Geldzahler, former curator of 20th century at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, to write a 1,000-word essay about his work. (Part of that expense included round-trip air fare to his studio for Geldzahler.) For its part, the Marisa del Rey gallery kicked in $2,500, which went toward mailing the catalogue to collectors, critics and other people on the gallery’s mailing list. Sales were strong, and “by the end of the opening, the catalogue had paid for itself,” Helander said.

The link between increased sales and a catalogue is not always direct or clear — might (some of) these sales be attributable to the prestige of the gallery itself or other behind-the-scenes work done by the dealer? — and artists may have to take on faith that the catalogues they produce is money well spent.

In 2001, Manhattan artist Barbara Rachko self-published 5,000 copies of a 16-page catalogue of her pastel paintings, which she used as promotional material, sending out the catalogues around the country to museums, curators, galleries exhibiting contemporary art, “any single person who had ever expressed interest in my work” and art consultants and critics (names and addressed purchased from mailing lists). The costs broke down to $14,000 to produce the catalogue ($1,000 apiece to two designers, $1,000 apiece to two critics who wrote essays and $10,000 for printing), $4,500 for an assistant who typed mailing addressed and stuffed catalogues into manila envelopes along with cover letters, $150 for mailing lists and several thousand dollars for postage.

Her catalogue did produce results: Several galleries took on Rachko’s work, and 10 others have scheduled exhibits. The new galleries have generated a few sales which, considering prices for her artwork — $7,500 for smaller pieces and $24,000 for larger ones — indicated to the artist that “I’ve already couped the costs. The value of my paintings justified the cost.” However, Rachko has not had a larger quantity of sales overall since publishing the catalogue than in preceding years, which she attributed to “the economy, which has been horrible.” The catalogue may have helped offset a downturn in sales, or she might have generated those same additional sales through a less costly form of promotion: Who knows? “It’s very difficult to quantify the dollar value of your efforts,” she said. “Welcome to the art world.”

Any artist who self-publishes a catalogue trusts that there will be benefits seen at some point in the future. “You do a project like this, and you don’t get results in the first six months or a year, that doesn’t mean it’s a flop,” she said, noting that “a curator or gallery owner may contact you a year or so later. You never know.” Helander claimed that he does know, however: In August, 2003, he met a senior curator of the Whitney Museum of American Art, who bought one of the artist’s collages for the institution’s permanent collection, “and on that curator’s desk was a stack of material about me, and on top of that stack was my catalogue of the Marisa del Rey show.”

Self-published catalogues serve various purposes for artists. Topping that list are expanding an audience and generating sales; as much as increasing their visibility in the art world, potentially leading to exhibition opportunities, artists need to recover their costs through sales. As a result, artists need to move slowly into this realm, developing an idea of how much a catalogue will cost, how much they have to spend and how they will distribute the catalogues (and pay for that distribution). The total costs were more than twice what Rachko had budgeted, largely because she began to produce her catalogue and “learned what it was really going to cost me along the way.”

Susan Hall, a landscape painter in Point Reyes Station, California, self-published 2,000 copies of a hardbound book of her artwork in the beginning of 2003, which cost $30,000 (“I didn’t start out with a budget,” she said, “and found out what it would cost along the way”). Her plan has been to sell copies of the book — at $45 apiece — through local bookstores (she and her husband both went to store owners to convince them to carry the book) and mail order (based on brochures about the book sent out to a mailing list). Her paintings sell for between $1,000 and $6,000, and Hall hoped that the book was “a way for people who can’t afford my work to have something of mine.” For long-time collectors, the book presents a career overview, while for those new to her art it offers “a way for people to be introduced to my work.”

Almost one-quarter of the books have been sold and, perhaps, more importantly, the number of her paintings sold since publication of the book has increased by 30 percent, Hall noted. As with Rachko and Helander, the exact link between book and painting sales is difficult to identify, but Hall claimed that the book “starts a process,” with the end result being the sale of original art. At the current rate of sales, the book’s publication costs will be recouped “within two years; it could even be sooner.”

Among the decisions that need to be made are whether or not to tie a catalogue to a particular exhibition and who should write an essay (or if one should be written at all). It is obvious to anyone reading a catalogue that the essays in it will be positive, even laudatory. Some artists just include their own comments — an Artist Statement, for instance — and otherwise let the artwork speak for itself. The usefulness of an essay written by the artist or by someone else is to provide whomever is looking at the catalogue with some essential facts or interpretation that may be quickly gleaned. “The main people who read catalogue essays are critics on deadline,” quipped Phyllis Tuchman, an art critic for Town & Country magazine and the author of numerous artist catalogue essays. While an artist’s own say-so may be valuable in understanding the creative process, an outside observer as essayist is more likely to lend greater authority and credibility to the work — it’s not just the artist who appreciates it. Carey Lovelace, a critic and co-president of the U.S. chapter of the International Association of Art Critics, however, stated that a catalogue essay is “not just validating the work for the viewer. It’s not just like Consumer Reports. Art is about ideas, and the critic looks to find the idea that is important. That creates a bridge to the work for the reader.”

Hiring a noted critic or curator also may be seen as elevating the stature of the artwork being discussed — “it adds what I call the Pope’s nod,” said Bruce Helander. A known critic’s essay may be more likely read than that of an unknown writer, according to a number of critics who write and read these commentaries. “I guess I’d perk up if an essay is by someone I know,” said Eleanor Heartney, a critic for Art in America and the other co-president of the International Association of Art Critics. She added that artists may also “go for the big name, because they’ll assume they’ll get a quality essay.”

Critics, museum curators and art historians regularly are approached by artists to write catalogue essays; for some of them, it is a lucrative sideline, since the going rate is one or two dollars per word and essayists often require a minimum of 1,000 words (critic Peter Frank claimed that also may be “an extra charge if the writing needs to be turned around quickly”). The New York City-based artist career development company, Katharine T. Carter & Associates, has formalized his process, placing on retainer a number of New York area art critics who for two dollars per word, 600 words minimum, will write catalogue essays. “It has been helpful in my career have written these essays,” said Karen Chambers, one of Katharine T. Carter’s critics-for-hire who separately wrote an essay for one of Bruce Helander’s catalogues. “It gets my name out. People see that I’ve written about artists, and they want me to write about them.” In fact, it was after Helander had read Chambers’ essay in a self-published book by Seattle, Washington glass artist Dale Chihuly that he contacted her to write about his collages.

Artists need to keep their hopes and expectations in check, when hiring a noted critic. Just because Richard Vine, the managing editor of Art in America and another of Katharine T. Carter’s critics, wrote about a given artist does not mean that artist has any “in” with the magazine — in fact, none of the artists he has written up as part of his association with Katharine T. Carter has ever been reviewed or profiled in Art in America. “You have to realize that you haven’t bought this person body and soul for the price of an essay,” Eleanor Heartney said, adding that “all of us who write these catalogue essays are trading on our reputations.” Both Barbara Rachko and Susan Hall produced their catalogue and book independent of any specific exhibition, which makes them less time-bound but also removes a potential marketing event in which excitement and sales may build. Both women have needed to create all the momentum on their own, lengthening the process of generating sales. Helander, on the other hand, produced his three catalogues at the time of particular exhibitions, even placing a gallery’s logo, address and telephone number of the catalogues as though to suggest the dealers published them. Had he produced his catalogues with no exhibition taking place and no gallery to list on the back, the publication would lack “cache. It would be too much of a commercial venture,” he said, “just a naked piece of promotion,” produced by “a poor artist that no gallery or museum wants.” He added that “it’s no one’s business how an artist is trying to market his work.” Perhaps, the real issue is whether an artist may look in control of his or her marketing and sales or if some veil over the actual operations of the art world is still needed in order to appeal to older sensibilities.

Daniel Grant

Arts Writer

#artists #business of art #exhibitions #catalogues #critical essays

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juliatakesnotes · 7 years

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[ WELLBEING ] It was less about aesthetics the appearance, although that’s obviously in the mix- it was much more about how to make an environment that made people feel better after they’d been there than when they’d arrived. To be a designer focused on wellbeing you have to start with how things are made. [ LUXURY ] Luxury is attention, it's care, it's making the ordinary extraordinary.

Ilse Crawford, “Art of Design” documentary on Netflix

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juliatakesnotes · 7 years

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Digital interpretation of Sophie Calle's Suite vénitienne, with excerpts from John Baudrillard's Please follow me.

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juliatakesnotes · 7 years

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Experience as Art: A Trip to Oaxaca with Pocoapoco's Jessica Chrastil | Apiece Apart

Can you share more about your upbringing? What led you to explore this space of living a creative life outside the role of an "artist"?

I grew up in a family that loved learning for learning’s sake. My mother (not an artist by any known definition) has always viewed reading and researching — on nearly any topic — as the most thrilling way a person could possibly spend a day. As a child, boredom was never an option, the fact that knowledge was out there waiting to be had was like open access to an goldmine. As a kid I loved skimming through the encyclopedia — science, people, art, countries, beliefs — so much information available in one place and context and because of its basic proximity it all appeared connected no matter how disparate it was. So comforting and exciting.

My father is the same way about people as my mother is about information — he never misses the chance to talk with anyone, hear their story, find an avenue for connection no matter how brief the interaction. In this vein, I have so many friends and people in my life who are not practicing artists, but who have the most most creative, diverse, innovative, and engaged approach to day to day work and life, as well as in the way they choose to document or share this work/ knowledge. It’s endlessly inspiring.

The process of learning, of experiencing, of connecting has always seemed like this fantastic project of sorts that never has to become a piece of art or even a means to an end but is more like the continuous building of a personal library.

Are there any texts / quotes that have been particularly significant in thinking or researching more about this?

Essays in general are a favorite, writers that write non-fiction in a way that is as dynamic, experimental, and rich as fiction. Of course Joan Didion, her language of experience and research. I like Alain de Botton’s approach to philosophy, or anyone who manages to convey knowledge and a thought process through an unlikely shape or voice (can be anyone: My five-year-old nephew makes the most amazing drawings of the periodic table and the history of the British monarchy...)

What are some realizations about life, art, and the connection thereof that the residents have taught you?

I get to see Oaxaca through new eyes each time a new person or resident comes through. The way people react to and connect with a new place or community is fascinating — especially when they come at it exploring whatever they are passionate about. It's like seeing each person wear the same shirt with an amazing, yet completely different outfit to a party.

So much innovation and creative output stems from a person's deep knowledge of and subsequent ease with their particular craft or topic. Photographers become so obsessed and vocal about light that for weeks all I can see are the shapes of shadows on walls. Florists use little purple bananas to create beautiful floral designs and centerpieces. Chefs seem to use the same bags of beans I see everyday to create meals so distinctly different from each other. One favorite project was a designer who photographed "mistake sculptures" all over the city, random stacks of objects that people here use to hold parking spaces. Yet when he presented photos of the mistake sculptures they looked so intentional.

That said, I think I originally had an idea that people were going to be most excited about what specifically they were researching but I believe people have been most excited and inspired by the connections they’ve made with people here, people from/in Oaxaca, as well as the others taking part in the residency.

Why Oaxaca?

Pocoapoco, or poco a poco, means “little by little” or “slowly,” “gradually.” It says a lot about the approach to this residency project, and definitely about life in Oaxaca. Maybe subconsciously it came from what I was looking for upon leaving New York — more time to let things unfold, more time to learn, less about finishing, and more about experiencing and creating a space for anyone to do the same. It’s a commonly discussed fact that Oaxaca is a great place for ideas but can be an impossible place to actually get things done.

In general, the residency provides a space for those looking to explore or expand their creative work. We host artists and non-artists in a variety of fields to support research, conversation, and community surrounding this work, process, and purpose. This happens through month-long residencies as well as week-long residency / workshops, and a variety of individual projects and collaborations. A large part of this is about working closely with individuals and organizations in the Oaxaca area to provide education, inspiration, and cross–cultural exchange within these creative dialogues.

Prior to moving to Oaxaca I was in New York and before that California for a so long, working in food and restaurants. In New York I was creative director at an NGO, we worked with artisan businesses around the world. I traveled a lot and spent a huge amount of time talking with people all over about how and why they create — also exploring how travel and culture and experience is so deeply embedded into and influential on the work we do, artistic or otherwise. One of these projects was in Oaxaca, and I suppose I fell in love with the place. There was very little logic involved in moving. I had lived north, west, east. Now south. This is a stopping point.

Talk more about the difficulties that come with being an outsider in a new place. And on the flip side, what is gained?

There is a deep level of awkwardness and self-consciousness (at least personally) on entering a new place, especially a place with such deep history and customs and roots. On trying to simultaneously respect that place, understand those terms, navigate your way into it and meld with it, and still maintain the sense of self that is so crucial to any good relationship. It’s hard and makes me feel like such a floppy ridiculous adolescent all over again.

That said, I think self-consciousness is important and it keeps us on our toes. But there is also a fine line between self-consciousness and being crippled by over-analyzation which puts a wrench into making any connection with anything. I’ve gone through so many iterations of this balance in the past year and a half. like to think that lately there are fewer wrenches, a bit less awkwardness. A little more trust and commitment.

People come down often and glamorize life here, but this has definitely been one of the hardest transitions of my life. I suppose this is also because building the residency has meant navigating Oaxaca and how to most gracefully enter this place, while also quickly becoming a bridge for so many others coming through. This is wonderful and so fun but also brings a sense of responsibility and nervous protection on both ends. It feels important that the residents are understanding and considerate of this balance — when to bring a strong sense of self, ideas, and needs to the table, and when to step back and just listen, learn, observe. I suppose that is why to do it here, because Oaxaca has made the residency project not just about a "residency" but about exploring the connections between places and people and ideas, about thoughtful interaction, about how to be a responsible traveler and artist, a compassionate and curious human.

Below is a list of questions that one of our partners here wrote for a group of photographers coming down in hopes of getting them thinking about what it meant to be behind the camera here. I think it’s pretty relevant to everyone coming through to explore a topic or project.

How does the photographer affect the context/environment? Is it possible to capture those effects?

How does the environment affect the photographer? Is it possible to capture these effects?

What is the difference between a touristic photo and documentary photo?

When taking photos, are you giving and creating, or are you extracting something?

Are you on safari or are you creating meaningful interactions?

How does the camera make you closer to or separate you from the experience and the context?

How are you present in your pictures? Does objectivity exist in photos? If you are portraying reality, what does everything else portray?

Is your personal story present in the photos you take? Can you show this in them while photographing others?

Is it possible to portray the similarities between you and the people you are taking pictures from? The differences?

Which long lasting elements, as opposed to instantaneous, do you find in your photos? Why would they be important for the future?

Could you describe an image from your life which is not a photo? Why would an image be different if you have it physically? Do you think it’ll portray what you’ve been thinking all this time?

Do “mental photos” exist? How would you share with others what you see if you could not take photos? Could you start a photography project with the idea to take as few photos as possible?

Do you ever feel lonely or in a strange place of being a conduit to others’ creative process?

I’m doing it by myself but am rarely alone. I’m always working with someone doing something though those things and people change. I’ve gotten a chance to work with so many of my closest friends and so many people I respect, both from Oaxaca and from the US. I feel less like a conduit and more like a beneficiary. I get to take part in all these processes that I never would have been able to otherwise. When I was a kid one project my mother gave us was to make small books profiling different categories of artists — names and biographies of baroque composers, impressionist painters, etc. It was this idea that if you couldn't be a musician and a painter, learning about the lives and work of musicians or painters is the second best thing. That’s kind of my life right now. Loneliness can be hard…but I assume that’s part of being human.

(via Experience as Art: A Trip to Oaxaca with Pocoapoco's Jessica Chrastil | Apiece Apart)

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juliatakesnotes · 7 years

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On living with spaciousness: at home with artist Claire Oswalt | Apiece Apart

via Apiece Apart

One thing you and I have talked a bit about is the decision to live in “other” cities, an intentional opting out of some things to opt in to others. Can we start here?

My need to leave LA was so personal in that I needed more time and more space to be both a mom and an artist. But both time and space seemed only to dwindle with each passing year. I alone needed to slow down the other parts of my life, find a little ease here and there in order to commit wholly to making art. My head was too clouded, and the overbearing, guilty feeling of always playing “catch up” is a horrible way to start a day in the studio. I was figuratively struggling for breath in a city where the air is notoriously bad, and seeking space in a town where parking and housing are hard to come by. In essence, the move was truly about finding space to reclaim myself - my memories, my interests, my values - in order to make better work.

I kept repeating to my husband that I was no longer forming memories, and that was really freaking me out. I felt that every day was just running into the next, and I thought, how terrible would it be if I died with this feeling?

What does it mean to return to someplace familiar? What freedoms come from this? What is surrendered?

Dorothy Hood, a great Texan painter of the 1960’s, left Texas as a young girl and spent her young adult years in Mexico. Upon return to Texas in the late 60’s, she said she was following the Taoist advice to “live in the fruit, not the flower.” My younger self was dying to see the view from the top, to live in the flower. Getting out of the “Tex-centric” space where I was raised offered unprecedented ways of going about things, new ideas. Exposure to the grit and the glamor, relationships with people that would have raised my mother’s eyebrows, financial struggle, moments of depression, wonderfully wild nights…I am so incredibly grateful for these memories and influence. But I view life like a video game of my youth – it’s a sequence of stages. You go about your way, collecting tools, weapons, and food for your knapsack, all in anticipation to defeat the large monster at the end of that level. Once you have defeated it, you begin again at the next stage, searching for the tools, weapons, and food that will get you to next monster.

I had simply defeated that particular monster, and it was time for the next stage. I was married with two little boys. My interests shifted to my home space, being comfortable, finding ease, time, and room for my work that no longer needed a constant feedback from its external community. So I returned to the fruit that bore me, to where the work needed to be done. Perhaps a little less allure and sex appeal compared to Los Angeles and New York, but Texas had a longstanding unrefined energy that encouraged taking chances in a different sort of way. I had missed the rashness of Texans, but more so, the refreshing authenticity of Texans, despite their politics, social status, or career. Falling in step with the people around me was no longer an interest, but surrounding myself with interesting people open to a conversation about their differences was. I had missed the idealism of an age-old identity, the uneven, thorny land that demands presence, and quite simply, the ambling speed of Texas life.

How has your work changed this year?

There is less distraction, less noise in between myself and the paper. The work is taking on a purer, more confident quality that I had been seeking for some time.

I’m curious if there has been a “come down,” so to speak, of imagining starting anew to be one thing, when really a new place has a whole other (or perhaps the same) set of challenges…

I would be lying if I said that I didn’t miss aspects of LA and New York. I miss the incredible style of the women, and I miss the space-specific mood of a New York restaurant. But at this stage in life, those are part of the superfluous flower. I’m interested in the core of things. If you have ever lived in New York, or LA, you’ve probably engaged in a debate – New York vs. LA? – as I have numerous times. But much like political party lines, there are reasons a city or space or platform resonates with an individual. Given that the debaters are self-reliant and educated in the topic, I see little use for argument. We are all collections of cells harboring different DNA, different experiences, different challenges. I have learned that adopting views of a system is really doing yourself a disservice as it handicaps our brains' incredible capabilities to make complex decisions and to be curious. All of that being said, Austin is the perfect fit for me at this time. I hope it’s not the last stop, but I’m trying not to look ahead because the view pretty nice here, right now.

(via On living with spaciousness: at home with artist Claire Oswalt | Apiece Apart)

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juliatakesnotes · 7 years

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Trust - Change - Impact

via Podcast: Seth Godin on Design Matters with Debbie Millman

Failure Pornography

Create Trust

Don’t follow data

Failure Pornography Why is it popular? It's the easiest form of content to make. If you're willing to embarrass yourself I can put it out. You don't have to be good at it because being bad at it is actually part of it. No world where everyone owns their own media channel, everyone can publish anything they want, if you are lazy, looking for a shortcut, don't believe in yourself very much, and easy way to put stuff into the world.

Who's looking at it? People who have mistaken a form of intimate vulnerability with actual genuine connection. So what you end up doing is collecting a crowd around yourself, hiding your fear by showing your fear. None of which advances the ball. Because what advances the ball is generous connection. Actual risk, taken in the service of an idea or a movement that will help other people. That's hard. That's really hard. So people don't do it. They look for the shortcut instead.

What I've said to people who I've interacted with doing this is, you're better than that. You're better than that. Because this is not just hurting the people watching it, it's mostly hurting you. And you have a better route to making the impact you want to make in the world.

...

Create Trust I learned, by frequently and generously showing up in front of people who wanted to hear from me, I would earn their trust. And if I earned their trust it would be easier for me to solve their problems. Some people go online and measure their return on equity, or their return on effort, I'm trying to maximize trust. And I think we have a trust shortage. If I have more trust then I'm going to be able to make more of a difference. So, I'm not looking to be better known. I don't promote stuff. Show up on Facebook. I don't work to have any followers on Twitter. I don't tweet. This is not about that. This is about among the people who want to find me can I show up in a way that's trustworthy. Can I do it in a way that will help other people get the joke. Because I would rather live in a world where more people trust more people. ...

Don’t follow data

Debbie Millman: "Now your blog is followed by hundreds and thousands of people, was always at the top of Ad ages power 150, and as you put it, back on the algorithm was interesting, but I was right by Technorati as the number one blog in the world written by a single individual- yet, you stated this about web stats:

"We are hooked on data. Advertisers want more data. Direct marketers want more data. Who saw it? Who clicked? What percentage? What's trending? What's yielding?

But there's one group that doesn't need more data...

Anyone who's making a long-term commitment. Anyone who seeks to make art, to make a difference, to challenge the status quo.

Data paves the road to the bottom. It is the lazy way to figure out what to do next. It's obsessed with the short-term.

Data gets us the Kardashians."

My question, and this is something I was talking to Maria Popova about. We both want to know the answer to this question. How do you assess the impact of your work, without statistics, is the anecdotal enough?

Seth Godin: Let me make a small rant here to make the distinction between Brand Marketing and Direct Marketing. Lester Wonderman invented Direct Marketing. He was on the board of Yoyodyne. He is a giant. Lester Wonderman invented the American Express Card and the little gold box on the Columbia Record Club. Lester Wonderman understands what direct marketing is. You, my friend, who is measuring everything, are not a direct marketer. Because what you're really doing, is pretending you're a brand marketer by caring about all the fancy parties and the photoshoots. And pretending you're a direct marketer by looking at numbers that don't actually matter. You're using it to hide. What great direct marketers do is they figure out Where to be where they matter, where they can be seen, and where they can be trusted. And the numbers come second or third or fourth. But when you're sitting there saying should I sponsor this podcast or that podcast– Who has better numbers? That makes no sense. Doesn't make sense as a brand marketer. Doesn't make sense as a direct marketer. What we have to do is say: Yeah we'll get to the numbers later. First, let's get to the truth. Let's get to, Are we significant? Are we mattering in this interaction?

DM: But that's from the marketing side. What about the content creators– which is one of the worst phrases I have ever uttered. What about the people making the art, in the sense that they want to know if what they are doing is worthwhile or reaching people. Or making an impact.

SG: What every great artist does– what every great marketer does– is make someone change. Who are you trying to change, how have you changed them? That's what we do. Harley Davidson is a great brand. Why. Because they've turned disconnected outsiders into respected insiders. That's what they do. Apple computers. What did they do. Lots of people make personal computers. Apple turned people who turned people with bad taste about digital goods into people with good taste about digital goods. And once you have good taste then you are hooked on the whole thing. Right. So what we can measure, which can be as anecdotal as you want, is anyone being changed. Because if no one is being changed, then you are instantly replaceable.

Having lots of twitter followers doesn't mean you're changing anyone. You might just be entertaining them. It might just be that they need to keep up with the Jones's. But you're not actually causing change to happen. So for me, yeah once a year or so I look at the numbers on my blog, for example half as many people visit my blog now as five years ago. I like to know that in general every five years. Because that tells me something about the state of the web. Is my blog half as good as it was five years ago? I don't think so. It means that consumption trends have changed. Fine. I don't care. Did I change someone today? And if I changed five people that would be plenty. Ten is a bonus.

DM: And how do you know that you're changing them?

SG: Because I hear from them.

DM: So it is anecdotal then.

SG: That's fine with me.

...

TRUST - CHANGE - IMPACT

DB: (Speaking about the current political climate after Trump has taken office as president) ..."as the world is going to hell in a hand basket"... [How do we go on in this daily massacre?] SG: It's not easy for me either. I think the best thing we can do as James Murphy says is,

The best way to complain is to make something.

We have to figure out is how to disconnect ourselves from the circle of fear, and from the circle of contempt and even panic, and settle down, and make something that matters instead. You know, think about what should you have been doing in the weeks after 9/11 or during Martin Luther King. The best way to complain is make something.

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juliatakesnotes · 8 years

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Sur-exposition translates to “overexposure,” but it can also mean “on exhibition(s).” “Curating is never about quantity ... It’s about identifying pieces and conserving a memory. ... The images we’re talking about are the ones that stay. They become a part of you.”

In Sur-exposition, Olivier Saillard, Tilda Swinton, and Charlotte Rampling Offer a Meditation on Images That Last - Vogue

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juliatakesnotes · 8 years

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So You Want to Start Your Own Agency? — Branding for Humans

01 / Don’t act all ‘agency-y’.

It’s way, way better to work quickly and collaboratively with your clients (and sometimes their internal teams) to generate ideas that they can actually use. Sometimes, the worst thing you can do (believe us) is to walk through the brief and then steal away to your studio and churn out a bunch of ideas that may be better for your book than their bottom line. Don’t tell your accountant this, but sometimes it’s better to be valuable than expensive—no matter who you’re working with. In other words, just don’t milk things.

02 / Walk in your client’s shoes.

Well, not literally of course. But sometimes it’s super-helpful to spend some time working on the client side. God forbid you get sucked in and spend a decade riding some posh double-decker bus down to Palo Alto every day. But with the right sort of situation, you might learn firsthand what it’s like to make decisions based on actual, tangible business drivers—in a way that’s informed by multiple perspectives. Being forced to patiently navigate internal politics in order to get things done will bleach the fancy prima-donna right out of you. Which is good for everyone, right?

03 / Play well with others.

It’s an old chestnut but it’s true. Some of our best projects have been the ones where we couldn’t, in the end, hog all the glory. Instead, we’ve tended get the best results by working in a totally open, honest, and collaborative way with in-house design teams and UX folks, or external agencies and PR firms. We’ve seen how the best results come when the whole team is part of the solution. Trust us, you’ll be at your best when you’re bringing the best out of others.

04 / Think like designers and design like thinkers.

Sounds schizophrenic and, in truth, it kind of is. But the sort of agencies that are doing the best work right now are the ones that are pretty good at toggling between left brain and right. In today’s business climate, it’s important to be intensely analytical (when it counts) and super comfortable with ambiguity (when it’s time to generate and explore). The best creative comes when you’re able to connect the dots between the why and the what—and let go of things that don’t make sense (no matter how beautiful or funny or brilliant they might seem).

05 / Rent, don’t own.

Ideas, silly. While it would be nice to be able to take total credit for some or all of the brilliant things that come out of your work, the fact is, most of the good stuff actually comes directly from the client. At least that’s true in our experience. We’ve seen how, if you create the sort of situations where good ideas come naturally, they tend to. In droves. And then all you have to do is be smart enough to stand back and say: ‘Yes! More of THAT!’.

06 / Don’t work weekends.

Really, just don’t. It could be a holdover from our early days on the ad agency side, but we’re dubious of superfluously burning the midnight oil. Instead, we’re sticklers for setting realistic, hard deadlines—and then hitting them. It’s way better to work swiftly and surely to the ticking of a chess clock than to call out for pizza at 2:00 AM on a Saturday night. Call us old fashioned, but we like having a life. You should too.

07 / Work with the CEO.

This doesn’t mean you’ll have to take up golf or anything. But logging some serious PRs on Strava couldn’t hurt. Because, when you’re able to join forcesmano-a-mano with the ultimate decision-maker, you’ll radically increase the likelihood of your work seeing the light of day. Not because you’ve won them over—or swayed them with your brilliance—but because you’ve both arrived at a new way of thinking about the greater good.

08 /Vacation together.

Regularly.Or rather, take elaborate minutes on exhaustive board meetings, often held in exotic locales. Use these ‘meetings’ to remind yourself and your team of the real reason you work together. It isn’t to make make a shit ton of money, win shelves of awards, or do work that other firms envy. It’s to honestly savor the energy that comes from pushing each other to be your better selves, together._

(via So You Want to Start Your Own Agency? — Branding for Humans — Medium)

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