Michael Slade
Untitled
No, it's not about photographic education. That one is still in draft form. I wrote this essay early this morning.
------Start------
Once upon a time, back when I was first asked to write an 'artists statement' about my project, I included these words:
"You however, are not my intended audience. I am creating this work to stand as a record for those who may never get to experience Great Salt Lake. You can come and visit it if you would like, others in future generations will not be able to experience the lake as it is today. It is those viewers that I am hoping to enlighten."
Several people that I respect read those words and suggested that I remove them, so I did. It is a little harsh. Basically true, but harsh. Harsh in a way that I thought might alienate my audience. So...I removed the text.
I bring this up only to remind myself that I am not really creating this work and these images for any one single person besides myself. I am not trying to please any particular group of people. I am not doing this to win a Pulitzer Prize (although that would be fun wouldn't it?).
Last month I entered a photographic competition which is created for projects that are broad and in-depth. After reading the judges statements from prior years and looking at previous award winners, I decided that my project could probably use exposure to a broader audience, and might actually stand a chance of winning something. I want this work to be seen and the story of Great Salt Lake to be known by more than just a small core of individuals.
For 2 months I sat patiently, writing my acceptance speech on a napkin to have 'just in case'. Last week I started to get a little nervous as the deadline approached. This week I was a total basket case checking the competition's website for any news announcing the winners. Finally yesterday a statement was made on their website to 'stay tuned to your e-mail'. So...I did.
I checked it. Frequently. Religiously. Anxiously. Obsessively. Thankfully I was rescued by some diversions yesterday and was forced to take my mind off of it, but those didn't last long, and I was again tempted by the siren call to check 'just one more time'.
I figured I'd at least get something in the e-mail. The project's organizers had said that they would contact those who were in the top 5, 10 and 20 percent of the judging as to encourage and reward their good efforts. Previous year's competitions had seen up to 800 entries and I figured, what's 20 percent of 800? 160 or so? Is my math really that bad? I figure I have a pretty good project, I should at least get in the top 20 percent shouldn't I? Of course I should!
So...anxiously I awaited to see how well I would place. I even announced my obsession on facebook.
Last night, late, the announcements were made.
The only announcement that I received was that I would not be getting any awards.
What..the...F*&^????? No awards? No accolades? No parades down main street? Not even a pat on the back? There must be some mistake! I hurriedly re-scanned the list of award winners thinking I must have been in too much of a frenzied state to recognized my own name the first time I scanned the list. I went over it again, upways and sideways and crossways and backways...it's starting to sound like a Willy Wonka monologue, but no, my name is still nowhere to be seen.
I lean back in bed and realize that I am actually very disappointed. I am bummed. I am even somewhat sick and light-headed about it. Then, I am mad. I am angry. I take it out on the nearest available person...my wife sitting patiently in bed next to me. She knows I'm just venting and let's me rant. She knows I'll get over it but still offers some words of compassion. Not many, but enough.
I lay down and fall asleep angry. I feel betrayed and sad. More angry than sad, and less betrayed than sad, yet more angry than not, and still with an underlying current of sadness and betrayal topped with a thick frosting of anger and bitterness mixed with cinnamon and nutmeg. No wait, that sounds yummy...there was no cinnamon and nutmeg...just bile and sourness and putrid anger and disappointment. I don't know when my consciousness blended into my unconsciousness, but clearly it wasn't long after closing my eyes.
I woke up this morning at 5:15, eyes wide open. I realize I went to bed angry, but now all I can think about is something that I heard once from my favorite musician, guitarist Pat Metheny.
He said, and I paraphrase...it is only 6:30 in the morning right now...”I don't care if people like my music, I only care if I like my music. If, after I present my music, people like it, that is great. If they don't like it, that's fine too, but I don't make my music to be liked or not, I make it for me.”
When he said that, I was angry. Who was he to discount me as his 'biggest fan'? I have over 30 of his CD's and can 'air-guitar' nearly every solo perfectly! I've seen him in concert...twice! I had him autograph a photo I took of him playing in Portland! I am a HUGE fan! Who does he think he is after all? Without me, the adoring fan, he would be NOTHING! Of all the nerve!
As I have thought and re-thought about this statement, the clearer it became and the more sense it made. Of course he doesn't make his music for others, he is not a commercial songwriter, he is an artist. For me to accept that about his work, I would have to accept that about my own work.
For a long time I made my living shooting photographs for other people. Clients who would pay me to do it exactly how they wanted. They hired me based on my ability to deliver what they needed. Occasionally I would get the great client who liked my interpretation and let me have a pretty loose leash, but ultimately it was them paying me, and if they didn't like it, I would re-shoot it.
This Great Salt Lake Photographic Survey is not for a client. It is not for any particular group of people. It is for me.
It sucks when that attitude conflicts with me being mad about not placing in a competition. Inner turmoil. The angst of the tortured artist.
I know it's not supposed to make me mad when other's don't like the work. After all, it is only for me right? If you like it, great! If not, that's fine too. Right?
So, now I'm drafting a letter in my head. It goes something like this:
Dear Judges,
Can I have my 150 bucks back?
Horse - Reassembled, Rozel Flat, Great Salt Lake, Utah, 2008
------Start------
Once upon a time, back when I was first asked to write an 'artists statement' about my project, I included these words:
"You however, are not my intended audience. I am creating this work to stand as a record for those who may never get to experience Great Salt Lake. You can come and visit it if you would like, others in future generations will not be able to experience the lake as it is today. It is those viewers that I am hoping to enlighten."
Several people that I respect read those words and suggested that I remove them, so I did. It is a little harsh. Basically true, but harsh. Harsh in a way that I thought might alienate my audience. So...I removed the text.
I bring this up only to remind myself that I am not really creating this work and these images for any one single person besides myself. I am not trying to please any particular group of people. I am not doing this to win a Pulitzer Prize (although that would be fun wouldn't it?).
Last month I entered a photographic competition which is created for projects that are broad and in-depth. After reading the judges statements from prior years and looking at previous award winners, I decided that my project could probably use exposure to a broader audience, and might actually stand a chance of winning something. I want this work to be seen and the story of Great Salt Lake to be known by more than just a small core of individuals.
For 2 months I sat patiently, writing my acceptance speech on a napkin to have 'just in case'. Last week I started to get a little nervous as the deadline approached. This week I was a total basket case checking the competition's website for any news announcing the winners. Finally yesterday a statement was made on their website to 'stay tuned to your e-mail'. So...I did.
I checked it. Frequently. Religiously. Anxiously. Obsessively. Thankfully I was rescued by some diversions yesterday and was forced to take my mind off of it, but those didn't last long, and I was again tempted by the siren call to check 'just one more time'.
I figured I'd at least get something in the e-mail. The project's organizers had said that they would contact those who were in the top 5, 10 and 20 percent of the judging as to encourage and reward their good efforts. Previous year's competitions had seen up to 800 entries and I figured, what's 20 percent of 800? 160 or so? Is my math really that bad? I figure I have a pretty good project, I should at least get in the top 20 percent shouldn't I? Of course I should!
So...anxiously I awaited to see how well I would place. I even announced my obsession on facebook.
Last night, late, the announcements were made.
The only announcement that I received was that I would not be getting any awards.
What..the...F*&^????? No awards? No accolades? No parades down main street? Not even a pat on the back? There must be some mistake! I hurriedly re-scanned the list of award winners thinking I must have been in too much of a frenzied state to recognized my own name the first time I scanned the list. I went over it again, upways and sideways and crossways and backways...it's starting to sound like a Willy Wonka monologue, but no, my name is still nowhere to be seen.
I lean back in bed and realize that I am actually very disappointed. I am bummed. I am even somewhat sick and light-headed about it. Then, I am mad. I am angry. I take it out on the nearest available person...my wife sitting patiently in bed next to me. She knows I'm just venting and let's me rant. She knows I'll get over it but still offers some words of compassion. Not many, but enough.
I lay down and fall asleep angry. I feel betrayed and sad. More angry than sad, and less betrayed than sad, yet more angry than not, and still with an underlying current of sadness and betrayal topped with a thick frosting of anger and bitterness mixed with cinnamon and nutmeg. No wait, that sounds yummy...there was no cinnamon and nutmeg...just bile and sourness and putrid anger and disappointment. I don't know when my consciousness blended into my unconsciousness, but clearly it wasn't long after closing my eyes.
I woke up this morning at 5:15, eyes wide open. I realize I went to bed angry, but now all I can think about is something that I heard once from my favorite musician, guitarist Pat Metheny.
He said, and I paraphrase...it is only 6:30 in the morning right now...”I don't care if people like my music, I only care if I like my music. If, after I present my music, people like it, that is great. If they don't like it, that's fine too, but I don't make my music to be liked or not, I make it for me.”
When he said that, I was angry. Who was he to discount me as his 'biggest fan'? I have over 30 of his CD's and can 'air-guitar' nearly every solo perfectly! I've seen him in concert...twice! I had him autograph a photo I took of him playing in Portland! I am a HUGE fan! Who does he think he is after all? Without me, the adoring fan, he would be NOTHING! Of all the nerve!
As I have thought and re-thought about this statement, the clearer it became and the more sense it made. Of course he doesn't make his music for others, he is not a commercial songwriter, he is an artist. For me to accept that about his work, I would have to accept that about my own work.
For a long time I made my living shooting photographs for other people. Clients who would pay me to do it exactly how they wanted. They hired me based on my ability to deliver what they needed. Occasionally I would get the great client who liked my interpretation and let me have a pretty loose leash, but ultimately it was them paying me, and if they didn't like it, I would re-shoot it.
This Great Salt Lake Photographic Survey is not for a client. It is not for any particular group of people. It is for me.
It sucks when that attitude conflicts with me being mad about not placing in a competition. Inner turmoil. The angst of the tortured artist.
I know it's not supposed to make me mad when other's don't like the work. After all, it is only for me right? If you like it, great! If not, that's fine too. Right?
So, now I'm drafting a letter in my head. It goes something like this:
Dear Judges,
Can I have my 150 bucks back?
Horse - Reassembled, Rozel Flat, Great Salt Lake, Utah, 2008