Exposure

As an emerging artist, I feel a bit like a butterfly that can't quite get her wings to open. I know people like my artwork, because I sell quite a bit of it, and I have never had anything returned, which seems like a miracle to me. However, people can only buy what they see, and to see something, they have to be at a certain place and at a given time. Like real estate, it is all about location, location, location.

To gain a better location, and more exposure, I moved my studio to a better location at the Mill. I do a lot of inexpensive marketing - cards, brochures, signs for shows at my studio, even refrigerator magnets and bookmarks (which at a big hit!). I recently placed some prints in a local frame shop, and have already seen some action. Sales pros say it takes 5-7 "impressions" for people to buy. I think it varies greatly. I have had people literally rip things off the wall to purchase, while others come back several times before they pull the trigger.

Still, it is a big world, with lots of places to spend money, and thousands of artists vying for a piece of the pie. I think exposure is critical to success - shows, open studios, parties, art leagues, charity events,"pity paintings" - the list of exposure opportunities is endless. And while moving paintings all over the place to gain exposure is, at times, a nuisance, eventually, people will know who you are.

While I don't intentionally use gimmicks, I have inadvertently used them. I dyed my graying hair red, with blonde highlights, and subsequently, people remember me, especially if it comes out a bit magenta! I use lots of texture when I paint, and intense color. I am locally known for my unusual color choices (which don't seem so unusual to me). If I produce a work that is not wild with color, people are concerned. (I have been asked if I was depressed when I painted a painting in "normal" colors! I attached the painting, which is pretty tame, compared to what I normally do.)

The biggest barriers to exposure that I face, is not having gallery representation (which I admittedly, I have not sought out), and that I cannot keep my studio open every weekend and holidays for visitors to the Mill. Having said that, my short hours keep me sane, and not having to "produce" for a gallery frees me up to really experiment and have fun.

I like exposure in small doses. And I am very patient. I know someday, my wings will open, and I will take flight. It is only a matter of time.
Artfully yours,

Cathy Harville

www.harvilleart.com

Immersion

As a painter, I have experienced immersion in many ways:

- I am startled when someone walks into my studio unexpectedly;

- I often forget to eat lunch, or to eat at all;

- I make coffee, and forget to drink it;

- I constantly lose track of time, despite the very accurate "Whatever" clock I have beside me (all the numbers are falling off, so I really never know what time it is);

- I realize I was supposed to meet someone, and forgot;

- After a while, I realize I have been cleaning my brush in my coffee;

- My phone rings, and I am immediately annoyed;

- and, I put off bathroom breaks until the very last minute! (Just let me finish this one area!) Come on, I know you have done that, too!

I also experience immersion while I am kayaking - no, not in the water, but in the act of observing nature. I will often sit, and listen to the wind rustling the trees and grasses. I hear the beating of a swan's wings as it screams at my approach. I watch the reflections in the water change like liquid mercury. I watch the schools of minnows move across the surface of the water, as a bigger fish is hunting them, no doubt. If the light is right, I take some photos. (It is too hard to paint in my kayak!) And, I forget all about everything, except the moment I am in.

This nature immersion serves me well in the studio. I can easily recall the smell of the water, and the taste of the air. I can recall the light shifting, and reflections gleaming. And although I have my pitiful reference photos to work from, it is the immersion I experienced on the water that helps me to capture the essence of the scene I am painting.

Thank goodness for immersion. Like yoga, it is an opportunity to escape, and just be.

Namaste,

Cathy Harville

Observation

I often sit in my kayak for hours, just watching the grasses, water and trees. I like to feel the sun, the breeze, and watch nature as it moves through the day. Whenever I paint river grasses, and reflections in the murky water, they look nothing like the photograph. In fact, when viewers of my work say that it looks like a photograph, I shudder in silence, and sheepishly say thank you. Then I go to the ladies room to vomit.

But most people say - "I love your colors", and then they keep looking, searching for words to describe what they see. At this point I tell them that I try to capture the "aliveness" of the water and grasses, and how they move and interact. Often they get it. Sometimes not, and they ask, "why is the water purple?". Another session in the ladies room, losing my lunch!

All kidding aside, I love to paint with a reference photo nearby, just in case my brain needs a refresher in real life. Then I go back into "Cathy's world", to paint what my heart sees and feels.I rarely look at the photo while I am painting. And my heart rarely disappoints me!

Artfully yours,
Cathy Harville