Dancing Baby Bok Choy

After 5 years of shooting greenmarket produce in the studio, at Union Square, Italy and other various places, I needed to do something with all those digital images other than use them to grace friend’s and family’s homes and fill numerous hard drives to capacity. So, with a little trepidation I started an Etsy store to sell digital prints, not as expensive art, but as affordable graphics to frame and hang in the kitchen, which is where I think they belong.

And although I’ve been focused on business these past few months, I’m now anxiously waiting for spring to return so I can continue this project.

It’s just way too cold to go out now.

Drug store dolls from Rite Aid. Cheap. Sexy. Coy.

Last month I stopped waiting for phone calls. Instead, I approached a potential client from New Zealand with a concept for their publishing project. I presented images from my personal work (a good reason for throwing toys into water) along with a smartly written creative brief that clearly identified my approach. If I won this job it would be a labor of love: 19 photographs as chapter dividers for a series of 4 creative business books. Not a big fee, but a big return: A complete portfolio of interesting work that would be produced in about a week and paid for by the client.

Negotiation took a few days; there’s a 16-hour time-forward difference between NYC and New Zealand. And like moose and mice, the client responded to my emails while I slept. We negotiated a fee and copyrights and the job was on.

I had initiated an assignment.

This job was no walk in the park. Propping and modelmaking took five days and the two scheduled shoot days ended up being 16 hours long (plus another 26.5 hours of retouching). At 2PM, when we (we = me and my intern, Steve Warren, from the School of Visual Arts) had already been shooting for 5 hours, the client was just waking up, putting on his robe and slippers to view the work we posted for his approval while he ate his morning porridge. It was all done via email, and he was online as promised and giving feedback to move the job along. By the time we wrapped up each shoot day, it was 1AM, 5PM in NZ. Hard work, but a pleasure.

And here’s the best part. The client gave me full creative license, which could have been a disaster, but this client was a prince. He gave clear responses and never waffled. He knew exactly what he wanted and that was for me to do my best work.

Who could ask for anything more?

Did I make a profit? A little.

Did I have fun? Oh, yes.

And that portfolio? Just as soon as the books are printed, it goes up on my dawagner.com web site.

Last Stop Coney Island

I don’t know if there are any formulas, books or websites for quitting, like there are for starting businesses. I didn’t see, “When to Quit Investing in Your Losing Business Venture,” on Amazon.  But I did a search for those words and what did I get? Mostly I found links to information on starting a business, finding or borrowing money, entrepreneur guides, articles on bootstrapping and little about quitting. It appears as if quitting isn’t a really popular topic.

There was one story.  It’s an April, 2009, BusinessWeek.com article called, When It’s Time to Shutter Your Business. In it, Joe Kennedy, author of The Small Business Owner’s Manual, says, “maybe it’s time when you’ve already unleashed your best products and ideas into the market and they did not work out well.” How can that apply to an industry where we essentially make customized solutions and not “products” as defined by a consumer market?

What would be our best products and ideas? Our last job? Our last good job?

It shouldn’t be a job at all. It should be ideas. The images we produce as examples of our skills, the ones that we exhibit on the web or via other promotional vehicles, to introduce potential buyers to our interests should go far beyond looking like a product we sell. They should represent ideas, motivation, our interests –  because what we create is so deeply personal, just showing samples is not enough to create interest in you. Shoot, shoot and shoot more until there’s a body of work that says, “I have ideas, good ideas.” It’s work, planning what you shoot and what you show and what you don’t show, but then a great body of work says volumes about who you are.

We don’t really sell photography, we sell trust, creativity, reliability, insight, and let’s not forget quality. If you’re not selling that, you’re just selling pictures. These days, you can get those anywhere.

“The general who wins the battle makes many calculations in his temple before the battle is fought. The general who loses makes but few calculations beforehand.”

Sun Tzu, The Art of War

12/14/09, 10:14AM Union Square Market - Where's the Purple Broccoli?

Where’s the purple broccoli?

I make my marketing message as clear as possible because I want the attention of the smart, little shops with brilliant creatives who fly under the radar, as well as the equally brilliant big boys. I’d certainly lose the interest of those I wish to work for if I sent out a constant stream of mixed messages. Not an easy task in a competitive industry as this, but probably one of the most important lessons we can learn and a word we know all to well. Focus.

If you want to find your audience, keep your message consistent, your work focused and your vision clear.

The Crowd

Seth Godin wrote a very short blog entry, On the Road to Mediocrity. The basic point is, “The only way to get mediocre is one step at a time.” Don’t settle. Simply a brilliant insight. Well worth reading.

Three months of lessons and lots of practice to make 7 of these guys.

A lot of advertising photographers invest in hand-made portfolio housings. They are the finishing touch to a lot of hard work and make for an impressive presentation. I hand-made my own portfolios and slipcases because it seems like a really important part of the process. How could I entrust anyone to the task of making a book for my work? I had just finished shooting for an entire year, working on a new style and vision, and the vision couldn’t just stop there. The craft should continue from the digital world and carry through to the physical one that wrapped around my printed pages. I’m a hands-on kinda person and I love research.

I sought out Barbara Mauriello, a brilliant and highly regarded bookbinder, conservator and artist, who agreed to take me on as her student, to become a one trick pony. That is, to learn screw post bookbinding techniques, the style in which many commercial photography portfolios are bound. I also joined the Center for Book Arts on 27th Street, to rent their bookbinding studio equipment, a remarkable resource for an archaic craft. I later assembled the books in my basement workshop.

After four long training sessions with Barbara and months making countless “test books” using dozens of different fabrics and techniques, the real books went into production, with the goal of making ten in total, knowing a few would be ruined along the way. Two Three of the books didn’t make it. After all, I was just an apprentice, more or less copying what the master demonstrated.

As an added element to my books I designed my own logo based on the iconic jumping goldfish photo to create a copper die for imprinting the covers. No, I didn’t make that myself, too, I sent that out to engraver, Owosso Graphics, in Michigan.  Sophia Kramer was my mentor on this part of the bookmaking and with infinite patience taught me how to use the kindly used, but ancient, Kensol 36T, three-ton press (ooooh, sounds impressive, doesn’t it?) at the Center for Book Arts.

They’re done, they’re gorgeous, and I’m sending them out in the world (not unlike my teenage daughter to college) to see how they fare.

In the Mirror...

In reading The Craftsman, by Richard Sennett, I was reminded of the guild hierarchy: an apprentice spent 7 years before becoming a journeyman and the journeyman, another five to ten years before earning the title of master craftsman.

After years of producing elaborate, complicated photography projects, my new style of work has become rather intuitive, natural and technically comfortable. Unconsciously, a natural perspective and a vision evolved out of years of experience. At first, however, I didn’t trust it; the process seemed too easy to me. Yet after a year of producing fun, new, portfolio images, I had to acknowledge my talent had become quite innate. I have become a master craftsman, not a charlatan wearing the Emperor’s New Clothes.

Sennett also notes that, “Masters should be pestered to explain themselves,” in a way that makes their process clear to others. That was meant in the context of training future masters, but I’d like to think it also pertains to relationships with clients. After all, everyone benefits from the dialog and the outcome is better work. And so I offer up this blog, without much pestering.

This new portfolio will never be finished. It’s a work in progress, always. Not just for the sake of marketing, but also for my own satisfaction and personal growth. I have to keep reminding myself, this portfolio took decades, not months, to develop—years spent honing technique and craft until it’s become second nature.

Now, I promise not to let this go to my head.

Or think that I’m wearing really nice clothes, when it’s just jeans and a t-shirt.