In addition to being communications professionals, many readers of this magazine are also practicing artists. During an economic downturn, there's an opportunity (forced or other-wise) to devote time to developing your personal work. In particular, it's an opportunity to concentrate on the crucial but often overlooked stage of an art-making practice: the step between finishing work in your studio and presenting it publicly.

You're probably thinking that this is a column about marketing and promoting your art. It's not. Way before you revamp your Web site or schedule a studio visit, you must have a clear understanding of what your work is about. You need to be able to articulate its themes, how it developed and where it is going.

Whether your goal is to publish a book, secure representation at a gallery or win a grant, there are expected questions you need to address, ranging from describing the intention of your work to identifying its potential audience. But behind each of these questions, there is an underlying, less obvious, sometimes invisible one that you need to answer first, for yourself.

When I speak with my colleagues and students about the step between completing one's work and presenting it, these "pairs"—the expected question and its underlying counterpart—seem to resonate, identifying areas for deeper consideration.

Expected question: Describe the evolution of your work. Underlying question: Do you know what the consistent themes of your work have been, and can you point to where your work is going?
We tend to look only at our current projects; the older work is, well, old, and we are more interested in what we're doing now, but the past work holds important clues. After years of concentrating primarily on still and moving images, I am currently developing a project that is solely typographic and haiku-like. I recently unearthed an art school project that represents when I first fell in love with typography's ability to subtly and concisely express a feeling. I see that in my present undertaking, not only am I bringing back an earlier thread, but my use of typography is consistent with my use of imagery: a desire to be concise and visually minimal. 

Expected question: Participate in a live interview about your work. Underlying question: Is your work developed enough that you can speak comfortably about it?
I often begin a class by having students interview one another, as if they are showing their portfolios to a gallery owner, publisher, grant giver, etc. It forces them to identify areas they have not explored. For example, one photographer was having trouble describing her work in a cohesive way and, as a result, she was contradicting herself and feeling increasingly awkward. After reflection, she realized that she actually had two separate and distinct bodies of work, and she felt more confident as she clarified their differences.

Expected question: Describe the relevance of your work in today's culture. Underlying question: Do you believe that your work is relevant to present-day topics? And do you care?
I do, so I ask myself if my work addresses contemporary issues. I tend to use current tools and media, and I sometimes fool myself into thinking that this makes it relevant, when in fact I am sidestepping the more important aspect: content.

Expected question: Why are you applying to/requesting money from/wanting to show at/publish through this particular venue/foundation? Underlying question: What is the proper outlet/venue for your work?
The typical advice for artists is to research galleries and approach the ones that are compatible with their genre. But what if galleries are the wrong venue for the work? I often confound my students by asking them the question that lies yet another layer down: Instead of thinking about where you want your work to be, think about where your work wants to be. Of course you want a well-known gallery or museum show, but is your ego speaking more loudly than the needs of your work? Your particular art may be better served in a book that can be held in one's hands, or interacting with the debris of a vacant storefront, or on the stage of an experimental theater. Does your work want to be, for example, perishable or precious? Exclusive or widely accessible? Intimate or public?

Expected question: Describe your project in 200 words or less. Underlying question: What your work is about?
This is the mother of all questions, and the most difficult one to answer. Being able to articulate the intention of your artwork is a sort of Holy Grail. No matter how many exercises you engage in, the process of asking and answering this question will (and should) repeat in an endless and self-revelatory loop. CA
© 2009 W. Richmond