Every day, I'm flying by the seat of my pants.

It's been quite the lesson, trying to run a side business. I started soon after graduating, in late 2004. I've got so much to learn. But what I have learned has be wonderful. I've learned a little bit about the importance of record-keeping, developing a system and rhythm to doing routine maintenance and upkeep of the physical and digital workspaces. I've learned about clear communication, prompt follow-up, personal touches, and keeping your cool. I've learned when to walk away, and when to be persistent. It feels a lot like growing up all over again.

But the big thing that hangs over my head most of the time is Money. The times I've reinvested in my business have been times of agony; I tear my hair out over a decision (especially expenses), and often they turn out to be The Best Thing ever. Am I profitable? Not really, but I do help pay the bills a little bit. And the money I make keeps things humming, while leaving some room for expansion. That doesn't mean I don't fret and fret and fret and fret, however.

More specifically, I fret about spending money on equipment and supplies. Historically, it's been a huge hair-tearing bonanza. It's hard to justify the expenses, because it's a side business. But it's hard to go without, because my side business needs equipment and supplies to thrive. And on top of that, because it's based on what I love doing, often it's harder to distinguish want from need--to sit down and strategize about what is best for my business wants versus what I would prefer to mess around with.

Example: In December, I would really have loved to purchase some more linoleum block printing supplies in the name of making art for sale, but I had no guarantee that block printing supplies would a) be used as regularly as my photography equipment, b) earn me as much money as my photography, or c) help me to make artwork that sells at all! Over and over I would fill up my shopping cart at Utrecht.com and then abandon it, my stomach in knots. I love the feel of carving that block and adjusting the design and making beautiful collage, but photography is my first passion, and what drives my income.

So I sucked it up eventually, and decided to buy the extra camera accessories I needed for the business--gianormous camera bag, tripod-carrying bag, and more. Luckily, with Christmas around the corner, and The Husband notoriously lost when it comes to gift-giving, the block printing supplies came to me via a gift-wrapped package under a tree rather than a UPS truck. (After all, what do you buy a wife who doesn't wear much jewelry, is allergic to most luxury body care products, cares little about getting flowers regularly, and on top of that has really expensive hobbies?)

All this is to say that running a business is hard and rewarding. I still don't know what the H-E-double hockeysticks I'm doing, but that hasn't stopped me so far. While I can't devote all of my energies to this business right now with my full-time graphic design job, I know that the groundwork and experience that I lay down now is valuable. Ultimately, it will help me to reach my dream--to turn photography, design, and whatever else into a full-time self-employed paying gig when the time comes.

But I can't think that far ahead. It hurts my brain. In the mean time I just have to concentrate on finishing the next project, trying to put together what D.I.Y. advertising and marketing I can, and hone my skills. Hunker down, y'all!

Dear Mr. Johns,

I'm writing to thank you. You may never see this letter, and you may never even read it. Either is fine with me, as it is for me a joy to simply write it, and see it off with the postmaster.

My reason for thanking you is because of your profile (written well by Mr. Tomkins) in the December 11, 2006 issue of The New Yorker. In it, I saw a man who, while so acclaimed by his work and influence in the art world, remained personable--"witty, well-read, curious, and interested in what others think, although he doesn't hesitate to argue with it."

Many times as an art student I despaired when reading about artists whose work I admired greatly but whose lives were tragic or torpid. I began to wonder that I could ever produce any remotely passable work without having to create for myself a deadly secret, disgusting habit, or affected disinterest.

But your words and the spirit of Mr. Tomkins' writing refreshed and invigorated me with new possibility.

So, thank you, Mr. Johns, for being one of the (seemingly few) artists whose quality of work mirrors the great quality of their person. Enjoy the comforts of your home, your solitude, and your friendships. I hope this letter has been something of a blessing to you.

Sincerely yours,
Jocelyn

mailed to "Jasper Johns / Sharon, Connecticut 060609" on 12/12/06

Something old: I'm painting again, for the first time in about four years.

It's a weird feeling, manipulating the oil paints with my familiar old brushes, and dealing with the grittiness of cleanup. I can feel the memories of painting class and all the other locations I've painted in flowing back to me with each stroke, almost as though I'm in many places at once. It's evidence of the power and importance of memory--each new painting or artistic endeavor could not exist without those past ones.

At the same time I can feel how the past few years of Photoshop and shuffling electronic files around have changed the way I think about composing on a flat surface. I can sense a hint impatience with letting the paint dry, and my rusty color-mixing skills (it works quite differently in the digital realm). But my digital experience has helped me be more attuned to texture (surprisingly), and creatively layer my colors. I'm relieved at how working with oils makes me slow down and think more carefully, to have more patience with myself and the medium.

These paintings are reincarnations of my childhood drawings series. After looking at my series (done in oil pastel) and comparing them to a few painted versions (in oil paints) I had done, I realized that the painting medium seemed to do more for them than oil pastel. And, inspired by a recent visit where a few friends inquired about what I was working on, I ran out to replenish my turpentine and medium supplies to get these things moving.

I'm still not sure where my drive to paint these things comes from. Why the hell do I bother to crop portions of drawings that I (as a kid) or other kids have done, and then paint them? It could be as straightforward and silly-stupid as, "Children have beauty and wisdom," or something like that. However, there seems to be something else there (currently unidentifiable) that keeps me from being bored with them, or the idea in general. Any ideas, anyone?

Something new: I'm cutting linoleum blocks now, too. It's a new medium for me, but a return to printmaking in general after years of swearing it off.

I made block prints with my mother long long ago when she used to let me play with her art supplies--one of the few non-toxic things in her studio. I remember having a lot of fun, but I was a kid (maybe 8 or 9 years old) and didn't know what I was doing. But screen printing (one of my first art classes) in college killed me--the class was intense, and it was just too much for me to think in layers at that time, for some reason.

But now here I am, cutting linoleum (and occasionally myself), having a blast, wondering where the hell this will take me, why the hell I'm doing it, and whether or not I'll ever make it as an artist, ever.

The prints you see here are based off of an abstracted Theotokos and Christ child icon that I find particularily compelling, even outside of its religious significance. Of course you can barely tell which "one" it's meant to be, but that doesn't matter. What matters to me is that they are meaningful without being kitsch, and artful without losing the sense of meaning, either.

It's hard to walk that line.

I made a test-run of a new linoleum block print design I'm working on.

The registration is off, and I didn't wait very long between layering the colors, so they're pretty wonky. However, I now know what I'm going to get, and can make some edits to my cuttings. I'm also getting more ideas for prints along the same theme:

I'm on a roll. The only problem is I've run out of linoleum. Drat.

Or maybe not. Luckily, my birthday's coming up, and I've made a wishlist over at Utrecht (under hellojostudio [at] gmail [dot] com). I'm crossing my fingers and hoping that The Husband will wander over there and read my mind, so to speak.

Either way, working like this excites me. I'm spending more time out of the computer, and I can feel it stretching me and feeding me in good places. Good, delicious things.

My series, Women with Icons, continues to amaze me in how diverse it's becoming, and how much each new situation encourages me to think on my feet and come up with new ways to photograph.

The case in point here is one of my recent additions to the series, Sarah Mattingly:

Sarah

Sarah's appointment was unusualy frenetic. It was scheduled on-the-fly, shot on-the-fly, and edited nearly as quickly as it was taken. She was leaving home in a matter of days to return to college, which gave me little scheduling leeway for weather and even less time for mental preparation. I was also late to our appointment, meaning that the available light I was so hoping for was quickly waning even as I sped my way to her house. But in the span of about 20 minutes, and with a pair of frozen hands later, I knew exactly which shot I was going to use from the session. She warmed me up with a cup of cocoa and sent me merrily on my way.

But while external factors--time, location, available light, etc.--have a significant effect on my approach to photographing, internal factors--level of familiarity with the subject, my impression of their personality, emotions at the time of shooting--have an impact as well.

I'll use two somewhat similar portraits as an example here: Liana Lloyd and Sylvia Araj. Both are intent, highly personal close-ups of the subject, with the icon featured prominently near the face. Both are somewhat dramatic and intimate. But I have known Liana for more than 10 years, and met Sylvia as an acquaintance a mere year or so ago.

Liana


Sylvia

For Liana's portrait, it was my initial friendship and intimacy with her that allowed me to photograph her in a vulnerable, close-up position. She was comfortable with me, and I felt that I could fuss with her hair and get in her face. Giggles of friendship were interspersed between more serious silences. The quiet, knowing companionship we have had allowed me to bring out a sense of regality from her (which I've always felt was there).

Not so with Sylvia. Initially, what struck me about her were the strong lines of her features, how frank and open she seemed to be, eager and interested in the things and people around her. She had a sharp and self-assured quality that led me to zoom in on her, to make the viewer stare deep into her challenging and confident eyes. She, too, is regal, but in a different way than Liana.

As you can tell, I tend to do a high-level of interpreting--forming impressions and assumptions--while I photograph individuals. It's partly why I enjoy traveling on-location to people's abodes, because what you fill your surroundings with, how you live your life, and where you choose (or happen) to live your life say a lot about the kind of person you are. It's never the complete story, and folks will always surprise you, but it doesn't hurt to observe, reflect, and disappear into others' worlds for a space.

And, as a portrait-painter I know once said, "You've always got yourself hanging around your neck while you make portraits." No matter what you do to try and describe the other, a little piece of you gets injected into everything you make.

A long time ago, in a blog post far, far away, I announced an idea for a mix CD, and solicited all of you lovely readers for song ideas. The theme? Death & Taxes. Lovely, yes?

Well, I'm proud to announce to the world the birth of the official, approved, nutrient-rich compact disc for your listening (and viewing) pleasure:

Isn't it beautiful? See more here...

As the saying goes, "Nothing is certain, except death and taxes." I can't say quite what possessed me to make a mix CD out of that saying, but chock it up to free-association and singing in the shower, if you will.

Anyway, I set about designing the CD by drawing from the most visible printed presence of death and taxes in my life: newspapers and government forms. Then, armed with a memory of a beautiful lithograph of The Dance of Death in my grandmother's house, leftover receipts from my sordid shopping life, and anything else I could think of, I set about collaging, manipulating, photocopying, and scanning to my heart's content.

It's hard to say when I was really sure that the design was done. The pressure of a self-given deadline (Christmas, so I could give it as gifts to friends and family) sure helped a lot, but I think that there's a point at which most artists reach where they feel at least halfway satisfied, and perfectionism gives way to pride.

This project was a joy to work on, for quite a few reasons. I found the concept compelling (a given, since it was my idea), the process of choosing songs (and listening to new music in the process) invigorating, and working outside the computer a refreshing change of pace (so nice, since I sit in front of one all day anyway).

And now, my friends, I'd like to share it with you!

For the purposes of ensuring that the RIAA does not set my derriere alight, I will not disclose the actual musical contents of the CD. I will disclose, however, that the contents of the CD are of high quality, from artists who I love, admire, and support by buying their music, attending their concerts, and singing their praises elsewhere.

So, if there are interested parties (perhaps fellow pirates and/or music lovers), I will send them their their very own copy (with a hand-cut block printed cover), for a measly $5, just to cover shipping, since it would be even more illegal if I tried to make money off of this.

To receive your FREE* CD:

1. give me a holler (jmathewes [at] gmail [dot] com)
2. send me $5 via paypal for shipping (see above)
3. give me your highly sensitive personal information (address)

If you complete steps 1-3, you should receive your shiny and perfect CD within exactly one (1) week.

*It's not really free, since you pay for shipping, but you're not paying attention anyway, are you?