I started my photography journey on Flickr, back when it was the behemoth of the photo-centered social media scene. I started posting odd, creepy, uncomfortable self-portraits and that triggered some conversation. And then, without understanding, I started to see comments on my pictures that said “congrats on explore!” When I first saw this I had no idea what it meant. “Explore what?” I thought. I quickly came to learn that somehow, for whatever reason (and these things always seem to be vaguely explained), my pictures fit the then-algorithm of Flickr. I was being promoted for free in a place where thousands and thousands of people looked.

I got used to my pictures being in Explore, and, for that matter, the same few photographers constantly being there. I watched careers blossom, including my own, in large part due to that algorithm. And then one day, it stopped. Without explanation, without understanding (and really, it is too vague to nail down), I stopped getting promoted. I was very fortunate for my career to have been started and to have a client base that was feeling secure, but it was confusing at the time.

I have never mastered social media. I choose, very intentionally, not to dive deep into the depths and utter emptiness that is the rat race. So, I took it with a grain of salt and moved on, ever confident (whether I should have been or not) in my ability to self-actualize my dreams.

A few days ago I uploaded a video to Flickr and I woke up the next morning to see those familiar words: Congrats on Explore.

It was like an explosion of memories to the beginning of my photography passion. I assumed I’d never be chosen again. I remember fiercely adhering to my expectation of creating something personal, but still feeling a sense of pride at being chosen. How wrong I was to think that way, at least in my opinion. We can continue to chase the newest algorithm or we can ignore it, and, likely experience similar results.

I hear a lot of complaining these days about algorithms being changed so that you have to pay for your posts. It. Sucks. I agree completely. I have done my share of grumbling that I need to pay X amount of money to reach even a fraction of my “followers”. But I like to go at it with this attitude:

Things will change.

You have to keep creating what is true to you.

It is the way that it is. Roll with it.

Reach those who are looking with the greatest intent and passion.

I won’t lie – I am really proud of the community I’ve tried to build. Here, on Instagram, on Facebook. Social media changes, but the connections we make do not. They grow and are cultivated and are the true, real stuff that the Internet is made of.

You may be thinking that it doesn’t matter what I say on the subject because “Congrats on Explore” used to pop up on my Flickr site, and because my numbers are big enough, and because my career is strong enough. I have been told many times that it is all luck, that it’s random chance that someone builds a career online, that I probably got featured by some entity or fit the algorithm or tricked the system. Luck is always at play, random chance works in both ways, and all of that might be true. But another thing is certain – nothing is certain. My career is not certain, my community, my long road to big dreams. None of it.

This is why I have to actively choose not to focus my energies on what has been. I can only do my very best to cultivate community and shape my future (and indeed this present moment) into what matters most to me. Those things, unequivocally, are kindness and passion. You might say I have an unrealistic, naive sense of my situation, but I believe that authenticity and genuine concern for others is the basis on which our lives and careers are built – in the “real world” and on the Internet, too. It is the algorithm that never changes. It is the currency I trade with exclusively. It is, in my perhaps innocent views, what launched my career and community. And I believe in it, more than you know.

I’ve been to Kolkata, India on 8 separate trips since 2013. It has become a second home for me. Even the parts that make me uncomfortable – the constant cacophony of blackbirds, or the scents that I’m so unused to – have become a beacon of home. The blackbirds especially. I used to stay awake listening to their sounds; now they lull me to sleep and awake again in the morning.

I shot these images in Kolkata. I remember the day so well because we laughed the whole way through it. We – my partner in India, Laura Price – scouted a location. We had to do some begging to get this establishment to let us shoot here. The location: a horse stable. They were very wary of our presence… both the horses and the business.

I needed sticks. So, after securing our location, we scoured the grounds looking for sticks. But, it was so well manicured that that, despite the myriad of trees, they had absolutely no sticks laying around.

I’m a DIY kind of girl. When I need sticks, I find them. But being in the middle of a city with an extremely small car, I was out of luck. So, we went to a stick vendor.

Yes, that’s right – a stick vendor. And low and behold, we were able to buy many bundles of sticks. We had to hire a tuk tuk to get them to our venue, and everyone thought we were psychotic.

The funny thing was that it felt like normal life to me. See, I’m used to doing weird things for self-expression. Others aren’t, and sometimes I forget just how weird I seem to people. My everyday experience means dressing up in strange costumes, crawling into dirty places, or smearing myself in paint. I don’t think it’s so much the things I’m doing that freaks people out – it’s that I make time to do weird things for self-expression. Even the things that take a long time to clean up, or are inconvenient.

I know how important self-expression is. I know the value of being able to create something and say, “That’s me. That’s really me.”

And so I pass those lessons on when I go to Kolkata. I teach self-expression. I teach the value of doing weird things purely for yourself.

On this day, I got to work with some very experienced individuals. These women are Dance Movement Therapy trainors. They have done extensive work in how to move your body to heal. And they have done work to ensure others find that same empowerment. Their organization is called Kolkata Sanved.

The girls and I had been working together for years when I shot these images, so they only thought I was mildly crazy when I asked them to come in their best saris and cuddle up in a horse stable in a pile of sticks.

Mildly crazy.

I did get a lot of long stares, and questions of if I was serious, and then a lot of laughing. And a lot of selfies. Obviously.

The program that I run in India (and other countries, like Sri Lanka, Thailand, and Greece) is called “If I Could Fly”. It is a workshop that asks the question, “If you could fly, where would you go? What would that look like?”. I teach how to use a camera to express your deepest emotions. We often deal with themes of freedom, dreams, and emotional pasts.

These images were inspired by that title. These women are exemplary of the mission we are all trying to uphold: to empower those who have been through hardship to rise up and fly.

I hope you enjoy these images.
I hope you inspire someone today.

And I hope that, if you’re feeling down, you remember these women and all they are doing for their community. They regularly build up women who have been trafficked and have been through abuse to help them fly.

Well done, sisters.

Let us open with one of my favorite poems by Mary Oliver, “A Dream of Trees”:

There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees,
A quiet house, some green and modest acres
A little way from every troubling town,
A little way from factories schools, laments.
I would have time, I thought, and time to spare,
With only streams and birds for company.
To build out of my life a few wild stanzas.
And then it came to me, that so was death,
A little way away from everywhere.
There is a thing in me that still dreams of trees,
But let it go. Homesick for moderation,
Half the world’s artists shrink or fall away.
If any find solution, let him tell it.
Meanwhile I bend my heart toward lamentation
Where, as the times implore our true involvement,
The blades of every crisis point the way.
I would it were not so, but so it is.
Who ever made music of a mild day?

In these words we see the brilliant struggle of an artist laid out in beautiful words. How, Oliver asks, can an artist create the important work of their life if they live outside of what is important?

Here she likens this to moving outside of the action where everything is slower, calmer, and less dramatic. But how, she wonders, can she do such a thing when an artist must engage in “true involvement”? 

In my favorite line of this poem, she says, “Homesick for moderation, half the world’s artists shrink or fall away.”

I feel that I am one of those artists, in many times, and in most cases. I do shrink away – not falling, yet, into obscurity – but I do shrink. Intentionally, out of fear. 

I navigate safely away from controversy, from high opinions and lofty statements. From divisive rhetoric. From the guts of our world. 

Instead, I navigate inward. In this, I live in the crisis point. I am constantly meeting a new edge within myself. There I thrive. But in the world, I cower. 

I say this because you do this, too. In some way, you cower. We all do. It is the experience of the artist. We touch certain issues, topics, ideas and ideals. We push ourselves, but there is always more to explore. I know of no entirely courageous artist; I only know of those who try radically hard, and others who do not. Many who do not.

It is the job of an artist to always explore. This is what Mary Oliver means when she tells us that artists are homesick for moderation. We are homesick for safer limits. We are homesick for ease. And many of us take that road. I have lived on that road too many times, slept under its branches and bathed in its creeks. I know the comforts of familiarity. 

Only this, I say in conclusion: Who ever made music of a mild day?
Create a windstorm that you can dance in.
Show the world your soul.

First, let’s get a show of hands (well you know, virtual hands in the comments) of who considers themselves a creative. And a second hand for who is a professional creative, meaning you do something create for a living.

I have been making my living from creativity for 9 years. I used to say that I’m a photographer, but I’m giving that title up. It never resonated, particularly. I do still mainly create images, but that won’t always be the case. Oh, I think I’ll always make photographs, but there is so much more to do that I don’t prefer the label.

For 10 years I’ve had to be very creative in how my business runs. Anyone who thinks that a career in fine art means creating whatever you want, and then sitting back as galleries sell your work for tons of money, is sorely mistaken. At least in my experience, and in the experiences I know from others.

Maybe one day.

But here’s the thing; I don’t think anything would change for me if it did.

A couple days back I finally finished two massive projects I’ve been working on. I found myself with no pressing deadlines (all self-imposed, mind you) and I didn’t know what to do with myself! I started to flounder. I started to feel useless. I started to panic.

And then my husband took my hand and said, “You have permission to do nothing”. And that changed everything.

I realized how good it felt to give myself that permission; but at almost the same instant, I realized how little I wanted that. Maybe for one afternoon, yes. I watched Beyonce’s new documentary (wow) and layed on the couch for 4 hours.

But today I was up at 5am again, ready to conquer (slay). It’s just not in me to sit back and relax. I don’t want to. You see, the thing that causes me to suffer is what causes me to succeed. I am a creative overachiever. I am highly creative, and I love to achieve more and more milestones.

That means that a career as a freelance artist hasn’t been overly difficult for me because I am an idea machine. It’s like the Alice in Wonderland quote. I think up 100 ideas before most people have had their morning coffee. It flows from me effortlessly, and I have enough confidence to make a lot of the ideas happen.

But it’s not all roses. Like I said, the thing that causes me to succeed also causes me pain. I suffer from anxiety at a level that most people don’t; I operate at a level that even stresses other people out. I work 16 hour days eagerly for weeks at a time. I pursue ideas relentlessly, despite energy/cost/likelihood of failure. If given the chance to talk business, I’ll always take it.

Thankfully I’m not an over-sharer. My friends get a little sad at times because I don’t share what I’m doing unless provoked. But there is always something going on in my head and in my life. I’m not happy unless I have a passion project.

One of the biggest questions I get asked at workshops is: How have you managed to sustain a career in fine art for nearly a decade?

The answer is extremely multi-layered. But the real answer is this: I understand how come up with and activate ideas.

It sounds simple. I understand it is anything but.

If this is something you would be interested in having a seminar about, let me know. I’d be honored to guide anyone interested through a roadmap of how to better hone ideas, how to put them into action, and how to find success via mobilized confidence.

I hope this didn’t sound too much like tooting my own horn. I am proud that I am able to do these things, but it truly does come with a down side. Learning balance has always been difficult for me. Understanding my limits is not something that computes. And sacrificing relationships is something I’ve done many times for the sake of my passion. It doesn’t bring me joy to admit that, but it is the side that no one sees.

Right now I’m on a new routine to manage stress better. Ever since having the epiphany that I operate on a different stress level to most people (ie: constant…even my “down time” is riddled with guilt about not being productive), I’ve taken measure to reduce my anxiety. We shall see!

To operate at that high stress level means that I need to be productive every second of every day. I find myself multi-tasking. Can I brush my teeth while reading my morning emails? Can I put dishes away while brainstorming my next business idea? I try to have the next 6 months strategically planned out with deadlines in my calendar and goals set. If I’m not actively or subconsciously thinking of my future, I feel distressed.

For example, I had an exhibition opening while embarking on a 14 city tour that lasted 6 weeks. It took a lot of effort to get those things settled. But even in the middle of the tour, I mapped out what my year looks like from July to December, just so that when I arrived back home in July, I could hit the ground running.

I am learning to find stillness. To be okay with not achieving something every moment of every day. But I even worry about letting that go, because it is the very thing that has allowed me success over the years. The goal is to reign it in and hone it better instead of letting it spread like a compulsion into everything I do.

I share this in an effort to be more transparent and to aid my community in any way possible. Love to all!

In June of 2019 I went to New Zealand. It was winter, but not horrendously cold. Just windy and a little bit biting. I got to speak to 150 creative individuals at NZIPP, a beautiful photography conference in Wellington. 

When I started speaking in 2011 at After Dark Education, I was one of the weird one at a weird conference. There were a lot of weird people who were doing things a little off-kilter. I thrived in it. I remember meeting with one of my mentors, Jed, who said, “are you ready to be thrown into the world of public speaking?” 

Yes.

And so I was, and did. I started speaking all over the world to groups big and small. Sometimes only 5 people would come, and sometimes 5,000. And in all of those workshops and lectures, I realized that I was still the weird one. Except, it only got exponentially more obvious. 

Fast forward to 2019 where I spoke at NZIPP. I was welcomed by the most loving showrunners who helped me get set up for my talk. As I walked over to the event center from my hotel, I noticed we were right on the wharf and the water looked so beautiful. There was even a dock area…so accessible.

So, before my talk, I asked one of the showrunners (Peter, you were a gem and I’m sorry for nearly giving you a heart attack) if I could jump in the water. In winter. In New Zealand. Never having met any of these people before. In front of 150 attendees. 

It was a little risky on my part because I hadn’t felt the crowd out yet. I didn’t know if it would be too weird. But I asked, and after much resistance (they were so worried about my health and safety!), they relented. I have that effect on people. 

I got up to give my talk. We talked of inspiration and Photoshop and all manner of normal things. Except, nothing that I do is normal. My pictures aren’t normal. My way of speaking isn’t normal. 

And then, with 20 minutes to go in my talk, I asked if everyone wouldn’t mind coming out to the docks with me while I jumped in the water. A moment of hesitation, and then a resounding YES. And off we went.

I proceeded to put a costume on, set up my camera on a tripod, and shuffle to the end of the dock. I looked up. 150 people were gathered all around, phones in the air and ready to watch the spectacle. Oh gosh.

I started to explain my thought process, since it would be crazy to just jump in with no explanation. I talked about how I create self-portraits, what conceptually drew me to the water, what I was hoping to achieve visually…

And then I jumped in. The water was absolutely, butt-kicking freezing cold. I laid back, took a deep breath, slowed my breathing, and moved around the water. I closed my eyes. I didn’t care who was watching or what was happening around me. For one minute I floated, so in my flow that the world could have ended and I would have still been peacefully floating in that bay. 

And then I lifted my head, asked if everyone got their shots, and climbed out of the water. Everyone erupted into applause. That’s the icing on the cake, because you see, I do things like this all the time, except I’m usually alone. This is my life on a weekly basis. I make a point of it. 

So to have people there witnessing it, it felt nice. 

Why bother to tell you this story? Because I have built a career out of being weird.

The places I speak at align with my brand because they trust me to be the voice of the weirdos. Why do they trust me to be that? Because I’ve branded myself into it. If someone hires me to speak to their group, they know they aren’t getting a normal motivational speaker; they are getting a firecracker that is both unpredictable and bright. 

It’s not just speaking, and in fact, that is the least of the ways in which branding weirdness is gold. 

We are starved for individuality. In a world where copying trends is not only fashionable and trendy, but also incredibly easy to do (consciously or not), it is like breathing fresh air when someone comes along who is marching to the beat of their own drum. 

I’ve branded myself as myself.

A lot of people brand themselves into perceptions of success. This is why so many people fail to stick with their businesses or even their art, because we can only keep up an act for so long. If you let yourself be exactly who you are, no apologies or explanations necessary, you will find a niche for yourself that only you can occupy. 

When I get hired for a job, be it a photoshoot for a band or a speaking event, I get hired to be 100% authentically me. That follows through to the visuals I bring to the table, the concepts only my brain can come up with, and the way I conduct myself. 

When I have portrait clients come to me to make art, I do the same things with them that I do with myself. We end up lying in a pile of thorns, jumping into freezing cold water, or balancing precariously in trees. That’s just how it is. 

From Day one I decided not to do a job if I couldn’t be myself. Even when talking to brands for sponsorship, the first thing I do is to lay down my ground rules. Rule #1: I do me. I don’t do you. But if you naturally fits with me, let’s do it. 

For real, I actually have those conversations.

If you’re curious if being weird makes money, the answer is that it can. Just like anything else. Everything has that potential. But in an age where individuality is too often strained, the weirdos stand out like a beacon of light in the darkness; a guiding light for other weirdos to follow.

And really, even the most normal of us are a little weird. 

Do you identify with being the odd one out?
Do you feel like you own it or shy away from it?

Every single day I sit down to write. And every single day I tell myself I am writing. The truth is, I rarely write. I write notes. I write ideas. But I don’t write full sentences, paragraphs, chapters, stories. Every day I study. I watch videos. I read blogs. I research plotting charts and how to develop characters. I learn.

I am a student of writing and therefore I write notes.

And every day I ask myself: When will I  be ready?

When will I feel secure enough in my craft to begin writing a novel? When will I know enough to move forward with my art?

You have asked yourself that same question. I know it to be true because we care about our art.

We care so much that we study and learn and absorb any information that will let us be better at what we love. But to what end? To be the best? To create a masterpiece?

I know, rationally, that if we are curious souls our best art is yet to come. I know that we learn by doing.

So, how do I know? How do I know when I’m ready?

You don’t.

There is no way to know.

And in not knowing, we have two choices. We can delay action indefinitely, which is too likely to mean forever, or we can dive in and make bad art.

That is, until we make good art. We try and fail until suddenly we don’t fail. But that success does come with a price, and the price is failure.

Logically, we know this.

But internally, emotionally, it is so hard to accept.

I spend my time and energy every day learning how to write. This has been beyond belief – total immersion student.

At some point, though, knowing that there is more to learn, knowing that we don’t know everything – we surrender.

We surrender to being less than we know we could be, because our ability to raise the bar is unparalleled and we may never meet that kind of perfection.

But we can begin anyway.

To stop striving for perfection, to stop worrying about not knowing everything.

To simply create. And create again. And again. Again, again, again.

Until our work teaches us instead of web pages and workshops. Until our work tells us where to go instead of educators and mentors. Until our work stands concrete and resilient instead of suffering darkness in our imaginations, never freed.

We begin.

Because at the heart of everything we dream, there must be action. Without it, there is nothing.

Please forgive me for being emotionally raw in this post. I usually try to reign it in and focus my attention more to the point. But there is something I need to address that calls for some rawness.

In 2010 I started professional photography full time. My mind was filled with ideas of being in galleries and hosting workshops and writing books. I didn’t entirely understand then what I was building for myself.

I knew I wanted a career that was more than a job. I wanted a career based around community and inspiration, around passion. I felt that I was meant to do more than to create for myself, so I slowly began down a journey that lead me to the artist I try to be now. That is, someone who creates for myself and for others equally, who recognizes that my business, my career, my art is meant for more than just me.

In that process I opened myself up to a world that I never expected to be in; to a role of therapist. I don’t know a better way to put it, and I don’t want to actually liken myself to someone who has trained for that difficult job. But, everyday I am asked by strangers to take on their trauma and pain. Every day. Through social media, through emails, through letters.

By sharing my work openly and honestly, and as vulnerably as I can, I am inundated with the heartbreak of those who connect to my work. The images I create are not fun, and are not meant to be. They are dark, some. They are introspective. They (I hope) make us think.

And sometimes people connect with that in a way that feels very deep and personal. If that is you, thank you. Thank you for connecting with what is in my mind and heart on that level. That kind of interaction bridges the art I hoped to make with the art I am making.

But there is a side to this that I never talk about except to my closest friends. It is the trauma that I also have to work through in listening to other people’s trauma.

I’m almost embarrassed to write this.

I suffer a lot from compassion. I take on the anxieties/hurts/worries of people around me very easily. And over the years, the constant intake of other people’s troubles fills me with troubles. I am burdened. But I hate admitting it.

And I don’t necessarily want to change it. I believe I am strong enough to take on that responsibility. I want it. My greatest desire in this world is to be valuable to others, and I believe this is a way that I do that.

But it does hurt. From the dozens of people who have written to me to say they want to kill themselves, to the many more who say they are depressed or misunderstood. It hurts. I hurt because you do.

But more than that, I hurt because under all of these emails and letters is the plea – help me.

And I want to help, so much. But at some point I cannot take on the responsibility of healing. I can only provide the art that connects with you in a way that awakens something.

At what point is it too much to bear? When do I choose to stop taking on the trauma of others? Now? Later? Never? How much is too much? I genuinely don’t know.

Since becoming a foster mother I’ve had to put a lot of things on hold – non-essential emails being one of them. I used to respond to any email no matter what within 24 hours, and I was very good at it. But the emails are too many, and my time is so limited (I only work reliably 15 hours per week). It pains me that someone wrote to me this morning berating me for not responding to their (literal dozen) personal emails, but at some point you draw lines.

I guess my line is that if someone is in true need, I will be there for them. But sometimes, you have to let go of the expectation you know others have of you so that you can hold healthier expectations for yourself. To keep yourself healthy. To keep yourself going.

I fluctuate between extreme gratitude in the knowledge that it is a rare and special thing to connect on this level through art. I am privileged to have this relationship to so many. I receive many emails from people telling me that they feel they know me. In some ways, you do. My heart is in all that I do and say. It is in everything I manifest. And so you do know me.

And now you know the trauma I carry. Please forgive me for being emotionally raw about this. And thank you for letting me put this here in the open.

All love,
Brooke

Let’s talk about the artist’s evolution. As you continue in your craft – grow, change, repeat – your art will grow with you. It will evolve and expand and collapse. You will hate it and love it and hate it again. You will want to change it, and you will, and you’ll regret that sometimes, and you’ll move forward.

I’ve been a photographic artist for 10 years. That’s a DECADE, people! And in my fairly young life, that’s a third.

In a fortunate turn of events, I’ve also had an audience for those 10 years that I’ve been an artist. From just a couple of weeks into creating up until now, I’ve had people looking at, and commenting on, my work.

Which makes it understandable as to why I’ve heard this comment more times than is countable:

“I prefer the old you.”

In my career this has meant anything from “the you of 10 years ago” to “the you of last week”. And it used to bother me.

Can’t they see I’m GROWING?!

It doesn’t matter if you have a big audience or not. Anyone from your mother to a stranger on the Internet will likely tell you the same exact words sooner or later. Here’s why:

1. People change.
2. People hate change.

…And we all have opinions.

I’ve had periods of what I consider really, really bad art-making in my life.

2013. What a bad year. I look back at that year of my art and cringe! It was so flat, so boring, so not where I wanted to go.

But I had to make that art. I had to do it to move myself forward. To experience, to know that it wasn’t me.

I used to get upset when people told me they prefer a different style that I used to make. I thought it made me less of an artist. I’d second-guess my artistic direction. I’d let it consume me.

Imagine a friend calls you up and they say: You know, I really prefer your personality from a couple of years ago. This one just isn’t cutting it for me. I don’t enjoy being around you as much anymore.

That’s basically the conversation around art and change.
(That might have been a tad dramatic).

So it makes sense that feelings get hurt and that it stings a little to hear it.

As an artist, you want to yell back: “Don’t you see?! I’m doing the best I can!”

But you can’t, without sounding paranoid.

The fact is that we are doing the best we can. Even if you haven’t created in months, that’s the best you can do for yourself right now. You might look back in a year at this time and recognize just how much you needed a break.

Maybe you feel your style shifting and it scares you. Let it, but keep going. You never know where that will lead.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve made some art that I don’t like. And I don’t blame you for not liking either. But that doesn’t mean that it wasn’t worth making.

Perhaps the most difficult part of being an artist with an audience is knowing that, inevitably, someone will tell you that you were better before. And they’re not necessarily wrong. I value every opinion. I don’t disregard someone because they think differently from how I do.

But I do know that the bad art is as necessary as the good. That where I am now is where I’m meant to be. And that where I’m going will remain fulfilling if I listen to myself…

…All opinions valid, none as much as my own.

One of my friends, Heather, recently wrote to me “I see you as you are, soft and strong…” and those words really hit me. Soft and strong – how is that possible? I have often believed that to be soft is to be weak. I have massive issues in showing vulnerability to people I feel I should show command in front of. The problem is, I wrongly always see myself in a place of command, authority, and responsibility.

Over the years I’ve struggled tremendously with anxiety. Most specifically social anxiety, but it extends everywhere. From canceling tea dates with friends to refusing to attend entire events, I have too often let my anxiety cripple me.

But then again, I’ve also flourished in it. I realized early on where I fly and where I fall. I crave control, so if I am on a stage, I flourish. I know people are there to see me, so I take the control I was given and can seriously command a stage. But if I take on the role of my “normal” self, not the elevated person that people sometimes see, I flounder. A lunch with friends, a party…I shut down. I cancel, I won’t attend, or I try and I end up outside in tears.

All my life I looked upon softness as a defect. Push through, do what you have to. Don’t let others see your weakness. I know that were I in a room today with you, I’d still put that mask on. I know I’m not past it.

But I want to be. Many of us here are creative individuals – perhaps artists for a living or for a passion. We are largely drawn to that life because we feel deeply. I know that I feel deeply. But I find those deep feelings a very personal experience. I shudder at sharing it with others.

But I want to be, as Heather said, soft and strong at the same time. I want to learn how to be both, better.

I felt it was important to write this down here so that you know you’re not alone. If there is one thing I’ve always believed, it’s that if I feel something, I know someone else does, too. It also felt important to write this here because:

It is okay to be proud of yourself and still have moments of weakness.

It is okay to be confident yet still unsure.

It is okay to command a stage but flee from a party.

It is okay to be brilliantly yourself, even if that means you have mental illness.

It is okay. However you are is okay. I revel in myself today, all of my oddities and contradictions. They are what make me complex. And yes, that I know – I am wildly complex. Take ownership of that beautiful fact, because you are, too.

If you are someone who…

• Makes art and has a business
• Makes art and doesn’t have a business

…you have a brand. It doesn’t matter if you sell your art or if you don’t, you still have a sweet little package that contains your personality and art. You may never have labeled it. You may never have thought about it. But the word “brand” still applies. 

Why? Because the way you define your style makes up your brand.

I want this to be a really practical look at how to figure out your brand, because I’m a little tired of not having a roadmap myself.

In the climate of today’s art world, the people who can move between an art-mind…

…and a business-mind are the artists who succeed.

I want everyone to have the best chance of survival, because I want the best art to shine. So let’s all get up to snuff on branding.

Here are the steps that I find most valuable:

1. Define the visual style of your art.
2. Define the conceptual style of your art.
3. Define your personality.
4. Write an artist statement containing two sentences for each of the following topics: What you create, how you create, and why you create.
   1. If you have multiple ways of creating, do this for each one separately.
5. Diversify your content. Figure out how to put your branding keywords into more of the content you produce.

The first four items on the branding to-do list are simple. Writing out lists of words is the most basic level of branding 101. Figure out what words you identify with. Keep them close.

The fifth task is more difficult. After all, if we understood intuitively where to pour our energy, we’d all be wealthy, working artists. 

I believe the key to a successful brand is to put passion first. It might sound woo-woo, and a little too on-the-nose for this blog, but it’s the real deal. If everything you create (art and business wise) go back to your passion, you will build a brand that lasts. 

Branding gets a bad reputation because it insinuates, at least to me, the idea that we are all acting in order to get attention. Branding makes artists seem like sell-outs. This is a topic I feel very strongly about.

But in effect, all branding does is give a container to a mess of could-bes. 

Your art and your personality are messy. Everyone’s is. That’s life. And humans naturally search for containers for the mess. Literally and figuratively. We put toys in bins, we organize our pantries. We compartmentalize trauma and we let joy move to the forefront. We love personality tests because it makes us feel understood, but also because it categorizes us and that feels good. 

So branding makes sense to me. I think of it as my own, made-up personality test for my art. 

In that spirit, here is a test I want you to take. 

Answer with the word you most identify with:

1. Are you more spontaneous or structured?
2. Is your art visually more dark or light?
3. Is your art conceptually more deep or surface?
4. Do you enjoy monochrome or color?
5. Is your personality more bubbly or subdued?
6. Are you more inclined to share or to hide?
7. Do you want people to feel hope when they see your work or sorrow?
8. Do you produce work fast or slow?
9. Are you more about product or process?
10. Is your work detailed or big-picture?
11. Is your work for the realists or the dreamers?
12. Are you an introvert or extrovert?

Here are my answers. Share yours below!!

1. Are you more spontaneous or structured? Structured
2. Is your art visually more dark or light? Dark
3. Is your art conceptually more deep or surface? Deep
4. Do you enjoy monochrome or color? Monochrome
5. Is your personality more bubbly or subdued? Bubbly
6. Are you more inclined to share or to hide? Share
7. Do you want people to feel hope when they see your work or sorrow? Both
8. Do you produce work fast or slow? Fast
9. Are you more about product or process? Process
10. Is your work detailed or big-picture? Big-picture
11. Is your work for the realists or the dreamers? Dreamers
12. Are you an introvert or extrovert? Introvert

By asking either/or questions, you can begin to narrow in on your brand without stressing yourself out. It’s easier to think in terms of yes or no sometimes instead of the wide sweep of WHAT IS MY BRAND. 

In fact, do this with a friend. Go through as many questions are you can think of that are yay/nay questions so that you can workshop together some of the finer points of your brands.

Let’s go back to the idea of a passion-based brand. 

If you know how you operate naturally, you are already working under a passion-based brand, assuming how you work naturally is how you are working. 

A passion-based brand is a brand where all elements and choices relate back to your core passion. For example, every single thing that I put out there, be it behind the scenes content, images, videos, jobs I take, etc., are all conscious choices made because I love to do them. They also all feature things that I love to do. 

The goal of a passion-based brand is to make sure your actions (ie: what you put out there, in all forms) aligns with your content (what you create). 

PASSIONATE ACTION
+
PASSIONATE CONTENT
=
PASSION-BASED BRANDING

Share your test with us in the comments and let me know if you have any questions about branding. I’d love to create a follow-up post about this, and maybe even an online seminar!