Julia Harrison

Whenever I’m asked about my favorite medium, I’m tempted to answer…spreadsheets!

Since I tend to accumulate more information that my memory can handle, I build spreadsheets for almost everything I consider important or interesting. I get a little tingly over formulas and automation, but even a simple sheet is a joy when it does its job well. 

My Art Log spreadsheet was inspired by my grad school professor, Mary Lee Hu, who urged us to make a regular habit of recording all the salient details of our artwork in one centralized location. Mary kept her own log on a stack of index cards and it worked just fine; when a museum approached her about mounting a retrospective she was able to look in her cards for the details and current location of almost every piece they asked for! I updated her idea into a digitized spreadsheet and even if it never comes in handy for a retrospective, having all this info in one place has shaved hours off of filling out applications (see the “Mise en place” section of my previous post). 

Don’t yet have a log of your own? Here’s a simple template in Google Spreadsheets that you can use as a starting point. Some of these fields I fill in religiously, others only when relevant: 

• Image: this relatively new Google feature is so useful! Click in the box to highlight it, then go to Insert, then Image. 
• Series: what other work might this piece be grouped with (even if these pieces were not specifically made to go together)? This could be a category in your own mind, but it’s also useful if it would make sense to an outside observer. For example, I was recently asked what mouth brooches I have in stock; I was able to easily sort the Series column for mouth brooches and then look at the Sold / Stock column. 
• Sold / Stock: if you needed to quickly put your hands on a piece, where would you find it? If you keep all your stock in one place that might be enough info, but if you have things stashed in different places, note it here. If the work sells, note the venue, the date, the wholesale and retail prices, and if at all possible get the name and contact information for the buyer (some galleries are more forthcoming with this if they understand that you are just keeping records, not trying to court the buyer directly). The buyer info is crucial if the work is one that you consider particularly strong or emblematic, so when that museum gets in touch about your retrospective you know where to find your best work. 
• Shown / Published: add a duplicate column every time the work makes a public appearance (some of my older pieces have a dozen Shown / Published entries). Note any pricing associated with the event; my codes are R for retail price, W for wholesale, and INS for the insurance value if the work was not for sale. 
• Notes: did the work get broken? Lost? Did you turn it into something else? 

Of course you can tailor the fields to suit your own needs, but it’s worth making a strict habit of taking a photo and filling in the log whenever a new piece leaves your hands—whatever the reason, whether or not you expect it to come back. When you’re just starting out you may think that you’ll remember how big each piece is, or who bought it, but most of us won’t, and the longer you wait to start keeping records, the tougher it will be. 

I went to a pathologically competitive middle school. Every action students took was judged and scored, and our tallies were public record. Naturally, participation in sports was by try-out only. Very unnaturally, I decided I wanted to be on a team, despite my total lack of ability. 

On the second day of an already lackluster 7th grade softball try-out, a classmate and I were lobbing a ball back and forth in light rain. My glasses fogged up just as a fast, accurate pitch headed straight for my face and I caught it…in my mouth. My lower lip skewered itself on my lower teeth and although my upper front teeth stayed put, the blow killed the nerves and someday they’ll have to come out.

I was back at try-outs the next day. I did not make the team. I was back at softball try-outs the next year. I did not make the team then, either. By the end of middle school I had tried out for every team and hadn’t been chosen for a single one. 

I think about that experience a lot. Of course it was humiliating and public proof of my “loser” status. It launched a lot of tropes about teams and being left out that I still struggle with more than 30 years later. It undermined my childish expectation that adults would be kinder and more just than children. And I have to wonder what might have happened if I had redirected that focus and tenacity towards activities I was actually any good at. 

But that experience also gave me a valuable skill that probably wouldn’t have come from a childhood of easy success: when absolutely necessary, I can take it in the teeth and come back for more. 

For a professional artist, resiliency might be even more useful than a facility with color wheels or vanishing points. In my earlier blog post, I talked about the “shadow CV” of rejections that scaffold the public CV of my successes. Here are a few of the practical and emotional tools that have helped me along the way. 

1. Get Your Mise en Garde
A chef doesn’t chop parsley or make stock every time an order comes in. Nope, they get ready for a shift by pre-preparing all of the ingredients that expect to use most often; the practice of mise en garde lets them work more quickly while having the flexibility to deal with that “special” customer who insists on ordering off-menu. In terms of applying for art opportunities, there are things you will need over and over: a resume, images, references, etc. By anticipating these general needs and preparing accordingly, you can work on individual applications more efficiently, you can better respond to last-minute opportunities, and you give self-doubt less of a foothold. 

2. Build a Ladder
I try to apply for at least one thing (show, grant, teaching gig, etc) per month, which helps to smooth out both logistical and emotional bumps. My more natural inclination is to do a whole batch of applications when the mood strikes, but then I am likely to have a soul-crushing batch of rejections arriving around the same time (or very rarely, a stack of simultaneous acceptances, which is its own kind of problem). By sending stuff out monthly, I usually get one rejection at a time, and usually by the time it arrives I have the next application out the door; each rejection stings less because I’ve already moved on. 

3. Dress for the Job You Want 
Direct the bulk of your energies towards applications for which you are qualified, but every once in a while treat yourself to a long shot. Sometimes I’ll complete an application for something and not turn it in because I just want to test drive a possible new direction for my work or career. Sometimes I’ll go ahead and turn it in and then pay close attention to how the eventual rejection makes me feel; if “meh,” I redirect my efforts elsewhere, but if I’m really upset I look carefully at the steps I would need to take to be a stronger candidate the next time a similar opportunity comes along. And very occasionally I make it to the interview phase; I’ve never gotten an opportunity for which I was completely unqualified, but I have reaped valuable connections, feedback, and motivation.

4. Audition Amnesia
One of my co-teachers at a youth arts camp was a professional hip-hop dancer. He had had a huge career but as he slid into middle age, he was booking fewer and fewer gigs. How did he not just give up and sink into the La-Z-Boy of despair? He had trained himself to forget about an audition the second it ended. He didn’t replay it in his mind and beat himself up about things he could have done differently. He didn’t hover by the phone waiting for it to ring. If it did ring, it was a surprise—maybe a good one, maybe a bad one, but one that hadn’t cost him any unnecessary time or emotional energy. I can verify that amnesia is learnable; I couldn’t tell you the last three things I’ve applied without checking my notes and I’m happier for it. 

5. You Already Have the “No”
The Listserve was a mailing list of people from all over the world, one of whom was chosen at random to send a message to the entire list each day. One writer shared a nugget of advice that has proved to be the most valuable reframe in my emotional arsenal. She asked her mentor how she, the mentor, managed to remain resilient in a highly competitive field; the mentor said, more or less, “If you don’t try, you already have the ‘no.’” This is similar to the idea that you miss all the balls you don’t swing for in the way it argues for missed opportunities being the default, but it adds a level of agency and emotional nuance. First of all, if anyone’s going to reject me, I’d sure rather it not be me doing the rejecting. Second, when you send out an application, you’re not giving them the chance to reject you; you’re giving them the opportunity to accept you. ​

​I hope that something here will be of use to you or to someone you care about! And if you have any strategies that allow your own Weeble to wobble without actually falling down, I would be very happy to hear about them. After all, the rejections won’t stop until I do!

2021 
Museum of Art and Design Virtual Artist-in-Residence
Jake Rusher Park Public Art Project
World Wood Day 

2020 
2 + U 2nd Ave Lobby
World Wood Day 
City of Issaquah Tibbetts Valley Off-Leash Dog Park
City of Durham Pre-Qualified Artist Registry
BASE Cohort
Bothell Fire Station 42
Artist Trust Fellowship
South King County Recycling Center 
Harris Building Interior Art
Tokyo Biennial
Haystack Open Studio Residency 
Jacksonville Medical Lobby Sculptural Installation

2019
World Wood Day 
Artist Designed Infrastructure Bioretention Edition
Seattle Metals Guild Grant

2018 
Jakob Bengel Residency

2017
Shunpike/Amazon Residency
AJF Grant
Bloedel Residency
Amara Mural
Seattle Center Winterfest

2016 
Bloedel Residency
Olson Kundig Creative Exchange
Jakob Bengel Residency

2015
Seattle Public Utilities Green Infrastructure and Waterways Artist-in-Residence
Smithsonian Artist Research Fellowship
Rome Prize
Kohler Residency
Artist Trust Fellowship
Seattle Airport Concourse

2014
Artist Trust GAP Grant

2013 
Artist Trust EDGE Program
Houston Center for Craft Residency
Appalachian Center for Craft Exhibition
Artist Trust GAP Grant

2012 
Artbridge Fellowship
Artist Trust GAP Grant

2011 
Henry Radford Hope School of Fine Arts PIVA

2009 
McColl Residency
Artbridge Fellowship

A few times in my career, another artist has done me the tremendous kindness of pulling back the curtain on a truth that isn’t normally part of polite conversation. There was: the professional artist who spelled out how her pricing formula covers her economic bases and adds an emotional surcharge; the super-successful artist who spoke candidly about the mad paddling it took to keep all her ducks afloat; and the former peer group who listened to my struggles but admitted they couldn’t really identify because they had “married well.”

I am so thankful to each of these artists! In each case their honesty and openness helped me to see my own situation with more patience and clarity. 

I’ve been thinking about these lessons even more frequently since I began to tell people about being a Penland Resident. There has been a tremendous amount of support and enthusiasm, but I’ve also heard and sensed some deflation from people who contrast my little spike of success with whatever’s going on for them. I can feel this deflation second-hand because I’ve so often felt it first-hand, the sense that opportunities are finite and not for me. I’d like to take a turn at pulling back the curtain, so that anyone inclined to comparisons at least has more to work with than the shiny surface of a public achievement. 

So I’m publishing a list of those times that I swung and missed. I think of it as a “shadow CV,” an inverse of my actual accomplishments without which those accomplishments would not exist. (If you do take a look at it anytime soon, note that I am working backwards through my records, so my shadow CV will continue to grow.)

This is not false humility or self-deprecation. It isn’t a “poor me” ploy for sympathy. It’s not my version of “when I was your age I walked fifty miles to the studio and it was uphill both ways.” It isn’t sour grapes. These “failures” are their own kind of achievement and I’m proud of them. 

If you are also an artist or someone whose career revolves around rejection, there are some great reasons to keep a list of your unsuccessful efforts: 

1. Should your business take a loss, these applications are evidence of profit motive—an important distinction between businesses and hobbies
2. Many of these applications are annual, so you’ll be reminded what to circle back to, and you’ll have a solid starting point should you choose to apply again
3. Just like the wood chips piling up under a carving, your shadow CV is proof that you are doing something even when it might feel or appear otherwise 
4. You can see more clearly how your concept of your career has evolved 
5. You’ll gain a better understanding of how to structure, schedule, and bill for your working hours

And if you have a shadow CV, there is a great reason to share it with others in your field, particularly those who are getting starting or those who are struggling: 

1. It’s the truth

The Windgate ITE Fellowship allowed me to play at both ends of the scale,  incorporating my jewelry forms into architectural elements as well as exploring jewelry inspired by furniture and architecture. 

This brooch is carved from basswood and is based on the fan-like pattern of iris leaves. 

I'd been thinking about this little guy for a long time, and finally had the chance to figure him out during my Windgate ITE residency.  His body is turned dogwood and legs are maple stained with ink and hinged with watchband spring bars.