A Brave New World…of Handmade Cutting Boards

I'm about to embark on a great new adventure in my professional life. It's been about a year since I started my business, and this dream came along with it, but I didn't have all my stuff together during calendar year 2014 to pull it off. Seeing all the work I've been putting into it for 2015, there's no way I could have managed it before now, anyhow.
What the heck am I talking about? Why "handmade cutting boards?"

Craft Fairs.
You've all been to them, probably many times. Often spur-of-the-moment or by whim. Some are themed, and some are part of larger assemblies of people. But you're all familiar with the small booths and tents set up with scented soaps, organic dog treats, homemade jewelry and… photography. There's always photography.

And so I venture into the 2015 craft season with my own stack of lovely photos to sell to folks. I'm not sure how many items I will be able to sell. Nor am I sure how many shows I will do before things wind down in the fall. Or which shows will be best suited for me. The interrelationship of these factors will become more apparent as the year goes by.

I DO know I'll start to figure it out while at the enormous NH Made show in Manchester, NH this April 17-19.

It's a very good thing that I'm excited about it, because it's uncertain whether this business model and I are compatible, and it's a tremendous amount of work to get up and running. But, my enthusiasm keeps me confident of financial success and keeps me pushing through the huge to-do list I have. I'm not complaining. Some folks need to ship truckloads of stuff, arrange for people to unload them, hire helpers, pay for electricity, pay for internet. and then actually have to sweat and toil the whole time they're there, cooking things and doing demonstrations. I have it easy. I'll be sitting on my stool, being charming and answering questions, while my photos hang on my walls doing the heavy lifting for me.

Still, the amount of things I had to tackle has added up to a mountain. Thanks to Bob Estrin for his handy guide!

I didn't have a mobile selling space. That meant buying ready-to-assemble walls, bins, tables, and a rug. And getting it all decked out with signage that I'm designing.

I didn't have a way to take peoples' money. That meant I had to sign up with a mobile card-reading service, like Square or Amazon Local Register and connecting it to my bank.

I didn't have a selling strategy or list of prices. That meant doing a lot of pricing research and creating a spreadsheet containing every single cost for every single product, in hopes that my efforts will be properly rewarded.

I did have a photography website set up, and they have a preferred printer. Still, that meant revisiting all 50+ images I hope to sell, re-cropping them to fit standard sizes, and painstakingly re-adjusting each one to my printer's preferences using a color profile, so that I'll know (more-or-less) that my prints will come out looking as I expect them to.

Lastly, I didn't have a gigantic pile of images to sell. That meant paying for several small prints of each image, and then again in both medium and large sizes. And buying hundreds of bags and cardboard mats. Being signed up with several printing outlets and hawkishly coupon-watching has kept my costs way down. And that means affordable prints, for you, dear customers.

Some of these many costs won't have to be repeated, as I will re-order things that sell and re-use my booth hardware (until I need a tent for outdoor shows, that is!)

So look for me in the brave new world of kitten outfits, soy candles, water purification systems, and the teak cheese boards. And treat yourself to a lovely photograph while you're there.

An efficient trip to the mountains

I'm very lucky that I have a wise and patient wife. I seem bent on combining my business trips with our pleasure trips. We had a nice stay at a favorite bed & breakfast, got to see the beautiful White Mountains of New Hampshire, ate some great food, and had a fabulous day of cross-country skiing.  All good.

But I had a short list of things I wanted to photograph. Oh, and two retail stores to check out. Also, a couple owners to meet. Somehow, I managed to do all that while keeping my wife entertained. The retail part of the trip went just fine. I've been scouting many brick-and-mortar stores throughout New Hampshire that might be interested in selling my Hidden New Hampshire calendar for 2016. Every time I wander more than a few miles from my home, I've got my list of stores handy so I can kill at least two birds with one chunk of Granite.

So far, the responses I've gotten have mostly been very positive. It's been fun meeting business owners like me who love New Hampshire and want to celebrate it. Thankfully, I'm now confident enough showing my photographs to them that I can ask them to carry my product. Some are really good photographers themselves, which is usually helpful, but sometimes intimidating.

Of course, any trip to the White Mountains would be a waste if I didn't have my camera ready to capture some cool, lesser-known spots. It was beautiful out the day we wandered around, so getting a good view of Cathedral Ledge wasn't too hard. The ice-climbers made me nervous, though. Props!

Diana's Baths is a fabulous place to wander around the other three seasons of the year, but Winter at the Baths was rather magical, too. Not just for the frozen waterfalls and pools, but the sounds of mountain streams rushing under them all, too.

Traveling the nearly-famous Kancamagus Highway was less successful, though. Many of the scenic overlooks and pull-offs are not maintained between Fall and Spring and were therefore inaccessible. We did stop at one view, where I plopped down in the snow for a good angle of the mountains to the north, but the light was high and flat, and the experience of being there wasn't going to translate well into a 2-D image. Granted, the other tourists had a better time than I did, seeing a lunatic laying on a windy, snow-covered hillside to take a few pictures.

There's lots to see and explore on "The Kanc" in Winter, but my wife and I were not keen on spending a lot of time there. We had forgotten our snowshoes, and needed to travel a while longer to find much-needed lunches. So I was hoping serendipity would strike the few times we hopped out of the car. It did not.

Still, it was a great trip from all accounts. I should endeavor to be so efficient for the rest of my trips into the far corners of this great state.

When humans couldn't see blue

I recently read an extremely interesting article about the perception of color. Of course, I was drawn in by the title, "No one could see the color blue until modern times." What??
But really interesting things about humanity's past were revealed, as relating to language and perception. It struck me that this subject related to my profession, as well. Actually, it relates to everyone's profession, and proficiency in general. And what it means to be an expert.

If you don't have time right now to read this very interesting article by Kevin Loria, I can use some quotes to sum up before moving on.

Until relatively recently in human history, "blue" didn't exist, not in the way we think of it.

…ancient languages didn't have a word for blue — not Greek, not Chinese, not Japanese, not Hebrew. And without a word for the color, there is evidence that they may not have seen it at all.

The only ancient culture to develop a word for blue was the Egyptians — and as it happens, they were also the only culture that had a way to produce a blue dye. 

So before we had a word for it, did people not naturally see blue? 

…without a word for a color, without a way of identifying it as different, it is much harder for us to notice what is unique about it — even though our eyes are physically seeing… it in the same way. 

So before blue became a common concept, maybe humans saw it. But it seems they did not know they were seeing it.

If you see something yet can't see it, does it exist? 

There's even a physical test included in the article that perfectly demonstrates that when people use different sets of tools (words), some won't see a simple distinction that you and I easily make every day – and vice versa! At first, I thought I was staring at eleven blocks of identical green, until the author asked me to pick out the one that was different! It took me a few moments, but I was able to. I imagine some of you would not.

The vast majority of people can name every color in a box of 8, 16 and maybe even 24 crayons. But do you know what mauve is? Or chartreuse? You can probably "see" them, as the ancients "saw" blue, but either cannot distinguish them from their neighbors purple and green, or must resort to using extra modifiers like "dull-" or "bright-."

Did you know that Brazilians, with a populace comprised of every shade of human being, make no fewer than 14 racial distinctions? It's just something they think about a lot more than we do.

Which brings me to the professions in the visual arts – designer, decorator, photographer, artist. Yes, we see blue. But we're also SO used to seeing blue in all its varying shades that we probably make more distinctions than the average person can. Can you imagine an interior decorator who accidentally reupholstered your sectional to match sky blue instead of navy blue? It wouldn't happen because people in visual professions have the language, the words, and the mindsets to deal with appropriate subtleties and complexities.

Here's a color test I took to determine my own color acuity. My eyes almost fell out of my head, but I'm happy to say I scored (low being good) a 3 out of 99. How will you do?

I humbly ask that you respect an artist who might criticize a photo as being blurry, out-of-focus, grainy, low in contrast, undersaturated, overcooked, jaggy, banded or blown out, while you only saw "not so good." 

And I promise to defer to your own expertise, in kind.

Being a Professional Photographer. Kind Of.

I certainly take enough photographs to call myself a photographer. I even sell some photographs, which technically makes me a professional photographer. But that doesn't describe what I do very well.

I'm not a wedding or event photographer, because I don't have the desire, the open weekends, the battle-training or nearly enough equipment.

I'm not a studio or model photographer, because I don't have my own space, or nearly enough equipment.

I'm not a travel photographer, because I don't get sent on trips to take photos, and I certainly couldn't make enough money to pay for my next trip by selling pics of my previous trip. I might not have nearly enough equipment.
I don't do wildlife or extreme-nature photography. Those guys are absolute rock stars, camping on snowy ledges overnight to capture rarely-seen animals or sunrises over volcanos. Also, I don't have nearly enough equipment.

I suppose what I am is a glorified amateur photographer with a little bit of equipment, an above-average travel schedule, and a lot of tenacity when it comes to finding a way to make a living doing something I enjoy.

I'm far from being rich, well-known, or even financially comfortable, but I intend to try like hell, because there's enough I love about this profession that makes me want to actually succeed and become a true professional.

So, while I continue to claw and scratch at the other part of my job – my REAL job of graphic design, I keep on taking photos, using some advantages that few other "semi-professional" photographers have.

My strengths:

• I get to travel quite often, thanks to certain older relatives who have retired and moved South, and thanks to my awesome spouse, who gets invited to conferences all over the globe.

• I see things that other photographers do not see. I'm not exactly sure why this is, but I suspect it has to do with my later-in-life arrival to the photographic world, my advertising and retail experience, and my 20-year career as a graphic designer. I've got to capture what others have missed, because (as I have made clear above) I have neither the time, equipment, nor financial resources to get a better picture of the Eiffel Tower at sunset than everyone else. But I might – just might– get one unique and wonderful picture.

• I will crawl up a hill or lay down in the sand if I suspect I can capture a cool angle.

• I have a deep focus for post-processing my images. To an outsider, I might appear to be a crazy person who stays up too late, re-cropping and re-exposing photos to get them just right, using every tool available in Adobe Lightroom, while listening to Pink Floyd and drooling a little.

• I've got just enough self-loathing to admire my own work very briefly, before calling myself a hack and vowing to get better at what I do. I talk to other photographers, read articles, watch how-to videos, and experiment with technique. Not as much as I should, but a whole lot. But also, not enough.

If you're interested enough to buy one of my photos, either via my calendar, my website, or at a craft fair, I thank you most sincerely.

But I also promise to keep my fire stoked and show you better pictures the next time.

Photo Safari to Hancock, NH

I recently made a same-day decision to drive out to Hancock, NH, in order to capture some New England winter quaintness. If I want to keep creating my Hidden New Hampshire calendar year after year, I can't fill it with only summer and foliage shots. Not only because it would get boring, but the 2016 calendar will go to print before the leaves turn.

The town itself is about 40 minutes away, so I packed my camera, tripod and snow pants and headed out on an afternoon that – somehow – wasn't windy, snowing, or insanely cold. It's been a rough month!

I'm trying not to beat myself up about the photographic results.

It was chillier than I'd hoped. Also, after a few minutes of wading through knee-high snow with equipment, my hardiness meter fell. I had hoped to last long enough to capture the glow of the setting sun on the town, but an enormous cloud bank put an end to those plans, and I just did a little exploring instead before heading out. The sun mocked me by coming out for a few more golden minutes when I was halfway home.

“Failing to prepare is preparing to fail.”

- John Wooden

Great quote. And I was guilty as charged. I didn't do more than glance at the weather forecast. I didn't have many backup targets in mind, after the meetinghouse. I should have had other locations scouted out beforehand. Even for a tiny place like Hancock, there are articles to read, images to google, online maps to virtually wander, and histories to consider. There's… well, it's work. And like everything else worth doing well, it can be tedious.

Still, goal number one was to capture the town meetinghouse in afternoon light, and I got some very good shots. In fact, I realized later, upon examining my images, that I had been very efficient with my camera settings, tripod handling, and decision-making, which tells me that I've clambered to an ever-so-slightly higher plateau of competency.

If we ever get a break from this weather, I'll be ready (darn ready!) to head to my next photo safari.

Birth of a Logo, Part 3 (conclusion)

You can read about how a designer whittles massive amounts of information and input down to a few visual ideas in part one of this series. Part two deals with solidifying a few logo ideas for the client, and, when the feedback comes, the designer's crushing realization that he's not a genius after all.

After I was challenged to improve upon the first ideas I presented to the client, I needed to reassess where I was. This part of the process is not as simple as taking all of the client's criticism and implementing their ideas, because the client hasn't seen the million things I've tried and rejected along the way. Sometimes their "solution" goes right to a place I've already been. Once I hear what's not working, my brain starts racing with new directions and possibilities, and I have to tune out any well-meaning suggestions that may lead me around in a circle or back the way I came.

Also, design by committee rarely works well.

As I wrote in part two, the kernel of my idea got to stay - the profile of New Hampshire as a lighthouse. Everything else about this logo had to justify its existence.

"Dynamic. Modern. Community."
Those were the feelings missing from my first attempt. And that was all the fuel I needed to set off in a new direction.

Dynamic: does a library coalition need to convey physical movement? No, but my sturdy old lighthouse (an excellent metaphor for knowledge and enlightenment) also had to suggest flexibility, relevancy, and currency. Maybe I should add more well-placed lines to my lighthouse…

Modern: Fair enough. My first color palette of blue and white was pretty dull. What else might be too standard about what I presented? Maybe there were shapes that could take the viewer's eye on a more interesting (and less linear) journey…
Community: Was my design too sterile and unfriendly to suggest a neighborhood place where you'd enjoy going?

I added a more modern color to complement the "New Hampshire Blue" already in place. Then, I tried to create a new set of lines that would be more exciting to look at. Maybe I could add something for local flavor, too…

Okay, we have a second, more modern color to use with "New Hampshire Blue". We have a happy seagull! We have more interesting lines. But it felt like too much was going on. Is the seagull distracting? Is the lighthouse idea lost?

Here's a different approach, arrived at after another million scribbles. Can you see beams of light, books, and the letter "S," all at the same time? This is a triumph, but my old idea had vanished entirely. The colors still look nice together, but maybe that teal should be a hair brighter. And, instead of "books in space," I needed to marry the old idea to the new one.

What if one set of lines was the lighthouse beam, and the other became waves? After more wrangling and heartache, I finally created this:

Eureka! I see New Hampshire, a lighthouse, waves, book pages, an "S," a light beam and the ocean at the same time. It's not too busy or too staid. And, with a tiny bit more back-and-forth with the client, we added an open book masquerading as a door, adding an element of community friendliness.

I was proud to present this final idea to my client, who was nice enough to call it "flippin' awesome."

I'm happy to show off this piece as the result of hours of hard work, but also a lot of constructive communication. I give the client a lot of credit for knowing what they wanted, and for letting me figure out how to achieve it using my own vision and skill set.

Also, support your local library!

Birth of a Logo, Part 2 of 3

In part one, I described the complex and chaotic way that logo design is started, and the crushing weight of everything that goes into the process.

But amidst a jumble of half-cooked ideas, brilliant nuggets and outright failures, the designer eventually pulls things together. Shapes coalesce, colors sort themselves out, and visual balance starts to round out. Things start to get exciting. The chase is on.

Gross missteps and embarrassments still happen in this part of the process, but as solid ideas are honed in on, each miss is leading the designer closer to a hit, or – with hope – a home run.

The unappealing work I did at the start of the process for Seacoast Area Libraries (a bespectacled seal reading a book?) eventually morphed into something new, when I realized my manipulations of the New Hampshire state outline began to look like a lighthouse – a perfect symbol for the New England Seacoast.
Here, after much wrangling, are the results of combining those two ideas.

This one is "lighthouse-y" enough, but the outline of New Hampshire is too stylized and  almost impossible to pick out.

Here, the seacoast area profile is more understood, while the lighthouse image is still obvious. I put the seacoast area of New Hampshire next to a blue field representing the ocean, a helpful visual cue.

I was getting close.

After these initial ideas were sent to the client, the feedback was very positive. But one person remained unconvinced. She wrote: 

I feel like it is missing something... I would like the seacoast libraries to come across as dynamic & up-to-date, and I'm not sure that this logo does that. I am definitely not a graphic designer so I am very unqualified to suggest what might work better -- but maybe even something as simple as color or font?
Here are a few things that seem to be missing (as concepts):Movement, Color, Modern-ness, Font with more character - more life, Some nod to the importance of people (librarians! patrons!) & community

Ouch.
The pointedness of her comments proved she was indeed qualified.
As painful as it was to face rejection, I know I needed it in order to create my best work. I have learned over the years not only to accept constructive criticism, but to embrace it. And further, to find a substitute for it when no one is complaining. A friend, a message board or a group of peers become vital to the designer's progress. And if I can't find those things when convenient, I just criticize myself, as honestly as I can.

And in my heart of hearts, I knew she was right. I could do better. This criticism didn't discourage me; it motivated me. Show me a successful designer and I'll show you someone with thick skin and a resilient imagination.

So, I went back to the drawing board. The kernel of inspiration (the NH profile/Lighthouse idea) stayed, and everything else about this logo was fighting for its job.

In part three, I will kick things up a notch and produce a final logo for my client.