For selfish reasons had hoped Bob would still dabble in printing and
displaying his images if not to the extent he did before. It was
clearly a time
consuming activity. One had to really see the final results at full
scale to appreciate the workmanship as the web images only gave a rough
idea.
Moose can provide corroboration as to the quality of his prints. I have
had the ocassional daydream of 50 years hence of comments during a
successor program to Antiques Roadshow after the discovery of a well
preserved BW print in a closet.
"Hmmm, this an exquisite print of BW during his prolific mid certified
Neantherthal period depicting a wondrous harbor scene at 20 below with
sea smoke present. This is highly sought after by the Whitmore
collectors. At a well attended auction, would estimate a value
$500,000. "
I say this only partly in jest.
Mike
Bob Whitmire
CN wrote:
Excellent point, Chuck!
Now that the arc of my “career” as a landscape photographer marketing
pretty
pictures to tourists has come to an end, I can draw a few conclusions.
My efforts were more successful than I had expected, but never achieved
the
level I thought they were capable of. This is because I entered the
fray pretty
much ignorant of reality, and harbored unrealistic expectations. Even
in my two
best years of selling pretty pictures to tourists, I did not earn a
living
wage. I earned enough to provide a few things that would otherwise have
been
forgone, and to buy a couple of wheelbarrow loads of equipment—starting
with a
confiscated OM-2N, and working my way through a Fuji GSW690iii, a
couple of
4x5s, an Olympus E-1, a Nikon D3 and a Nikon D800. Oh, and the Fuji
X-100s that
remains, now the totality of my kit. <g>
But . . . and this is a huge BUT . . .
I live in one of the most popular vacation areas of the country. Every
year we
are flooded by the populations of New York, Connecticut, Pennsylvania,
Rhode
Island, Massachusetts, Vermont and New Hampshire, with more than a
smattering
of Canadian and other international visitors, and an awfully lot of
people from
the far flung corners of the US. The particular area where I live has
its share
of tourists, but the bread-and-butter is summer people, and people who
rent
cabins, cottages and camps for one-two-three or more weeks a year.
These were
the people who bought my photos. They were looking specifically for
images of
this area. Familiar landmarks drew them, and drew their wallets out of
their
pockets.
When I tried to step outside the bounds of my particular area—in
essence the
Pemaquid peninsula—I did not fare so well. I spent much time in Acadia
National
Park and obtained more than a few striking images there. With a few
exceptions,
they did not sell well—hardly at all—in my local venues. And, even
though my
focus was images tourists would like on their walls, occasionally I
wandered
into the more esoteric dimensions that define, oh, the term “fine art”
comes to
mind. Again with a few exceptions, these images fell flat. They simply
didn’t
sell.
In order to raise my game to a level where the fine art stuff would
have found
its market, I would have to have gone full-immersion, which would have
included
spending inordinate amounts of time, energy and money schlepping my
work from
gallery to gallery to gallery to big-name, big-name and big-name. It
is/was a
game I decided was not worth the playing. I like my life. I love my
wife and my
children (and Herself, the little Persian jumping pistachio) and the
time I
have to sit and ponder, to read and study whatever comes to mind and
grabs my
attention. Okay, a lot of that is detective fiction, but I take refuge
in the
fact that detective fiction is where all the really cool people hang
out when
they’re not engaged in whatever it is really cool people engage in. (I
don’t
mean pop-culture celebrities. I mean cool people of discerning taste
and
intellect and most importantly, humor—one reason I never will part with
my “I
Agree With AG” t-shirt.)
For all intents and purposes, it is impossible to achieve real success
in the
arts these days unless you are willing to sacrifice your life. A
writing
teacher at the University of Miami, which whom I had a stimulating
conversation
New Year’s Eve, brought to my attention a quote by Yeats: “The
intellect of man
is forced to choose/Perfection of the life, or of the work.” Many chose
to try
for the work, and the vast majority fall short. Life isn’t that much
easier,
but it is achievable if you’re willing to make a rather small sacrifice
of ego.
I think it was Buckminster Fuller who once said that fame, fortune,
prizes,
awards, accolades and adulation were “booby prizes.” The real
achievement, he
said, was a good life. Or, to borrow from the song by eden abhez, “The
greatest
thing you’ll ever learn/Is just to love and be loved in return.”
I also learned something else: Enjoy the process. Don’t worry so much
about the
product. One aspect of my production sold well, for the reasons
outlined above.
Others did not. But I still enjoyed, and intend to continue to enjoy
the
process. That’s where the magic is. The product is just an artifact.
Sorry for the meander . . .
--
PS: the OM List Language Constabulary is cordially invited to assess my
use of
tenses in the above and advise me where I have fallen short. <g>
--
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