Should there be a limit on the number of times you apply for the same opportunity before you come to the realization that they just aren’t buying what you’re selling? The application process for many residencies, fellowships, and publishing opportunities is annual, and it’s tough not to continually try your luck. While obviously submitting the same materials every year would be a fool’s errand, does there come a time when (even with diversified submissions) it’s reasonable to assume they aren’t interested in your practice and you need to move on? Is there a risk of being viewed as oblivious to when you’re being told “no”? Or is it more valuable to demonstrate a little fortitude?

Jim Lambie. Strychnine Seven and Seven, 2004; record covers, tape, photocopies; 125 x 190 cm.

There’s no doubt that one of the easiest ways to get your work out into the world is by applying for exhibitions and residencies/fellowships. (See my prior advice on this subject here.) Ridiculous application fees notwithstanding, the process is fairly low-risk: You mail the envelope or hit “submit” on a web page, dust off your palms, and head to the bar for a celebratory drink with the other hopefuls. Yet despite the overall simplicity, it’s just not worth it—emotionally or economically—to approach this process haphazardly. It helps to have a strategy, so let’s discuss the options.

To start, most competitions are juried by a different person (or persons) every year, so it’s not exactly “the same opportunity.” Some years might present better odds because the juror is someone who is specifically interested in practices like yours; other years, you may want to skip the application after discovering that the jury is primarily sympathetic to new-media work, when you make ceramic sculptures. So the first strategy is: consider your audience and apply only when it would be an advantage to present your work.

Another strategy is to consider the qualifications very carefully. Pay close attention to what the institution requires of its awardees (“we select emerging artists from around the United States” versus “support for internationally established midcareer artists”). If the prospectus doesn’t give you a sense for the expectations, then do some research on recent prior participants. Looking over the websites and CVs of the last dozen or so awarded/accepted artists should give you an impression of the kind of candidate the institution seeks. Ask yourself: What is similar about these artists’ practices? Are there overlaps in age, medium, education, location, previous awards, or exhibitions? Do you match these attributes?

As for being viewed as oblivious, I’m not sure that’s even a factor in most cases. Unless the applicant pool is extremely small, institutions might not recognize that you’re submitting again. Check out Christine Wong Yap’s R+D Blog; her “Art Competition Odds” section tracks the number of applicants versus awardees for many high-profile competitions. For example, the 2014 Artist Studio Program at Smack Mellon had over 700 applicants for six available studios. As a former residency juror myself, I can tell you that even an obsessive evaluator would not remember, a year later, the names of the 690+ artists who didn’t get in. Likewise, I’m not sure that fortitude is a factor, either; no artist ever got a residency solely on the basis that she has already applied for the last five years in a row.

If you’ve applied multiple times and were still rejected even after doing your research and determining a good fit, consider getting in touch with the institution to see if you can find out more. Chances are excellent that you will receive one of two replies: “We don’t do that,” or the not very useful “because we felt that other candidates were more qualified.” But you might be able to glean some tips or find specific information that will help you in the future. I recently was a finalist, for the second time, for a big award, and I felt terrifically awful that I had (at least in my own mind) come so close twice, only to be rejected. Although the institution’s website specifically states that the staff is not able to provide feedback on individual applications, I thought I would try anyway, and I emailed a brief outline of my situation and a plea for some insight. Remarkably, I received an answer: In both years, the institution took only candidates enrolled in PhD programs (which I am not). Though they don’t state this as a requirement for application, and though it means that I will probably never receive this award, at least I don’t have to wonder. Knowledge—even bad news—is power.

If you feel like you’re punishing yourself by reapplying, take a hiatus from applications. You could use the time to try other methods of getting your work in front of people: email them the link to your (updated) website, request a studio visit, ask them out to coffee, etc. You could also contact former awardees—perhaps you know some of them as friends or acquaintances?—to see if they will share their wisdom or even look over the last application you submitted to make suggestions for improvement. Whatever you choose, I hope you will be oblivious, demonstrate your fortitude, move forward, and think big. Good luck!

Help Desk is where I answer your queries about making, exhibiting, finding, marketing, buying, selling–or any other activity related to contemporary art. Submit your questions anonymously here. All submissions become the property of Daily Serving.

I spent last year applying to residency programs in the U.S. and finally got one. How do I maximize my time there? Obviously I’ll be working hard, but is there anything else I should know or do before I go?

Anne Neukamp. Curl, 2013; oil, tempera, and acrylic on canvas; 240 x 190 cm.

Congratulations! A residency can be a great place to get a lot of work done, experiment in a new setting, meet like-minded people, or even have a creative breakthrough. However, it’s not easy to take time off work and travel to a place where everything is new (and sometimes overwhelming) and still get a lot of artwork made. To answer your question, I turned to artist Christine Wong Yap, who has worked in residence at Montalvo Arts Center and the Tides Institute and Museum of Art, among others. Here’s what she had to say:

“Be prepared. I’m a planner. I like to find out as much as I can in advance about the residency before I go. I like to know what kinds of tools and equipment they have, and what I’ll need to ship. If the residency is in a remote area, or your residency is only a short duration, ship your tools and materials in advance (if the staff don’t mind receiving your packages for you). This can be expensive and stressful, so having particular projects in mind before arriving helps. Remember, the more remote the residency, the longer it’ll take to receive your packages. You might also consider non-art creature comforts. For example, for me, physical activity makes me less grouchy and more energetic, so a yoga mat and sneakers are must-haves.”

“Be flexible. Residencies are great for experimentation. Explore. Recharge. Be open. Anticipate that other residents may have different agendas, working hours, habits, etc. You will probably be pushed out of your comfort zone, for better and for worse. Contribute positively to the residency community with a good attitude, gratitude, and forbearance. Remember that lots of other applicants wish they had the opportunity you do.”

“Communicate. Talk to the staff, ask questions, and express your needs. They’re usually very interested in accommodating artists and receiving feedback. However, understand that staff have other responsibilities outside and your needs may not be a priority.”

“Engage. If there are other artists in residence, participate in events—you’ll never know what kind of creative collaborations might evolve. Initiate reciprocal studio visits or organize slide slams. If the residency is in a city, let the residency organizers know if you’re interested in connecting with the local community, possibly by presenting your work, having an open studio, being a guest critic, leading art workshops, or attending local art events. I find that the sooner you can do this, the richer your connections and experiences can be.”

“Clear your schedule. If you are able, I recommend letting your employers, coworkers, and clients know that you’ll be offline and unavailable during your residency. The residency program can provide the space, but in this connected age, you have to maintain boundaries to focus your attention in the present.”

“Stay connected. For me, one of the hardest parts of residencies is being away from loved ones. The seclusion can feel like isolation. Communicating with your partner and family about the import of the residency is the first step. Having a strategy for minimizing homesickness is a second step. If the residency is long—over a month—a visit can make a huge difference. Many residencies have policies on partner visits, or how long residents can be absent for travel. At the least, having the technology and a rough schedule to talk or video chat are highly recommended.”

Of course, there’s no way to be 100% prepared for every situation that arises when you are traveling (let alone traveling for work), but if you can think ahead a bit, it might save you some hassle that would potentially distract you from working. To Christine’s great list, I would add a few pragmatic items:

Pack a few extra clothes. If you’re traveling to an extreme climate, take one article of clothing for the opposite climate; for example, when traveling to the mountains, take one light T-shirt or dress in case there’s a heat wave (or a warm sweater in case of a cold snap). I speak from experience here, having spent a week in Banff, Canada, sweating to death inside sweatshirts and insulated boots during a week of unseasonably warm 80-degree weather. Also, remember to pack one nicer set of togs for dinner at a restaurant or the residency’s Open Studios day.

Do a little research on the location. Next time you are are idly surfing the internet, look at a map of the city you’re traveling to. Where is the post office? Where are the closest grocery and hardware stores? Is there a coffee shop nearby? Orienting yourself in advance can save you some time so that you can hit the ground running.

Get in touch with a previous resident. Chances are decent that a friend of a friend (or maybe someone from your alma mater) attended the same residency. It can often be helpful to send a brief email asking if there’s anything you should know in advance—you never know what you might learn about the general tenor, or the day-to-day realities, of the residency program!

Happy residency, safe travels, and good luck!

What are your thoughts on application fees for residencies, fellowships, and exhibitions? Typically the odds of being selected are very long, and the vast majority of artists who apply for opportunities aren’t swimming in cash they earn (for making and selling work). I understand that institutions, organizations, and other entities offering opportunities are on tight budgets, and the massive inflows of applications are insane to deal with, but shouldn’t they have to incorporate the expense into their costs of doing business? I know using services like Slide Room costs money, but sticking a fee on an artist with a less than 10 percent chance doesn’t seem quite right.

Jean-Luc Moulene. Tronche/Avatar (Paris, April 2014), 2014; polished concrete, blue blanket;
15 x 10 5/8 x 11 in.

Like many artists, my thoughts on application fees are mixed. I’ll happily pay about $25—my personal threshold—for what is essentially an art lottery ticket, but much more than that and I get queasy. Like you, I’m aware that no matter how good my targeting skills are, it’s still a crapshoot. As artist Christine Wong Yap’s blog shows us, the odds are often quite low: a 10 percent chance of securing a 2015 residency at Djerassi; a 3.7 percent acceptance rate for a visual-arts residency at the Headlands Center for the Arts; and a one-in-fifty-six probability—that’s 0.3 percent, so maybe better to call it an improbability—of becoming one of three Emerging Artist Fellows at the Queens Museum in New York City. But the odds are long on almost everything in life, and as a pal of mine used to remind me, “You can’t win the lottery if you don’t buy a ticket.”

I’m familiar with artists’ gripes about entry fees, but I wanted to hear the institutional side of the story. Jason Franz, executive director of the ten-year-old Manifest Gallery in Cincinnati, was eager to engage in a lively email conversation on the subject. He started off by putting the idea of financial risk into context: “The odds of making a masterful work of art that will sell for thousands of dollars with the materials purchased to do so are probably even slimmer than success in submitting to competitive juried exhibitions. Does this mean the art-supply store should give away the materials or in some other way negotiate your risk? For one to say, ‘Shouldn’t [institutions] have to incorporate the expense into their costs of doing business’ shows a severe naiveté. Shouldn’t artists have to incorporate the expense into their costs of doing business? I know I do as a working artist.”

“If ‘sticking a fee on an artist’ with less than a 10 percent chance doesn’t seem quite right, then selling the artist art supplies doesn’t seem quite right, nor does charging tuition for a BFA or MFA. But this assumes that the fee-charging institution, art-supply store, and university are forcing the purchase. But the artist has a choice.”

Franz also provided clarity on exactly why some institutions charge fees: “Our organization is nonprofit, state-recognized, and state-funded. We obtain the limited grant funding we do because we have such a strong record of earned revenue (i.e., entry fees). Grant agencies want to see sustainability and a ‘public vote’ if you will, and artists paying entry fees hits the nail on the head. It means they trust and value what we’re doing. They vouch for us. To remove the entry fee removes the public statement from key constituents (the artists), thereby weakening, if not completely degrading, our grant-writing platform. It also removes one of the most compelling facts about the existence of our organization. As a public charitable entity, we derive a meaningful proportion of our operating expenses from those who stand to gain the most—namely the artists themselves—in small but incremental amounts.”

Franz went on to play devil’s advocate: “Just for argument’s sake, let’s remove the fees. What then? We could sell each exhibit to the highest bidder, but this would mean that instead of paying a small share to actively compete in a rigorous jury process, artists would have to fork over thousands of dollars for an exhibition. This would eliminate all those artists who aren’t swimming in cash and make our principle-driven organization into a vanity gallery. Or we could get lucky and find a wealthy patron to underwrite all our costs, but this patron would likely put qualifications on what we do and how we do it. Suddenly, because a patron is footing the bill, the identity of the organization becomes compromised and tied down by a personal agenda. Who loses in this scenario? The artists, because the venue is no longer about them. Or we could change our goals with the intention of replacing funds from entry fees with sales. As our budget stands this year, this would mean selling about $350,000 worth of art. But we are not salespeople; we’re artists and professors, and this is an incredibly high number for a midsized nonprofit to be reaching for in art sales (I would say it is probably very high for 90 percent of the art galleries in the U.S.). This would inevitably mean two things: First, we would need to fire existing staff, eliminate programs, and hire people expert in selling art. Second, it would mean our selection would be done by a process that considers only salability.”

But really, what are the alternatives for artists? To quote Franz again, “We all have to make informed choices, and there is rarely an absolute rule one can apply to all of them.” Rather than deciding to either heartily endorse or vehemently oppose fees, try applying a rigorous strategy to your process. Start by researching the jurors: Based on their own work or the work they generally curate, are they likely to appreciate yours? How about the venue—what do they usually show? If you can find the past participants for a fellowship or residency, check out their websites and see if your work and CV are on a similar level. You can also find out the likely odds by contacting the organization and asking for previous years’ statistics and the number of people who will be accepted in the current round—though you can’t know how many artists will apply this time, you’ll be able to guesstimate whether you’ll be part of an applicant pool of tens or thousands. Set a yearly budget for application fees and stick to it; it will keep you focused on your best chances.

My personal methodology also involves an genuinely cheerful presumption that I won’t get into anything that I apply for. This may sound defeatist to some, but for me it serves two purposes: First, I’m way less disappointed when I get a rejection letter, which is advantageous for my long-term mental health. Second, it compels me to think of my application fee as a donation; when reclassified as a form of support, I consider it more carefully. Do I want my money to go to a well-regarded institution that provides a lot of free public programming and/or high-quality support for artists, or do I want to PayPal a privately funded space that probably doesn’t need my help?

Of course, there are juried exhibitions and other opportunities that don’t involve fees. For example, here in San Francisco, Southern Exposure hosts an annual show that is fee-free and juried by a reputable curator; there are probably similar exhibitions in every major city. There are also countless ways to make opportunities for yourself, from studio visits to pop-up shows to self-funded residencies. Good luck!

*     *     *    

Update, November 17, 2014: After the deadline had passed, I received a response from the director of an arts organization in New York. For various reasons, she asked to remain anonymous; her comments are below:

“For a small nonprofit whose programs are still in its early stages of development (with limited funding resources), it comes down to a choice of either not offering the services/opportunities at all or asking the artists to chip in until more resources can be secured for the program. Securing funding is a sticky situation, as no one will fund a program that does not exist yet, and hence the program has to be successfully running before funders will decide to support it. We are still at that stage where we are trying to court more funders and donors to support us so that these much-needed resources and services for artists can eventually be offered for free.

“As an artist, one should always be wary of opportunities that ask for an application fee. However, there are good opportunities out there that may still be asking for a fee due to financial restraints, and the artists need to research the organization/hosting entity carefully before deciding if the opportunity is appropriate and worth it for them. Understanding the mission of the organization would be a good start, and researching what kind of artists they work with is essential. For example, there is a very fine line between opportunities involving juried exhibitions that seem to be focused on getting a lot of applicants for financial gain, and ones that are truly trying to benefit the artist by providing greater exposure.

“One example that I can give is from a few years ago: I was organizing an open call involving a museum curator as a juror. Although there was only one winner for the open call, the museum curator asked to take the top 10 artist CVs with him when he left. That itself was a very rewarding moment, to know that a museum curator was introduced to the work of the top nine runners-up and liked them enough to want to remember and continue to follow their work.

“I have also been on a review panel where the jurors discussed the progress that a particular artist was making. One of the jurors had reviewed the artist’s work a couple of times before, saw a huge improvement in the work, and made a point of commenting about it during the judging. Basically, endorsing an artist who may not be the best but had great potential. So not all paid application opportunities are a lost cause for artists who don’t get ‘selected’ for a show, fellowship, or residency.

“As a professional artist, your first instinct would be to avoid any opportunities that require payment. However, if there seems to be a good program or opportunity that fits your need, it might be worth chipping in toward a small processing fee since online application-form hosting, administrative labor for downloading, organizing, reviewing applications, following up, and logistical and marketing support, etc., all does add up, even if the cost of the program itself is covered through other funding sources. If the opportunity seems like something the organizers are having the artists foot the bill for the entire exhibition or cost of the opportunity itself, then I would advise against applying to such opportunities (for example, they ask the artists to pay a fee to be included in the exhibition).”

I spent last year applying to residency programs in the U.S. and finally got one. How do I maximize my time there? Obviously I’ll be working hard, but is there anything else I should know or do before I go?

Congratulations! A residency can be a great place to get a lot of work done, experiment in a new setting, meet like-minded people, or even have a creative breakthrough. However, it’s not easy to take time off work and travel to a place where everything is new (and sometimes overwhelming) and still get a lot of artwork made. To answer your question, I turned to artist Christine Wong Yap, who has worked in residence at Montalvo Arts Center and the Tides Institute and Museum of Art, among others. Here’s what she had to say:

Anne Neukamp. Curl, 2013; oil, tempera, and acrylic on canvas; 240 x 190 cm.

“Be prepared. I’m a planner. I like to find out as much as I can in advance about the residency before I go. I like to know what kinds of tools and equipment they have, and what I’ll need to ship. If the residency is in a remote area, or your residency is only a short duration, ship your tools and materials in advance (if the staff don’t mind receiving your packages for you). This can be expensive and stressful, so having particular projects in mind before arriving helps. Remember, the more remote the residency, the longer it’ll take to receive your packages. You might also consider non-art creature comforts. For example, for me, physical activity makes me less grouchy and more energetic, so a yoga mat and sneakers are must-haves.”

“Be flexible. Residencies are great for experimentation. Explore. Recharge. Be open. Anticipate that other residents may have different agendas, working hours, habits, etc. You will probably be pushed out of your comfort zone, for better and for worse. Contribute positively to the residency community with a good attitude, gratitude, and forbearance. Remember that lots of other applicants wish they had the opportunity you do.”

Anne Neukamp. Swerve, 2013; oil, tempera, and acrylic on canvas; 240 x 190 cm.

“Communicate. Talk to the staff, ask questions, and express your needs. They’re usually very interested in accommodating artists and receiving feedback. However, understand that staff have other responsibilities outside and your needs may not be a priority.”

“Engage. If there are other artists in residence, participate in events—you’ll never know what kind of creative collaborations might evolve. Initiate reciprocal studio visits or organize slide slams. If the residency is in a city, let the residency organizers know if you’re interested in connecting with the local community, possibly by presenting your work, having an open studio, being a guest critic, leading art workshops, or attending local art events. I find that the sooner you can do this, the richer your connections and experiences can be.”

“Clear your schedule. If you are able, I recommend letting your employers, coworkers, and clients know that you’ll be offline and unavailable during your residency. The residency program can provide the space, but in this connected age, you have to maintain boundaries to focus your attention in the present.”

“Stay connected. For me, one of the hardest parts of residencies is being away from loved ones. The seclusion can feel like isolation. Communicating with your partner and family about the import of the residency is the first step. Having a strategy for minimizing homesickness is a second step. If the residency is long—over a month—a visit can make a huge difference. Many residencies have policies on partner visits, or how long residents can be absent for travel. At the least, having the technology and a rough schedule to talk or video chat are highly recommended.”

Anne Neukamp. Untitled, 2011; oil and tempera on canvas; 220 x 170 cm.

Of course, there’s no way to be 100% prepared for every situation that arises when you are traveling (let alone traveling for work), but if you can think ahead a bit, it might save you some hassle that would potentially distract you from working. To Christine’s great list, I would add a few pragmatic items:

Pack a few extra clothes. If you’re traveling to an extreme climate, take one article of clothing for the opposite climate; for example, when traveling to the mountains, take one light T-shirt or dress in case there’s a heat wave (or a warm sweater in case of a cold snap). I speak from experience here, having spent a week in Banff, Canada, sweating to death inside sweatshirts and insulated boots during a week of unseasonably warm 80-degree weather. Also, remember to pack one nicer set of togs for dinner at a restaurant or the residency’s Open Studios day.

Do a little research on the location. Next time you are are idly surfing the internet, look at a map of the city you’re traveling to. Where is the post office? Where are the closest grocery and hardware stores? Is there a coffee shop nearby? Orienting yourself in advance can save you some time so that you can hit the ground running.

Get in touch with a previous resident. Chances are decent that a friend of a friend (or maybe someone from your alma mater) attended the same residency. It can often be helpful to send a brief email asking if there’s anything you should know in advance—you never know what you might learn about the general tenor, or the day-to-day realities, of the residency program!

Happy residency, safe travels, and good luck!