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.

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. Shaved Ice, 2012; wooden ladders, mirrors, household fluorescent paint; dimensions variable.

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?

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

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!

I want to start applying for artists’ residencies and I don’t know where to begin. Is there a good place to find a listing of residencies, what are the best ones, and what advice could you give for putting together a stunning application?

Residencies can be an artist’s joy: time and space (and sometimes technical facilities) to make your work, a community of dedicated peers, and stimulating conversation. But beware: they can also be financially- and emotionally-draining environments where a bunch of alcoholic drama queens keep you up all night, every night, for a month, so you need to do some very careful research before you pack your bags.

There are a number of online resources for finding residency programs, from collective listings to the programs’ own sites, so begin with some basic searches. I also suggest that you start semi-local: you might have a better chance of getting in, and you’ll be able to test the waters without having to sublet your apartment and move to another state or country for a few months. Try googling “[your state] artist residency” to see what comes up—my trial search for California returned a ton of opportunities. To find international residencies you can use the same google search with the name of the city or country you’d like to go to, or you can find sites like ResArtis.org and Residency Unlimited that list international residency programs and their deadlines.

Ellen Kooi, Nagele – wachthuis, 2011. Fuji Crystal Archive, Plexiglass, Reynobond, 31 ½ x 72 ½ inches

Which are the best residency programs? Well, that depends on what you’d like to accomplish. If you’re looking for some quiet time away from the pressures of everyday life, then you might prefer a cabin in the woods. If you’re desperate for interaction and dialogue, then you should look for something workshop-based or community oriented. If you’re hoping to crank out a large amount of work in a short amount of time, then you need to find a space that has the facilities you require to complete your project. I suggest you check out this HELP DESK column on finding the right MFA program (scroll down to the second Q&A)—my advice for pinpointing “the best” applies to your question, too. In either case, the bottom line is that you need to be honest with yourself about what’s right for you at this stage of your practice. No single residency program can fulfill every desire, so narrow your list of goals down to one or two and then investigate residency opportunities to find the best match for what you hope to achieve.

Incidentally, a good match will also make a stronger application and you have a better chance of getting in if your goals fit closely with the program’s own mission. Conversely, if you’re a studio painter applying for a residency dedicated to experimental social interaction, you have what my friend Sylvan once dubbed “a rat’s-ass chance in a gator pit” of being accepted, so don’t waste time and energy—and maybe application fees—applying to residencies that don’t correspond to your aims.

Ellen Kooi, Montallese – crossing, 2009. Fuji Crystal Archive, Plexiglass, Reynobond, 23 ½ x 50 inches

A great resource for information on applying to residency programs is Chapter 6 of Art/Work. This section of the book discusses considerations for your own practice vis-à-vis different types of residency programs, and it reviews the basic parts of an application or proposal. It also has quite a few crucial pointers for completing a successful application, such as this one:

“Many programs will tell you what they focus on when evaluating applications. Of all the directions to follow, these are the most important. They’re not as easy to spot because they’re not necessarily written in the form of direct directions but rather as ‘criteria.’ You might see something like this: ‘Artists’ Fellowships are chosen based on the single criterion of work that demonstrates a compelling vision as defined by the assembled panel’s collective opinion.’ Note the words single criterion. They’re telling you up front that there’s only one thing that matters…[t]his program will make a qualitative assessment of your work, period. You therefore need to spend the most time on that part of the application and submit the best-quality images you can.”

Another source for information is Trans Artists, a self-described “knowledge centre on cultural mobility, with a strong focus on artist-in-residence opportunities.” Check out the Artist in Residence page which describes types of programs and residency experience; and the Checklist page, which has information that will help you with your research. Good luck!

I am a recent graduate from a somewhat less than prestigious MFA program. I chose the program because, A. they gave me a good scholarship, and B., because I believe that one’s long-term career is based on the quality of one’s work, not the contacts they made in grad school. However, my program focused very little on writing and I am struggling to figure out how much of a handicap this will be in the future. I consider myself a reasonably competent writer but I really don’t like doing it, especially about my own work. How important is writing to an art practice? Can I expect to be able to get by without writing anything beyond a simple artist’s statement (which is hard enough!)?

I get the sense that many MFA programs don’t put much emphasis on writing, and that’s a shame. In the short term it may make the coursework easier to navigate—after all, many artists find the writing process difficult and justifiably prefer to concentrate on their artwork—but in the end it does these students a disservice because they will mostly likely need some writing skills after graduation. Proficiency can be quickly developed with regular feedback from a professor or mentor, but now that you’re already out of school there are plenty of other resources to help you along the way.

Maarit Suomi-Väänänen, Up And About Again (Jalkeilla Taas), 2009. Still from film (photographer: Jarkko Liikanen)

In truth, the relative importance of writing to your practice depends on what you want to do and whether or not you have money for it. Do you need to find a funder for a large project or a body of work? Do you want to travel to a conference or a workshop that will aid your professional development? Have you considered attending a residency? If you are independently wealthy with no interest in residencies, then you can probably skip the rest of this column and go about your merry way.

However, if you’re like the rest of us and need to find sources of funding for projects, travel, research, and time for intense studio work, then you’ll want to sharpen your writing ability so that you can craft applications that will allow you to buy the materials, tools, and time needed to push your practice to a new level. While I agree that an art career is based mostly on the quality of the work, you also need to be able to explain very clearly why it’s important to fund your artistic development. Remember that there are many talented artists out there, and they will be your competition; when choosing among several worthy candidates, a granting agency will consider many factors, and the ability to express your ideas clearly and persuasively is chief among them. An artist I know who recently sat on a grant panel told me, “In reviewing applications, we quickly narrowed it down to a few shining candidates based on the quality of their images. In the end, however, it was the clarity of the writing that made the final selections possible; and we went with the applicant that was best able to present her project in a way that we could easily understand and visualize.”

Maarit Suomi-Väänänen, In a Musty, Misty Thicket (Pöheikön Hönkä), 2012. Still from film (photographer: Jarkko Liikanen)

I recommend you check out The Artist’s Guide to Grant Writing by Gigi Rosenberg; although the book’s focus is specifically on grants, I think a lot of the information translates to other kinds of applications as well. I had the opportunity to meet Ms. Rosenberg in Portland, Oregon many years ago, and I can attest to her enthusiasm and encouragement in addition to her wealth of knowledge about the grant application process. If you want to get a sense for what she covers in the book, there’s a free PDF on her website that lays out her own path to successful grant writing and includes a few basic tips on navigating the grant application process. Some of her helpful advice includes: “Use the grant-writing process to clarify where you want to go, so that even if one grant application doesn’t succeed, you gain something very valuable—your action plan… Ask for help. Don’t write your applications and assemble work samples in isolation… Research the funder so you match what you want with the needs and interests of the people who sign the checks… Write and rewrite, have conversations, let the application sit, edit, and edit again until you wring out the words that describe the who, what, when, where, why, and how of your project.” All good advice, no matter what kind of application you’re working on. You can also find similar advice here, and some regional arts funders will hold information sessions and application prep workshops in advance of their deadlines, so review funders’ websites carefully to see what assistance they might offer.

Many artists use applications for grants and residencies to keep them on track in their practice. Having to meet multiple deadlines over the course of each year means you’ll be constantly writing about what you’re doing, which has three main benefits: first, a regular writing practice means that you’ll be continuously strengthening your writing skills; second, writing about your work will clarify your ideas and direction; and third, you can often recycle the same language for multiple or successive applications (including for exhibition proposals), meaning that you can refine your words instead of starting from scratch with each new application. Maarit Suomi-Väänänen, a Finnish artist and filmmaker, says, “I don’t have gallery representation, I produce all of my films independently. I’m an application machine; I do them all the time. My work depends on that, so I have to take it seriously. Grant application deadlines keep me writing constantly. I write maybe fifteen or twenty applications a year—grants, distribution, residencies. From post-its and my journal and other notes, I make a mind-map and use that writing to begin a grant application.”

Maarit Suomi-Väänänen, Up And About Again (Jalkeilla Taas), 2009 /Minispectacle Douche (Korpee) 2010. Still from film, (photographer: Jarkko Liikanen)

For any application, you have to do your research and consider the reader. London-based sculptor Briony Clarke says, “I’ve applied for over a hundred grants and had about twenty-five funded. The money has been used for everything from creating a piece of artwork (so, small amounts) all the way to creating large-scale events that have enabled me to bring in other artists. The most important part of writing a grant is being clear about your aims and really finding a way of making it accessible and relevant to the granting institution. For example, for the Arts Council England, you have to have a project that has participatory involvement or engagement, so I would only apply if the work included that. You have to find the right grant to apply for. You also have to be careful that the terminology you use doesn’t alienate the reader. Don’t shoot yourself in the foot by using language that the grant funder can’t relate to.”

There are quite a few compelling reasons to write regularly about your work, but the most important are to define and resolve some of the ideas that drive your practice, and to have a body of writing to draw on when you need to apply for time, space, and materials or equipment that will allow you to develop your work further. Good luck!