How to sell you artwork online and teaming up with Crusade for Art and Jennifer Schwartz

From the trenches of producing and collecting art, comes Jennifer Schwartz and her Crusade for Art.  Schwartz has made an indelible impact on helping emerging artists and collectors connect over photography. I am so pleased to be joining the team of crusaders! Here is my first blog post on how to sell your artwork and photography online. You can post questions on the blog or tweet me at @s63_zen.


http://www.crusadeforart.org/blog/online-art-selling

Dear Mother and Daddy- The beginning of my process

Here is a photo of my first official provenance research project performed in 1986, but what I found more interesting was the note with it.

Now here is the start of my process. I take an image and study it, rearrange the objects, and compose again. There is no set time for this. If I choose this image again, it may look much the same or entirely different. Yet, before I arrive at that decision, there is the handwriting, the old Apple font behind it, and repetition of the squares; who is this note to and why the words are significant? There is an entire story behind these papers. A record of my history, the date of the note, and the sentiment all communicate simultaneously. Because I want to have these multiple meanings and layers for viewers to experience, I want to give all the separate pieces of the objects space. In a few weeks, I will post another version of this image, which I have not pre-visualized. So, here I admit, I do not know what it will look like.

About the image: In 1986, I wrote a research paper on a piece of historic art, which belonged to my mother. I was 12 years old. The actual paper, written on an old Apple computer having limited fonts, sets the background with the handwritten note by my mother. My grandparents were art dealers and provenance research was a daily ritual, which I was fortunate to experience. For my first twenty six years, I regularly visited my grandparents in Center City, Philadelphia, until my mother passed away in 1996. And then, the date, October 20th: she wrote this ten years to the day she passed away.

Special notes reminds us

Pois                                               Sarah Brown, 2013

Robert Pois was not just any history professort; historians face a dichotomy of knowing and understanding for the human race that is both rewarding and a heavy burden; they carry our collective memory. He made sure you left his courses critically thinking, despite his topics and advanced scholarship on World War I. One summer day I visited him at his home. The visit was one of many, but this particular time he inscribed his book he wrote on WWI and gave me a copy of Waiting for Godot; maybe he was telling me not to wait?  On the day of my graduation, I remember how we were laughing and trying to pose for the photograph outside the history department building. I gave someone one of those old disposable film cameras. He has long been a person of encouragement, and this framed portrait of us sits on my work desk. Pois passed away in March of 2004. 

Thou Mayest, the inscriptions I have kept

Intimate notes inscribed on the inside of books are my new addition to my handwritten note series. I know I had titled the series Graphi, but am now realizing that as the body of work is "evolving," I must recognize that I still need to keep a list of possibilities. This list is also a resource at other times for some inspiration when I want to photograph or draw, but need some ideas to get started.

Thou Mayest                                            Sarah Brown, 2014

Many years ago, my childhood friend, Courtney, gave me this paperback of East of Eden. She was my dearest and closest confident for many years; she stayed with me for the initial weeks after my mother's death; she showed me the beauty of Sharpies; she had the best handwriting.  Her sentiment of Thou Mayest tells me of her unconditional love for me, and I am reminded that my friends from childhood are some of my most precious treasures. They know me.