Category: WorkCategory: Work

In our recent “Why Every Artist Needs a Website” group call, someone asked about including your credentials (like a Phd.) on your site.

Someone with a Phd. chimed in with a bit of caution, basically saying that if you have a professional license and malpractice insurance, talk to your agent before putting your credentials on a website that isn’t directly related to your practice.

Like, include your credentials on your psychology practice website, sure. But you’d probably want to talk to your insurer before putting it on your life coach website.

This is definitely a case of “talk to a professional” when dealing with the nuances of your particular field of work.

Well, this was a bit of sunshine in my inbox recently, from photographer Gritchelle Fallesgon:

“I recently attended a Zoom gathering where singer and artist Nikki Lerner said, “Stop hoarding your creativity.” Those words really hit home and nudged me to get this out of my drafts and into your inbox.”

I set up that Zoom gathering, with two lovely people who happened to form choirs, a wonderful display of not hoarding your creativity, for sure!

But as Gritchelle mentions, this also goes for sending out a newsletter that’s been sitting in drafts for awhile, too! People signed up for your email list, and you’ve been doing cool stuff – so don’t hoard that creativity from the people who most likely want to know about it!

Meg Lewis recently posted “The Grown-Up’s Guide to Growing Down,” a permission slip to skip acting our age:

“The way out is to tap into humanity, love, joy, curiosity, and play. Just like we were all born to do. The adults want us to think doing this is nonsensical and ‘childish’. But ‘childish’ is a term created to keep us alienated from what we were all supposed to be this whole time.”

Grown ups say we need to be on every social media platform, save 10% using the code BORING for our lame Square Space site, sand off all the corners of our personality, and definitely listen to what everyone says on YouTube.

Instead, we can just never log into LinkedIn again.
We can stop playing venues that serve alcohol.
Stop chasing book publishers or record labels.

We can make the things we want, the way we wanna make ’em.

So hey, sign up to hang out with Meg and I on Thursday’s Escape Pod Zoom call, and hear how Meg is navigating her own Candy Land world and soak up the inspiration from her and others living how they wanna live!

ESCAPE POD #118 W/ SPECIAL GUEST MEG LEWIS
Thursday, May 7th at 2:00pm EST
Replay available if you sign up.
Register for the Zoom call here: https://luma.com/jzdkvpp2

This came up in yesterday’s Break Up 💔 With Social Media call.

“I’ve had (group) calls with one other person… “but I have all these thousands of subscribers, this should be bigger,” I’ll think… but that one conversation might be the seed of something you post two months later that turns into something else.”

If four people show up for your Live stream, or 10 people read your newsletter, be present in the moment and realize you’re still building even when it doesn’t look it. I know it’s hard because I’ve been there, but we can’t always hit home runs every time we step up to the plate.

Come to our next Let’s Break Up 💔 With Social Media call with Chuck Marshall, where he’ll be talking about Why Every Artist Needs a Website.

I wrote this back around the time my dad, a life long musician, passed away a few years ago.

The biggest lie is we have to make our entire living on the sale of our art, or else we’re just no-talent wannabes.

So many artists fall for this, feeling like 100 views isn’t enough, and they stop because “no one cares.”

I wake up thinking about the artists, poets, writers, and musicians we’ve lost because they couldn’t keep up with the “hitting it big” rat race of social media.

Somehow, 10,000 views aren’t enough because you really need 100,000. Having 12 people at a show on a Tuesday night is a waste of time. No one buys your art because you’re not making enough Reels.

It’s lies, it’s all bullshit.

Recently, a friend walked me around her apartment, showing me art left to her by a dear friend who had passed away. Just time together, picking up pieces, pointing out tiny details, and sharing the stories of each item.

I didn’t ask how many followers they had, or if they were a full-time artist. In the end, literally – when we pass away – no one will give a damn.