Artists in Residence (AiR)

Springing into the Arts Festival Season

2007-04-21T19:11:00.000-07:00

In Columbus, the arts season kicks off with the Unitarian-Universalist Church’s one day Spring Arts Festival.

It’s held inside the church’s enormous circular sanctuary—and other building additions—so weather is no issue. There is a small admission, but it’s (no doubt) going to a good cause. I pay, thank a volunteer, get a list of the artists, and enter.

For artists, this is a “trial run”. They have one day to “jump start” the mind-set of actively selling their wares and seeing whether their “Things to Bring” checklist is complete.

They’ve been working all winter to create new ideas and build their inventories. The Unitarian show is a “first of the season” opportunity to test their marketing strategy. There aren’t the huge crowds that summer brings, and it’s a rather intimate setting where they can talk to potential customers and get some civilized reactions (it’s a church, after all). They can also commune with others of their ilk—fellow artisans.

As you walk into a booth, you notice that the artists take an unusual interest to see which pieces attract your attention, which go unnoticed. Do they have too much inventory on display? If so it might suggest that they are desperate to sell. Too little inventory? That may leave the impression of “exclusivity” and a “limited run,” suggesting that the pieces are too pricey for the customer.

As to the first situation, I once saw a display table so crammed with Jade jewelry that I thought it must be fake or of low quality. As I took the time to look closer, I realized that there were some beautiful pieces in the collection, but they got lost in the clutter.

As to the second, Fong Choo re-designed the booth displaying his miniature teapots. He features different designs of the pots, each in a lighted recess in a series of neutral “wall panels.” It works! Each design is highlighted and it leaves the impression that his work is special and unique. And actually Fong’s failure rate for pieces is so high that the pieces that survive are “select.”

For me, the Unitarian art show is a chance to polish off my “boilerplate.” But even before I get to that, I raise the question “How’re sales?”

I quickly need to dispel the notion that I’m there to buy. I used to start off with “I shoot artists for a living. and I wonder whether . . . .” This year that may not be the best approach, given Home Land Security and the recent events at Virginia Tech.

I might try “I produce the Artists in Residence video series and . . . .” which would probably get me in less trouble.

The Unitarian event gives me the opportunity to try, yet again, to persuade the woman who makes the incredible batiks; and the guy who creates the intricately inlaid wood boxes, to allow me to shoot them. Year after year goes by and both continually refuse. Camera-shy.

And I get the chance to re-new contact with Jane and Jeff. Sometimes Tom and Gary and others in this close knit fraternity of folks who have taken the unlikely decision to make their livings by using their wits, their skill, and their creativity.

Hopefully this year, I’ll get a chance to meet some new converts to this unique life style.

Happy Spring, Chris

How I met Blair Davis

2007-04-16T20:18:00.000-07:00

As a preface to this posting—and as an explanation for the following story—unlike most of the artists in the AiR series whom I met through arts festivals—I never would have met Blair in such a venue. And, as it turns out, this posting has little to do with Blair (a subject I will return to in future postings), but much to do with capturing and appreciating art when you least expect it.

My brother and I had taken our kids to the playground at nearby Whetstone Park on a Sunday morning. As the kids frolicked in the summer’s warmth, we gradually became aware of a sound coming from deep within the park. I remember commenting on it, but because of a freeway off in the same general direction, we wrote it off as semis and other traffic.

The next Sunday found my son (Hyun, 4 at the time) and I back at the playground. And there was that sound again.

The more we listened, the more it seemed to have a pattern to it. But, it was one of those nagging things that seems to have a reason behind it, but the more you think on it, the less sense it makes. I decided to ignore it, but my son became mesmerized. He had to find out what that sound was. We began walking.

We had walked a good quarter mile when it became apparent that the reverberations did have reason and purpose and were coming from a rustic, WPA-era stone picnic shelter. Syncopated drum rhythms were bouncing off the underside of the roof and rolling out across the park and into the ears of anyone who had a brain wave.

There, inside the shelter, sat a circle of men facing each other, following the lead of a bent-over figure wearing traditional African dress; an ornate cane propped beside him. This was Tony West: the founder and patriarch of a locally famous traditional African dance company. Beside him, a tall, slim fellow with a bandana tied around his head: Blair.

The others represented a range of ages, racial, and ethnic backgrounds and motivations. The only common feature was an obvious devotion to drumming.

As I found out later, one fellow had bought his drum at T.J. Maxx, another had purchased “father and son” drums to inculcate their “Roots” heritage, a Latino man showed up regularly simply to enjoy the clash of cultures that his unique drumming style introduced. Someone else was beating on an empty 5 gallon paint bucket. Another was working on a cow bell. Blair had turned his drum to his on specifications—not a surprise.

Whatever the motivation, there was among this voluntary group an intensity, a common respect, and a spiritual element to what they were doing.

As the summer progressed (and my son insisted that we were at Whetstone every Sunday) West’s devotees would gather at about ten o’clock. This was the “fun time” with lots of telling of tales, playing around, and a general “warming up” period. It was about 11 that Tony would show up, hobble over to the shelter, and demand the full attention of the group.

Okay, “Gho-Gho-- Ghe—Gho--Gha-Gha-Gha. Gho-Gho- -Ghe--Gho--Gha-Gha-Gha”

The group would play in unison, until Tony would indicate that some members continue this rhythm.

Then he would introduce other members to a different “counter-point” to the first rhythm. This would continue until four or five different complementary drumming patterns had been established. All the time, Tony pointed at one man or another, encouraging them to “get with the program” demonstrating what they were missing.

Tony’s hand-waving would continue, indicating “ up the pace,” “play louder!”

The pace would quicken, the volume increase, until Tony found the simultaneous cacophony and synchronicity satisfactory and would go into a staccato machinegun series of beats which would lead suddenly to the whole ensemble coming to a resonant and instantaneous halt.

Upon that sudden silence, laughter and self-congratulations would erupt, with a lot of backslapping, and joking: a scene of heartfelt camaraderie.

Then would come a tirade from Tony at one member or another—struggling to get to his feet, balanced on the cane, and working his way over to the offender and getting in his face over one issue or another. “Didn’t I tell you to play “Gho-Gho-- Ghe—Gho--Gha-Gha-Gha. Gho-Gho- -Ghe--Gho--Gha-Gha-Gha”?

I guess you had to be there. Sorry if I couldn’t capture it for you,

Chris

Susan Corbett: figures from flames

2007-04-15T11:57:00.000-07:00

Like so many of the artists I select for the AiR series, I not only liked Susan’s work—the range and diversity—but the enthusiasm she exuded about her art.

I met her at a local arts festival and we talked. She seemed interested in demonstrating her craft, but as in so many video demonstrations that I’ve done, talking about it, and doing it are two very different things.

I showed up at Susan’s studio (kind of carved out of a former garage (as many of my subjects work from)) and at the sight of the camera, Susan started having second thoughts (ie, she froze).

I assured her that I was here to document her craft, not her, but that did little to dispel her fears.

Finally, I asked her to set up the space where she’d be working: she lit the flame. I set up the camera to an extreme close-up of the flame. She “checked it out,” approved, and you see what I captured.

You’ll note that I don’t pan to her face until she’s well involved in constructing the pieces.

View a clip of Susan working on YouTube at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sDuOFCk-FYE

Ron Dahline: reflections in Mud

2007-04-15T11:53:00.000-07:00

Wandering out behind the Cedar Keyhole Co-op Gallery in Cedar Key, Florida, in the early 2000’s, you would have found this guy constructing “in your face” coffee mugs. And if you took the time (and who does these days?) and watched him work, you would have discovered just how lovingly and painstakingly, one after the other and each with its own personality, Ron created his masterpieces—in a literal “tin shed.”

I found him; and I’m not the only one. Linda K. wrote that she knew exactly who I spoke of when she discovered “reflections in Mud.” It had to be Ron.

Well, Ron and I fell to talking—both of us having been born in Minnesota, we swapped stories. He was an interesting character; only that.

The next year (almost to the day) I again find myself in Cedar Key, but this time with a brand spanking new Digital Video camera. What to shoot? I wandered down the “main drag” (which ain’t much in Cedar Key) only to again find myself at the Cedar Keyhole Co-op. And who hasn’t moved one iota in the last year? Ron. Still intent, still diligently turning out one-by-one, his incredible face mugs. I asked if I could “shoot” him at work.

I turned up the next day and he was far more prepared than I. He had a piece to "throw off the hump." He had a piece “leather dry” to demonstrate the various stages and techniques involved in creating his clay personalities.

It was I who had failed to pack a tripod and had to resort to shooting from a desk chair, or pressing myself into a doorway to gain stability for the close-up shots. But I think it’s inspired work—on both our parts—and Ron’s tape continues to stand as an inspiration for all the AiR titles that followed.

1) Listen intently to what the artist is saying.

2) Watch closely what is being demonstrated, and

3) Keep my mouth shut.

BTW, if you listen carefully you can hear the Mulberry tree gently brush the roof of Ron's "studio" behind the Cedar Keyhole Coop Gallery in Cedar Key, Florida. 50 min. $25.00 US

Check out the Ceramics Monthly review of Reflections in Mud

High School reviews of "reflections in Mud" have included these comments:

"******!! High performance ceramics blows High-school clay world away! Highly innovative and archetypal. Watch[ed] twice" Ben B., student

reflections in Mud "should be used as a curriculum tool because it displays creative thinking as well as technique" Tricia A., student teacher

Welcome! Curious about the Arts?

2007-04-14T18:01:00.000-07:00

Hi, and Welcome to the first in a series of blogs concerning the Artists in Residence (AiR) video series: the video library of the arts (currently 35 titles).

After this rather exhaustive background on how the series began and and how it developed (I won't mind if you skip through this initial posting) I plan on going in depth on the story behind each title. ie since AiR titles are intended to present viewers with a "behind the scenes" look at "arts in creation," this blog will explore what went into creating the videos: the story behind the story.

In addition, I hope to explore the problems of starting a small business (something I have some experience with), and the experiences of the artists I've worked with. I hate to say it, but several of the award-winning artists I shot for the series moved on to other careers. Others who showed interest in being shot gave up their dreams.

The Arts are dynamic, and require creativity and imagination; but they also demand resolve, determination, a "stubborn streak," and a fair amount of luck. I hope you enjoy my postings and hope that they help to de-mystify and enlighten you to notions of what it takes to "make art."

Hope you enjoy, and thanks to all who are "curious about the arts,"

Chris

A Chronology of the Development

of the Artist in Residence (AiR) video series

“Hi, I’m Chris Anderson and I shoot artists for a living.” Well, that’s a bit of a lie. I never actually made a living trying to get the Artists in Residence video series up and running, but I kept saying it, hoping it would come true.

In any case, I always loved delivering the line. Whether to an artist sweltering in his or her “booth” surrounded by works of art that weren’t selling—mulling over having to pack up all the stuff they hadn’t sold, and the long drive back to wherever it was that they lived—or to the corporate executive with whom I’d finally made phone contact. It was that essential part of my spiel that got the listener’s attention

During Spring Break 2001, I had my first opportunity to “shoot” an artist; the potter, Ron Dahline, in his “studio” behind the Cedar Keyhole artists Coop in Cedar Key, Florida. I had found him the day before in the same spot, doing the same thing that he’d been doing a year before when we’d visited Cedar Key--a lovely "island" on the Gulf Coast of Florida, due east of Gainesville. Both being originally from Minnesota we’d struck up a conversation—or as much of a conversation as anyone from Minnesota can strike up. With my new DV camera in hand, I’d asked if I could shoot him making one of his “in your face” (we’re talking ghoulish) coffee mugs. He’d said “sure, how ‘bout tomorrow.”

As it happened, I had not brought a tripod and the entire tape was hand-held. At the time—although I was entranced by what unfolded through the viewfinder—the lack of the tripod was a huge inconvenience, however, if forced me to focus on Ron’s work (and hands) and kept me “out of the picture:” editorial elements that became major features of the AiR series. I also took a risk and zoomed in extremely close to the work he was doing—a challenge when you’re shooting hand-held. The farther you are from the subject and the closer you zoom, the greater the chance the image will shake.

To see a clip of Ron's title on YouTube check out:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WQcbcl0lof0

The result was stunning. I gave an unedited copy to Ron and he commented that he’d never had the opportunity to see himself work.

This struck a chord. If artists didn’t get the chance to watch themselves work (and Ron had been a potter for some 20 years), how about the rest of us? We see the products of artistic creativity, but not the processes: the problem-solving that goes into the creative process. How many of us—non-artists—ever get an invitation to an artists studio? During a stopover in Atlanta to visit my cousin, Mark Knutsen, he watched Ron's tape and saw business opportunities. On the 1,000 mile drive back home from Florida, the concept for AiR was born.

Susan Wyngaard, Head of OSU/Wexner Fine Arts Library has since written,

The AiR tapes are special because you make it possible for the viewer to share in conversation with the artists. Artists look directly into the camera and speak with the viewer about their artwork—their inspirations, their vision, their challenges, and their joy. In addition, the viewer has the opportunity to observe the artists at work, and observe specific techniques at a close range. Unlike other videotapes about artists, your videotapes provide an experience with the artist.

You have taken advantage of the medium (video) to demonstrate that artists are ordinary people who have learned to take chances. Beyond showing how it is done, the tapes show that it can be done. The experience of being with the artist encourages the viewer to release the artist within.

The next months were spent building up enough titles that I could legitimately call AiR a video “library of the arts.”

I shot Paul Volker: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Fv8sNsmv44

Dawson Kellogg: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ogtp5xDx1vU

Eric Marlow: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=04dwqUjW6ac

And Tom Bland: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=getTRaGVJfk

In June of 2001 The Columbus Dispatch did a nice piece on the AiR series (then, only 7 titles) that included quotes from some of the participating artists and local librarians. One of the artists, Paul Volker, donated the design for a website and I purchased the domain name of ArtinRes.com. (I did the "interview" for the Dispatch piece on an off-ramp on the way to Dayton to shoot Dave Brand).

Artists were eager to participate given the exposure that might come of involvement. But I realized that they would only participate if I aggressively marketed the series. I began visiting art fairs and recruiting local artists for the series, those whose work I admired.

An important decision came with the realization that few individuals would want to purchase the titles—maybe a few collectors, but how would I reach them? I decided to offer the titles to the artists—at cost—and leave that market to them. I wanted to build a full-blown “video library.” Clearly schools and libraries should be the primary market for AiR titles. Without realizing it, this became a further enticement to the artists to participate. Rather than exploiting them for merely financial gain, I was giving exposure to their love and craft for an educational purpose.

I began submitting tapes to VideoLibrarian, School Library Journal and Library Journal, major national publications that review books and other media purchased by schools and libraries. All three reviewed one or more titles. Most referred to AiR’s “low production values,” but also referred to AiR as being mine.

“Parks and Hill are two of some two dozen artists profiled in Christopher Anderson’s series-in-progress on artists in their mediums.”

Great Press, for the series and for me. And I wasn’t even in the tapes. Good reviews and direct-mail catalogs (with less than a 1% response rate) eventually led to sales to more than 70 schools and libraries across the country, in Canada (a country known for arts support), and Puerto Rico.

To minimize costs (outsourcing of video duplication is costly) I purchased 5 VCR’s for duplication. I also designed cover art that I could cheaply color copy and trim to fit VHS boxes. My price point of $25.00 seemed quite reasonable for my market and my cost/unit was approximately $5.00 excluding time and wear and tear (an issue that came back to haunt me). Of course that didn't take into account the costs of travel, the expense of equipment (my $1,500 original camera finally failed, leading me to buy a $4,000 dollar camera and a $500. wireless mic system).

Then came 9/11.

I actually shot an AiR title on 9/11 (Justin Telhet).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hzdybxWwDX8

One result of the September tragedy was the formation of the “Back on Track America” (BoTA) campaign by Jane Applegate (SBTV)—an effort sponsored by Amtrak, the SBA, and others to assist small businesses affected. BoTA offered a coast-to-coast series of motivational sessions that brought together government, businesses, and small business experts and consultants. As part of this effort a national contest was organized offering a “Small Business Makeover” as the prize. I submitted a proposal, won, and was shipped off to Washington DC (for less than 24 hours) to be “honored.”

As a result I got “90 minute consultations” with Jane, Cliff Ennico (co-host of PBS’ Money Hunt and author of the syndicated column “Success in Small Business”); Nancy Michaels, President of Impression Impact; and Susan Solovic, a small business consultant. Each kept me busy with coming up with boilerplate, putting together proposal packages, and reviewing my “Release Agreement” with artists. I ghost-wrote a piece for Cliff’s “nationally syndicated” column in which I “interviewed myself” about the BoTA experience. It was picked up by the Dispatch (this time I got my picture in the paper (“local boy does good”)).

The trip to DC was exciting, although I had just grabbed a pair of "formal shoes" prior to leaving and found that they were too tight. If you ever have the opportunity to go to DC, bring "sensible shoes;" you're going to do a lot of walking, if you want to see the sights!

During the next summer Ceramics Monthly agreed to review all of AiR’s pottery titles.

And I had the opportunity to shoot a communal wood firing at Steve Smith's studio:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ISL3JkfQdT0

It was also at this time that I was introduced to the SBA’s free online service (SCORE) that allows entrepreneurs to select from a large number of small business experts and submit questions. One of these counselors was Ed Zimmer who I began working with and continues to be a great motivator and counselor (he spent one entire Christmas Break teaching me HTML so that I could completely re-design and update the ArtinRes website, all via e-mail). Ed established TenonLine.org

I became acquainted with a number of SCORE counselors across the country and with each response (I had a stock, open-ended “introduction” to AiR in order to solicit suggestions) the idea of “going big” kept getting repeated. The idea was to “get under the wing” of a large sponsor that could benefit from an association with the arts (through the series) and allow me to get back to the business of “shooting those pesky artists.”

It was beginning to hit me. Here I was, one guy with a camera, working long hours (14-16 hour days) at the computer in my dining room, but the series was getting national attention for my efforts. Within a year of shooting Ron’s tape, my name had been linked with AiR in local and national publications and eventually in an international publication (kerameiki techni: the International Ceramic Art Review—“We write with great interest of your Artists in Residence series”), I was in contact with experts with national reputations (the former head of a major movie studio, Emmy-winning documentary filmmakers, a poor fellow you spent decades documenting some obscure pottery technique, and He had had to pay techni for advertising space, and they had reviewed three AiR titles for free? “How’s that?”).

The worst part was that I was being solicited to “come down to (fill in the blank). There’s a huge thriving arts community down here. You could shoot four or five of us in a week.” I didn’t have the money.

Initially, I felt that the “public service” that AiR was accomplishing would be compelling enough. What large corporation wouldn’t see the benefit of supporting the building of a huge national archive of regional artists?

Anyone with any sense of corporate and community responsibility would see such an effort as being up there with “mom and apple pie.” As it turns out, any kind of “archive” is looked at by corporate America as a huge albatross that simply becomes a money pit. It has to be organized, continually administered, there are issues of new and evolving technologies (there was still no one standard for DVD technology), and they are very costly to maintain.

I had to have “bait.”

Why not offer the AiR tapes themselves as a promotional venue?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TnsjJM4uh0g

At this time there was a growing stink about vendors (Coke, Pepsi, and junk food manufacturers) exploiting kids in schools. Vendors were being called to task for luring school systems into agreements for setting up their vending machines in schools in exchange for band and team uniforms, and other perks. The school systems were making out like bandits, but the kids were suffering from rotten teeth and getting fat, to boot.

Initially I contacted a local Pepsi distributor—through a close family friend—with the proposition that they buy hundreds of AiR tapes (at $25.00/tape), I’d add a promotional trailer to the tape, and Pepsi could donate the tapes to schools and generate “goodwill.”

This at a time when schools arts programs were being cut back all over the country due to budget cuts: a genuine win-win-win situation for all, I thought: I’d sell tapes, Pepsi would get good press, and the schools could augment their arts programs for free.

I must have waited 6 months for Pepsi’s reply, and it never came (in addition to the wasted cost of having supplied them with the entire Air cataloge of titles). The added irony was that the family that owned the distributorship (one of the largest in the country) was known as “a generous supporter of the arts.”

Failing to get a response, I approached Kraft Foods with the same proposal. “In the area of arts and culture, our funding is rather limited geographically due to budget restrictions. In addition, to our headquarter community of Chicago, our support is targeted to communities where there is a Kraft facility. We look for programs that are multi-disciplinary, with an emphasis on integrating the arts into public school curricula, and that impact an entire school district rather than a single school.”

Wasn’t that what I was offering them? I had suggested donating tapes to school systems, not just one or two. The geographical limitation was their decision, and I had pointed out that the tapes were already being incorporated into arts curriculum. The letter ended with “I’m sorry that we’re unable to partner with you on this excellent program, but I’d like to extend our best wishes for your continued success.”

It was signed by the Director of Corporate Contributions. Ed was right. As a small company, I could “turn on a dime” when it came to flexibility, but large corporations were “battleships” that took a long time to analyze situations and tended to go with their gut instinct: in this case, arts equals contributions, not a marketing/advertising opportunity.

I wasn’t asking for money. My intention was in selling them a vehicle for their advertising department. I had spelled out, in dollars and cents, how many schools (and students) they could reach with the simple purchase and donation of several tapes ($50.00) that included a promotional trailer touting their products—and the guarantee of their “advertising message” being viewed by a captive audience of students (their major advertising demographic) in art classes! Ie, sending the message that “Kraft supports the arts and think it’s important that kids have access to them.”

I went over to the “other side.” California had recently put through legislation to ensure that kids had access to “healthy alternatives” in those self-same vending machines. California was going to transition from Coke to milk and Nestle was pushing the effort. What better way to introduce a “healthy alternative product line” to school systems than to lead off with a “generous contribution” of a couple of AiR titles (again, $50.00/ school for a tape that would be viewed by hundreds of kids a year until the tape broke)? I approached Nestle. Same response.

I approached the “Got Milk?” folks.

“Got Art?” I asked.

In each case, I got the same response. Each corporation that I approached seemed to be saying, “Chris, the project is really wonderful, but go try to foist it off on someone else.”

This, at the same time that schools and libraries were forking out tight dollars to buy the tapes from me.

My morale was beginning to sink. On the one hand, I’d gotten pretty proficient at discovering the e-mail addresses of lofty executives, hidden away on corporate websites.

On the other hand, this simply meant that the rejections didn’t take quite as long to come back.

Ed kept encouraging me, suggesting that I keep in touch with the executive’s secretaries (those whose job it was to give me “the bad news”). I would often carry on correspondence with them several times before the ultimate rejection came. Maybe someone would have a change of heart.

Then the VCR’s began to break down. A tape containing a “clean” recording and one containing a “messed up” recording look exactly the same. Unless you sit down and watch it all the way through, there’s no guarantee that what you’re sending out to “paying customers” is high quality.

And while it’s common sense—it takes an hour to record an hour-long tape—it also takes an hour to watch an hour-long tape and I was recording 5 tapes at a time—I didn’t have to time to sit and review each and every tape that went out. I was knowingly sending out a faulty product. I had also made the investment in a new $4000.00 video camera: “state of the art.” What I was shooting was top notch, but there was no guarantee that my customers were going to be able to watch it.

And then “it” happened. “It” was being approached by a textbook salesperson. Throughout this ordeal I’d been teaching, and trying to make a living, as an adjunct faculty member at Columbus State Community College. The salesperson was wanting to know if I’d like to look over their textbook offerings for the teaching of my English classes.

A light went off.

I immediately searched the web for publishers of college Art textbooks. McGraw-Hill Higher Education was at the top of the list. And better, the e-mail address of their exec. in charge of textbook development was right there. M-H seemed to be a progressive company that actively solicited new ideas. And they jumped on AiR: “loved it.” AiR was to become their video content provider, or so we all believed.

Having a text is no longer enough. If you want to sell your text you have to add value (interactive web-sites, CD-ROMs, anything) that will distinguish your product from the competition. And even college Art History texts are not exempt. I sent them off some tapes (overnight mail) and I had my first-ever multi-party phone conference.

“Sorry we had to postpone the call. We got so caught up in the Dawson’s tape we couldn’t stop watching. What you’ve got here is great.”

As a result I put together two "AiR samplers;" one they requested:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RdvjGaGxOiM

and another that I produced:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IXT8_paDlRU

Six months later, after drawing up a proposal and providing several compilation DVD’s of AiR artists talking about their craft to be shown in the M-H booth at a major college arts conference, I got the e-mail. Just before Christmas. Future sales were expected to be flat and all new marketing programs were to be cut out of the budget. “I’m really very, deeply sorry, Chris” wrote the woman who had steered me through the process, offering insights and suggestions.

I can go on about the forays into non-profit status, or the “middle-men” services that allow a “for-profit” company to accept donations (for a fee); or the drop-off in sales as the economy tanked. I talked to folks at the Library of Congress and the Smithsonian Institution. Spoke with award-winning documentary filmmakers and even the recipient of an Emmy. But eventually I couldn’t even afford to keep up payment on the website. I pulled the plug on AiR, ignored the handful of orders, and pulled down the website.

Then, last September, I started to hear about YouTube: this crazy site where anyone could upload clips and the world became your audience. On a whim, I uploaded the AiR trailer. It still looked pretty good. A couple of days later, a few folks had stumbled across it. Then someone rated it “awesome.”

I uploaded a few more clips (10 minute snippets of the hour long titles) and now I was getting comments, and subscribers. AiR may have been “dead” (no website, no duplication equipment) but the content was still there and I had lots, with 35 finished titles and lots of titles “in the can.”

It’s been heartening to “resuscitate” the series: get some life back into it. And I want to see where it will go. I’m not making any money from this, but maybe there is hope after all. These days I’m being philosophical about the past. Maybe the series and it’s concepts were simply before their time. Maybe a streaming “video-on-demand” model is the way to go.

In any case, the AiR series is getting far more exposure than ever before. More than 28,000 folks have taken the time to view them and 60+ have chosen to subscribe. Sometimes it’s their only subscription.

In any case, I’d be honored to have your involvement, your creativity and enlightenment in this endeavor.

Sincerely, Chris Anderson

Artists in Residence

www.ArtinRes.com

PS, I wrote this about 6 month's ago. Since then AiR hits have hit 103,000 and are growing by nearly a thousand a day, with 200 subscribers.

Thanks,

Chris