Lately I've considered opening a shop on Etsy, the online marketplace for every imaginable handmade item. Not only to I believe in the business model, Etsy seems like a lot of fun and has the potential to get more of my images out into the world.

Since many photographers (myself included) would not immediately think of selling photos on what is essentially an indie craft site, I spent some time digging up success stories to share.

Alicia Bock's photos have made cameo appearances on Grey's Anatomy and the set of the Sex and the City movie. An entirely self-taught photographer, Alicia operates a shop on Etsy, where she has sold over 3,000 pieces.

I caught up with Alicia recently to ask her a few questions, and here's what she had to say:

W+I: When did you first start making photographs?

AB: I can't remember not having a camera with me. Even early in elementary school I was always taking too many pictures of my friends. But I started selling my photographs 5 years ago.

W+I: Your prints are beautiful.  Would you mind telling us a little bit your process for making the photos and final prints?

AB: There is no good answer for this. I am a wanderer, and easily bored, so I have to work quick before my next idea takes me away. I like to use as many different cameras as I can get my hands on. I use photoshop for my processing. I rarely ever have a plan of how I want a photograph to turn out. ... usually there is a bit of chaos around me, as I also stay home with my 2 children and they are always running through my studio. My kids help me limit my time at the computer and keep the camera in my hands. For my finished product, I either make prints myself on my Epson Pro printers. Or, I have them professionally printed by a pro lab. It depends on the picture/subject. I test each photo on several papers to see how I like it best. I don't think there is one best paper for all photographs. (Or if there is, I haven't found it yet.)

W+I: You've gotten a lot of good exposure for your work: Grey's Anatomy, Sex and the City, a few well-known magazines.  How did you go about making these connections and what advice would you give to other self-taught photographers looking to get their work out there?

AB: I have been really lucky and in all cases the set directors and/or writers have all approached me or just bought from my website. I think the most important thing is to keep yourself visible and your websites updated with new material. You never know who is browsing your sites or reading your blog.

W+I: Along those lines, what's the biggest mistake you feel you've made (and hence learned from)?

AB: I bought a lot of expensive equipment right away that I really don't use much. (Especially my art show set up). I quickly learned that shows are really hard on my little family. I've cut back a lot, and we are much happier. But I still feel awful when I see my display sitting here. I am now a big fan of renting and borrowing before I buy anything for my business.

W+I: What inspired you to open an Etsy shop for your photos?

AB: I always think "why not?" I am up for trying pretty much anything, and believe in selling in as many different venues as I can maintain. So, I never questioned setting up the shop. It was inexpensive and easy. And, I am happy how it has grown over the years.

W+I: What have you learned during the time you've had your shop, and what advice do you have for folks who are thinking of starting to sell prints on Etsy?

AB: Etsy has changed a lot since I started 3 years ago. There were very few photographers back then. Now it is much more competitive in all areas. So, I think it is very important to spend as much time promoting your shop as you do creating. I work harder now than I ever did at my 9-5 office jobs, but I love every minute of it.

For more about Alicia, visit her Etsy shop, website, or blog.

All images in this post copyright Alicia Bock.

As most people in the developed world must have heard by now, I've been enjoying film photography a lot lately. Specifically, I've been shooting expired 110 cartridge film. I am proud of my digital work, but at the same time the past couple years have made me realize I cannot abandon film for digital.

Lately I've been disappointed to see my photos languishing on my hard drive, and I haven't been feeling good about the change in “darkroom” environments, either. The darkroom easily ranked as my favorite place to work in college. I loved it for the solitude, the dark, the running water, the everyday magic of images conjured from silver and paper. Sitting in front of a computer screen offers no such meditative experience.

After giving it some thought and buying an ancient SLR on eBay, I am determined to bring black and white photography back into my life. Some Googling uncovered a public darkroom within walking distance of our house, but a conversation with the folks at the camera shop down the street taught me the place closed down in 2001. Baltimore now has no public darkroom space, which I find sad given all my praises of the city's amenities.

The lack of ready darkroom availability discourages me. However, if I'm going to keep experimenting, I need to shoot film. The tactile nature of the process is integral to continued discovery and critique. Hopefully enough photographers feel the same way that this won't become a lost art in coming years.

So the public darkroom is long gone and I'm not even close to being in school. What to do? Well, I'm going to build a darkroom in my basement. Honestly, it can't be that hard, can it? I already have a promising spare closet down there, and turning the basement into a photo work space was already in the plans. That I could get all the start-up supplies I need for a couple hundred dollars doesn't hurt, either, especially considering the price of negative scanning these days.

The more I think about it, the more a home darkroom seems like both a luxury and the most financially viable option I have to shoot film. I'm excited to see where this goes, and if any of my friends take sudden interest in sharing the space with me. Just because it's a little messier and a little less convenient doesn't mean we need to – or even should – give up the darkroom. Surely, there have to be be some sympathizers out there, and I'm determined to find them in coming months.

Darkroom photo via Kutztown University Fine Arts Department.

Last Friday I had the opportunity to attend Big Art Day, an annual event at Kutztown University that connects fine arts alumni with current and prospective students. As a recent graduate doing marginally cool things and eager to reconnect with my professors, I broke out of my reclusive shell and made the trip up to central Pennsylvania.

The whole day proved valuable for me in terms of networking, touring new facilities, visiting with old classmates and professors, and taking in presentations by fellow alumni. One of the kernels that got me thinking was the mantra we all hear as creative people: the most important thing you can do to help your craft is practice it every day. Write. Photograph. Sketch. Do something.

I really take issue with the image of The Artist as this bottomless vessel of inspiration, and It's important to acknowledge the struggles artists experience throughout their creative lives. We all go through times when we just have to keep doing it despite not exactly overflowing with pride at the work we're producing. It's this perseverance that sets successful artists apart.

By the end of Big Art Day, I knew I had to get back in gear. As a somewhat intellectual artist, I constantly have to fight the inclination to put the cart before the horse. Unlike folks who always keep busy in their sketchbooks and feel most comfortable experimenting visually, I like to produce art within the structure of An Idea. While I've created great end products, the in-between is often lacking. After all, no one can expect excellent ideas every single day.

This calls to mind an entry in my paper journal from my first VISTA year. Coming out of college, my VISTA program felt like the hugest challenge I'd ever accepted. Despite my insecurities and wonderings – “what if I don't do enough, can't do enough?” -- I came out of my year of service far more confident than I had arrived. As time went on, I realized the value of remaining. Most endeavors don't require you to be a superstar, they require perseverance and consistent hard work.

For my work, this means accepting the ebb and flow of creative inspiration. More specifically, it means committing to updating this blog on a schedule rather than fussing about people potentially discovering it during a down time. It means taking photographs every day even if I don't have a strong idea for a project. Maybe it even means selling some of those “every day” photos to support my increased production.

None of this is particularly difficult, it just requires daily attention, something we may at times be hard pressed to provide even to our significant others. But it's the most important part of the creative process – not selling work, getting gallery representation, being awarded grants, nor thinking of the Best Idea Ever. Nope. The true success, the sole path to all that other stuff, is keeping the momentum going even when things aren't great.

Photo from expired 110 cartridge film.  I try to take photos with my Focal Micro 110 every day.

On Sunday I finally got down to the Contemporary Museum to see the Dawoud Bey Class Pictures show. I'm a huge advocate of seeing art work in person, so when I heard about these large color portraits I knew I just could not miss them.

The thing is, I didn't find them as striking in the flesh as I expected. Of course the prints were big, glossy, and perfectly exposed, but somehow I just wasn't floored by the impact of seeing them on a wall vs. on my computer screen. However, the time I spent reading the narrative next to each portrait gave me ample time to think about the work and though I haven't had a chance to leaf through the book, I'm suspecting it may actually be the best way to experience these photos. Photography books provide the slow, quiet beauty and intimacy these pictures need. The gallery setting was a little bit too spacious for the images to have their full effect. If you've seen it, I'd love to know your reaction and if you agree with this assessment.

Even though the physical presence of the photos was not as impactful as I would have liked, the series itself is very impressive. For anyone not familiar, I recommend you check it out on Bey's website. These images of teens across the country reveal inner selves that contradict the visual stereotypes we have at first glance. Standing in the middle of the room, I could not have guessed who had a young child, who was brought up by lesbian parents, who wanted to be a writer or who had a parent struggling with addiction.

The accompanying texts written by Bey's subjects crack open the judgments and fears we harbor inside when we see young people on the street. I also remember my own youth, how I judged my peers, and now I wonder about the true stories behind their appearances and actions. Indeed, Bey's Class Pictures portray a population most often viewed as either threatening or insignificant. The scale and beauty of the work, along with the voices so clearly expressed in the texts, celebrates these individuals as the complex young adults they are.

If you're in Baltimore, you only have until February 21 to get to the Contemporary Museum and see these photos. After that, the book is available from the Aperture Foundation.

All images copyright Dawoud Bey via http://www.dawoudbey.net/.

An art/living space theme seems to be developing lately, so why not continue it this evening?

When I got home from work today, I had a sudden inspiration to hang pictures that have been leaning against our walls for weeks. This is par for the course, as I tend to live with bare walls for months before I reach a breaking point and rush to hang pictures everywhere. Right now I'm waiting for my husband to come home and admonish me for not measuring to make sure everything is evenly spaced.  I was just too excited!

Centered on the wall or not, it makes a lot of sense to populate your living space with your art work and images that inspire you. I once had a drawing professor who, aside from making my life miserable, gave some pretty good advice: hang your work up on the wall – even (especially) if it's unfinished – and live with it for a couple weeks before revisiting it. Seeing a piece from varying distances, in varying lights, and in a setting that's not your studio/work space can open your eyes to aspects you may never have seen otherwise. Seeing your own images “displayed” alongside postcards/prints of work you deeply admire can also teach you a lot.

Now, there are some occasions when putting stuff away for an extended time is necessary to the creative process.  Take those year-old photos I just dug out, for example.  Overall, though, hanging your art up not only gives you bonus decorating points when company comes over, it allows you to evaluate it on a longer term than “this is done, let's stow it and begin the next project."

While photos usually require less process than drawings or paintings, that makes it easier to put them out of sight and out of mind. If you've got framed work, hang it up! As soon as I get some cash together for prints, I'm going to hang up as many raw pictures as I can. Like a good song, you should notice something different, new, and intriguing about a photograph as you look at it more often. And how better to get to know your photos than hanging them in the hallway?

Do you agree, or are you put off by the idea of living and breathing your art work to the point where it nags at you while you're brushing your teeth? How do you evaluate your images and make sure you're giving them enough face time?

Yesterday morning I strolled to work at a relaxed pace, stopping regularly to take out the Focal Micro 110. Since the viewfinder's usefulness is debatable, I decided to try something new and take photos from hip and shin level. Digital makes me want to see the results of this experimentation tonight but alas, I'll need to wait until I finish the roll. What a great motivator!

By the way, I love that I can use my morning commute to take photos. I've made the bike ride in 7 minutes and can get there on the bus in 15, but opting for the 25-minute walk to work affords me so many more ( “orders of magnitude,” as my more mathematically inclined husband would say) opportunities to take in tiny moments, scenes, and often photos.

Looking back at the pictures I posted last Thursday, that's just what I'm doing: every time I snap a photo with the 110, I imagine I am bottling the moment and stashing it away in this plastic box.  Strange, I know, but this camera has a way of capturing my imagination.

Speaking of stolen moments, I had an interesting conversation with Baltimore fiber artist Melissa Webb yesterday while collecting material for a guest post on We Make It Art. She uses photography to document her work and commented, “I love the fact that you can say, 'this is what I want the world to see.'” However, she also pointed out that photos are but a “window in on a moment,” a moment the viewer has already missed.

So what am I doing here, archiving my footsteps through Baltimore? Am I weaving a commentary from dead rats and broken bottles, or just enamored with the bizarre order of the world?

Actually, in that way I think the 110 pictures are quite similar to the photos I took in my house this summer: documents charting my existence in a space (this time indoors), capturing moments as I wanted the world to see them, wandering occasionally into commentary.  The photo at right makes me think of the rat picture I posted last week, in a way.  Neither are visually "nice," but each place on display a moment in my life I wanted to "grab" and preserve.  As both these sets of photos develop, it'll be interesting to see how and if they connect.

How do you prefer to view/make images? What is their meaning/purpose for you?

I'm not sure about everyone else, but I feel like this has been a long week. How about something fun?

After reading an article about photographer Shawn Rocco's cell phone photography, I was inspired to break out my Focal Micro 110 for the first time in months. My recent relationship with the 110 – perhaps the first camera I owned – began when I found it at my parents' house last year with a partial roll of film left in it.

I put the Micro 110 away several months ago because I got a very disappointing roll back from the color lab. I know, I know. At some point, though, I decided the whole plastic camera thing just wasn't for me.

When I got that same roll out on Tuesday evening, I saw it with new eyes. Several shots had tons of potential, given a little post-processing. So I finished off the film cartridge that was in the camera, loaded another one, and studied my images to figure out what actually works with this device.

I can be a very meticulous photographer, and I love carefully composed photos. The Micro 110 throws this out the window. If I take too many careful shots on a roll, I am scolded with a batch of prints that don't exactly include what I photographed. An inaccurate viewfinder pushes me to spend a little less time framing the shot and a little more time thinking about the big picture, which I often miss when I've got a nice camera that can perform in any conditions.

What is my plastic camera not meant to do? Well, it's very hard to get good results with close subjects, distant subjects, oblique angles, depth of field, or low contrast. As I figure out what produces good shots – contrast, plenty of light, straightforward compositions, subjects not too far away but not less than four feet or so – I'm thinking about the time of day, quality of light, and subject. Sorting through my prints to decide on three to include in this post, I eliminated one of my favorites because it didn't mesh with the others well enough in terms of content and viewing angle.

A few years ago I didn't understand the value of the “toy camera” fad, but I'm looking forward to posting more from my 110 adventures as I rethink and evolve my process.

Though progress is slow and steady, I've been exceeding goals left and right on my way to creating a basement studio. My reorganization isn't limited to the basement, though. Getting organized involves the whole house. This weekend I finally unpacked my big cardboard box of old journals (the earliest dating back to 1994) and put them on a bookshelf for easy reference. Next to these fabulous pieces of personal history sits a book of a different kind: my Reclamation artist book.

As often happens when I am cleaning/reorganizing, I simply had to sit down and leaf through my handmade book to experience it anew. It totally blew me away. For the past year I've been experiencing my photography on a computer screen or in a paper mailing envelope from the color lab, and I found it inspiring to see my photos beautifully presented and complemented by deckled edges and compelling text. In fact, just now I stopped typing to sketch out a new idea for presenting my new digital work alongside journal texts.

I won't go on (too much) about this book tonight. Know that I could because it's just that awesome. Over the course of two days I poured my heart and soul into it, expending way more money and labor than I ever could have imagined. That weekend I carried it on a trip to Boston, hugging it close on the T so it didn't get damaged. At my wedding, our best man recalled in his toast that trip we made to visit him in Boston, how I sat on the floor of his apartment trimming my prints just so (leaving just enough white so the viewer would know they hadn't been cropped) and carefully installing them in the pages of my book.

In this age of digital convenience, we'd all do well to remember where we started: pulling film off the reel, making contact sheets, and accumulating boxes of 5 x 7 prints. Something is lost when our work isn't tangible. It's too easy these days to process, evaluate, and display photos electronically. They still take on a whole new meaning as prints, and a whole new meaning again as lovingly presented, tangible works of art.

What is the biggest realization you've had about your work lately?  The most inspiring presentation?