Now that all is said and done, Baltimore's art community is finally weighing in on the Baker Artist Awards selection process. In some ways, the Baker Awards really revolutionized the art competition as we know it, and we should all be thankful for the breath of fresh air. However, I hope to see some important refinements in next year's contest.

The Baker Awards' biggest issue is in the end, winning comes down to clever marketing and basic organizing skills. Many people had this figured out immediately: the key to winning is to spam friends and family with “vote for me” emails, follow up, and make sure they stay active on the site so they can earn the privilege of voting for you several times. The possibilities for promotion are endless: your Facebook account, blog, website, and office are all up for grabs. All this is fine, but at a certain point it detracts from the spirit of the contest.

Practical people will tell me that's just the way it is. At least those visitors were exposed to some other art, whether they like it or not. But I've never like d popularity contests. I combed through the site looking for artists I thought should win the top prize. In a way, we all had the opportunity to jury and curate our own show. My voting board represented the work I wanted to be seen, period. I never voted for friends just because they were in the running.

At the same time, I can definitely deal with a popularity contest. The world is full of them. My biggest criticism is that the secret jury apparently pulled from the top vote-getters, or at least took vote counts into serious consideration. That, and none of us know our own vote counts.

While the Baltimore's Choice winners were by and large very worthy recipients of the award, it's conceivable they just had the biggest email contact list (though I would hope not). With that in mind, didn't the jury judge more on popularity than merit of the work? Might some excellent portfolios never have even been seen by the jury?

If I send my images to a traditional competition, at least I can be relatively sure they receive a couple seconds in front of the jury. Given the public forum of the Baker Awards, maybe it was incumbent upon me to use the system to my best advantage. However, we don't even know who the jury was. Were they ever interested in evaluating the artistic merit of all nominations, or were they happy to pick favorites from the cream of the vote-getting crop?

Without these answers, it's very difficult for me to comprehend a large difference between the Baltimore's Choice and Mary Sawyers Baker awardees. Isn't this problematic, given the fact that the award jumps from $1,000 to $25,000?

All in all, I commend the organizations involved for putting the Baker Awards together and I'm excited to see the process again next year. However, it's becoming clear Baltimore's artists are aware that an online, public forum does not always beget a transparent process (remember this with your federal government, too, folks). There is absolutely no reason why all nominated artists should not be able to see vote counts and names of jurors. How else will we know if we ever stood a chance, or how we can improve our chances and our exposure next year?

The other day I received an interesting email from my grandmother in response to my recent darkroom post. It began: “I just read your web site and was interested to learn about your development of a darkroom.  We had a darkroom in our back basement in the 1960's.” In fact, as I told her later, my father recently gave me the very enlarger he and my grandfather used years ago. While not new information, her email reminded me unexpectedly of the art school cliché, “you don't create art in a vacuum.”

While I typically heard that phrase in the context of reading ArtForum and visiting New York regularly, this time I thought of it differently. I envisioned my grandfather, much younger than I ever knew him, tucked away in the back basement with duct tape sealing out the light. So he crept down to the basement darkroom, too, latching the door behind him and making prints in solitude under the red-orange glow of the safelight.

I wonder about this darkroom and what he developed down there. Did he just love the darkroom process? Was making your own photos more common back then? Or did I just get a glimpse into another branch of the visual artists in our family?

I also remember, during my time studying painting in college, when my little sister said she “wanted to be an artist just like [me and our father].” At first I took offense, as if she had taken away some of the individuality of choosing your own path. However, a few years later I appreciate the interconnectedness of it all. Maybe she will become a painter, maybe she won't. Maybe she will become a world-class musician, accomplishing everything I ever wanted. Maybe she won't.

Before I start sounding like that Baz Luhrmann recording, let me get back to the point. Despite all my efforts as a youth to be unique and different, distanced and indecipherable, now I value sharing common ground with my relatives. My work doesn't always need to be out in left field. At times, it can be a legacy, a process I share with those before me.

Yesterday evening I walked home from work with a big smile on my face, feeling excited about recent goals. I suppose it all stems from a desire to be more outgoing – I'm naturally shy and reserved – but I've had a strong desire to reconnect with old friends, forge stronger relationships with new friends, and get myself and my art work out into the world.

In school, art professors stressed the importance of dismissing our shyness when interacting with the art world. One even told me having two drinks (no more, no less) at gallery openings was the key to effective networking. Laugh if you want to, but those of us who get seriously anxious about calling our friends on the weekend need to think outside the box at events that require us to project ourselves to total strangers.

While I haven't handed out business cards at too many openings lately, I have made a concerted effort to branch out in my everyday life. This week I did two things that bolstered my confidence and sense of excitement about my work. I submitted five photos to Lotta Art, an annual benefit show for Baltimore's School 33 Art Center. I feel really good about this regardless of the outcome,but if my images get chosen it will be a great opportunity for me to get out and get to know some more visual arts people around town.

Entering work into juried shows can be intimidating at first – until you realize there really is nothing to lose. If your images don't get chosen, so what? Obvious as it may sound, that concept took me a long time to internalize.

Second on my list, I just emailed a friend to talk about some brand new ideas I've had for my work. My new direction – should I choose to take it – will be much more personal than anything previous, so talking about it was just as difficult as having any other personal conversation (here we go with the shy thing again). However, once I clicked “send” I felt this great sense of excitement, as if my view of the world gained value with the act of sharing it.

Who knows, maybe it does. I've always been a somewhat private person, more comfortable discussing ideas and opinions that didn't reveal much about myself. My art has reflected the same: intellectually interesting with minimal personal risk. As I get older and work to establish myself personally and professionally in a new city, I suddenly feel a need to be more alive. I want to take risks, I want people to know more about me.

In general, I'd recommend everyone take a few more personal risks. What do any of us have to lose? On the other hand, there is so much to gain by getting yourself out there: new relationships, new opportunities, a wider network, more of your art hanging in shows.

This weekend I light proofed the darkroom. And just how does one lightproof a room with lots of windows letting the light in? Well, I've discovered it's pretty easy when you're surrounded by clever people to give you ideas. Here's my process so far for setting up a DIY darkroom space.

I originally planned to put the darkroom in a spare basement closet, but quickly decided it would make more sense to use the bathroom instead. Why? It's bigger, has running water, and I don't need to run new wiring. However, the window (and the door with windows in it) in the bathroom presented a larger roadblock in terms of light proofing. Why the bathroom has a window and completely non-private door, or why a bathroom like this exists in the basement in the first place, is beside the point.

Since I still want to use the room as a spare bathroom, I chose to preserve it as is and save the light proofing for when I'm making prints. This is also one of the quickest and easiest solutions. I simply sewed together four layers of black felt and attached it with velcro around the door and window frames. I stitched in from the border a bit and left the edges loose to make it easier to smooth them against the woodwork.

After executing a very quick sewing job and sticking up some velcro strips, I put up my “darkroom curtains,” set an alarm for ten minutes, and turned out the light. After five minutes I started to make out tiny slivers of light at the top of the door and window, so I added more velcro and restarted the timer. A full ten minutes passed and, to my delight, I was still completely in the dark!

At this point I have to stop to point out the importance of spending adequate time in your darkroom before doing something rash like busting open a film canister. For a room to be safe for film, you must be unable to see ANYTHING after being in there for at least five minutes. I sat for ten just to be on the safe side. This is my cautionary word, though: just because a room looks dark for the first couple of minutes after switching off the light doesn't mean it won't fog your film. After five minutes, tiny bits of light and maybe even objects will start to appear magically before your eyes.

As you can see, the darkroom is also outfitted with a super snazzy DIY enlarger table and tray shelf. Before too long I'll paint or sand the top of the table and make a little skirt to go around the bottom. The rack can be tucked away in a closet or tub when not in use.

Overall, this project has been relatively inexpensive and easy. As a bonus, I've maintained functionality of my downstairs bathroom and the whole process is completely reversible when it comes time to move on to a new place. I like to be sensible: a person in their mid-20s might not be in the house she'll live in forever, and not every prospective home buyer will be excited by a darkroom in the basement (and no second bathroom).

The next hurdle, just discovered today: the only outlet in the room is controlled by the light switch. I think that's a funny joke for a darkroom space, don't you?

Immediately after lunch at work today I completely zoned out – no doubt a side effect of the joyous over-caffeination I experienced in the morning. I've been in a funk lately anyway, so I asked myself, what would make me feel better? What would enable me to put my best effort into my work?

Rather than lay my sorry little head on my desk (I like to remain positive in the office whenever possible), I broke out my MP3 player and put on one of my favorite songs. Whenever I feel down, all I need to do to make everything right in the world is listen to a fabulous a cappella arrangement of Coldplay's Fix You by James Madison University's Exit 245. It's on BOCA 2007, but I'm sure you can look it up elsewhere, too.

After then listening to The Last Five Years, my afternoon had improved drastically – clearly a result of these cathartic music listening experiences. Sometimes I wonder if anyone else daydreams about their everyday life as if it were a music video or Broadway show. I have done this since childhood, and these daydreams are what made me think I wanted to write music someday.

Any silliness aside, music is my lifeblood, and it's what I turn to whenever I am feeling depressed or uninspired. This evening I feel so inspired to make plans with friends, get together a group of people to play music at my house, and set up the darkroom for goodness' sake.

Whenever I listen to music and start feeling like it's opening a gateway to inspiration for every corner of my life, I hope everyone else in the world has something that makes them feel the same way. I always draw on it for energy and use it to build a foundation for happiness and balance. Despite a seeming lack of connection, I know I would not be inspired to keep producing visual art without music in my life, both performed and heard.

Creative expressions feed one another. What feeds your inspiration, even in the darkest times? What puts a spark into your everyday life and keeps you creative/productive?

And if you also have wondered what life would be like if every minute were a musical, please feel free to let me know.

Next post: darkroom pictures, progress, and tips!

Ever have one of those weeks when you just can't seem to get ahead?  Unopened mail accumulates on the table, you're out of necessities before you go grocery shopping, dishes pile up, projects around the house go unfinished (or unstarted).  Before you know it, you're cranky all the time, you wake up in the morning feeling like you barely fell asleep, and even your morning coffee isn't satisfying anymore.

Needless to say, creative work suffers under these circumstances.

Last Monday, I finally placed my darkroom supply order.  When a shipping confirmation informed me my package would arrive at the office on Friday, I immediately reconfigured my goals: by the end of the weekend, I would be making prints.

Then the flu hit our house.  While I somehow remained immune to the debilitating fever, headache, and fatigue the virus delivers, I sure didn't miss out on assuming all the everyday household chores; picking up discarded blankets, clothes, and juice glasses all over the house; and caring for my sick husband for six days.  Not to mention a week's worth of restless sleep.  My dreams of a functioning darkroom evaporated long before the FedEx man arrived.

I managed a number of accomplishments over the weekend, including a trip out to Home Depot, but I should have realized earlier that it just was not happening.  What began as an exhilaratingly ambitious goal had become an absolute impossibility.  Just like getting this morning off to a positive start because let's face it: starting out a Monday morning dead tired after an unproductive weekend just doesn't bode well.

That brings me to this evening, and just not wanting to post an entry to this blog.  And you know what?  I think it's just fine to be real about it.  I'm done mourning my weekend as if something died because life got in the way of an already-unrealistic goal (yes, I can be dramatic, all the time).  It's time to go to bed at 9:00 and get up in the morning ready to pick it all up again and keep going.  After all, that's what it's about in the end: the picking up and going, not the everything getting done on schedule. 

Tomorrow morning I'm going to wake up and eat my egg and cheese sandwich and go to work with a smile.  Then I'm going to come home and work on light-proofing the darkroom and setting up an enlarger table, and maybe by the end of next weekend, I'll be making prints in the new darkroom. 

Life beyond grade school doesn't afford many snow days, but today we got lucky.  Especially considering March generally doesn't yield much snow in the Mid-Atlantic states.  I feel especially blessed today, though, because I was able to take the time to take inventory and order start-up supplies for my home darkroom. 

I've enjoyed the planning stages for my basement studio space, but nothing rivals making a monetary commitment and getting my hands on the materials to do my work.  Suddenly an idea has become an investment, and I will expect my abstract goals to crystallize.  Of course, I don't advocate buying new equipment to cure artist's block, but I do feel it's necessary to have a "craft space" for photos just like any other art form.  Digital photography has (conveniently) condensed the work space into a single piece of machinery, but this opens a rift between the artist and the craft.

To develop visual art, the artist must dedicate space, time, and resources to the creative process.  There are no shortcuts.  The easier work space and materials are to access, the better.  If I'm feeling inspired at 10:00 at night, how does it affect my process if I can just sneak down to the basement and shut myself in the darkroom for a couple hours?  Digital eases the draw on resources, but not without cost.  If I sit at a computer in the office all day, how do I feel when I come home, sit in the middle of the house, and scan my pictures from the color lab?  Does my digital art-making become less craft, more assembly-line calculations?

The truth is, I don't know.  I don't know how all-digital photographers feel when they plug in their cameras and pull off the week's photos.  For the most part, I need to retain a connection with the craft of image-making whenever possible.  Clearly doing event photography for my job is neither the time nor the place, but there is no reason for all my 110 prints to come from a mail-order lab.

Often, I feel like a dividing line exists between "fine arts" and "crafts."  We shouldn't forget, though, that both are all about creating a work of art with our hands.  I have to imagine the way a crafter feels making jewelry is similar to how I feel when I'm making prints in the darkroom.  And just like having a jewelry-making corner/table will lead to more and better work, so will setting aside a space to make my photographs.

Creating a dedicated art-making space in my home is going to be great, I can tell.  The process today proved much more time-consuming than I expected, but isn't that what snow days are for?  Now it's done, and all I have to do is wait.