First I would like to thank all of you for being willing to explore the potential of this artist community. Personally, I searched for every possible tool I could devise to help artists, whether it be a job board catered to our needs, community articles, and even a podcast all with the focus of educating artists on the business of art. Unfortunately, this endeavor has been extremely time consuming and now expensive. The platform I use (Ning.com) is now going to charge us $250 dollars a year. In 2010, we made $100 from the job board. I was hoping that between the various avenues of incidental revenue I could cover the cost of running the site. With the price increase that is not the case.

Unless, we can come up with another $150 dollars BeYourArt.com will have to close it doors. Since I don’t have the time to maintain the site and keep deleting mass influx of sex/dating profiles, this might be for the best. Again thank you all for what you have put into this great community. This has been an invaluable experience for me and I’ve learned an immensely about what it takes to run such a site, but more importantly I come to love all your art and your individual passion to share it.

The provider Ning.com doesn’t list when the BeYourArt.com will come up for renewal. I’m waiting to hear back from them. I’ll keep you all posted as to the closing date. Please send an questions to jm@beyourart.com. Thank you all again and good luck on your artistic endeavors.

Sincerely,

Judah Mahay,
Creator of BeYourArt.com
judahmahay.com

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It has been some time since we’ve posted an Artcast, but we plan on getting them rolling again. This clip by Judah Mahay and John Sleek takes a different tack. They discuss the craft of writing per an article they plan on co-authoring, which will be published come May. This breaks our tradition of having Art Notes about articles, but in a sense this keeps to the them, even though the article hasn’t been published yet.

We hope you enjoy it and please leave your comments below.

Also, you can send suggestions for other articles you want to be added to Art Notes by emailing artnotes@beyourart.com. Though most articles will be from BeYourArt.com we are more than willing to consider articles elsewhere.

Subscribe to Artcast on iTunes.

2nd Place Winner of the 2009 Be Your Art Writing Competition. Co-published with the North Shoreian Magazine, February 2010.

By Anna Katsavos

It smells of a scavenger hunt, each of us waiting for the cue, each of us ready to pounce.  We take our positions, sit up straight, and smile, all of us flashing our biggest, toothy grins.  Forty-five dollars poorer, we’re gathered in a swanky city club, sitting at our designated tables, each of us perched on her seat, emitting vibes that beg, “Pick me, pick me.”  This eight-minute speed-dating, a bizarre, rate-a-mate version of musical chairs, is already more than I can handle.  It’s worse than I had imagined, worse than that school-yard feeling of waiting to be chosen.

Ding!  Ding!  Every eight minutes, Ding! Ding! I mean come on–eight minutes?  It takes me longer than that to pick out bottled water.

Ding!  Ding!

My first moving target approaches.  On a scale of 1 to 10, I give him a preliminary 8, though he’d do well to ditch the neon tie.

“Not bad looking,” I’m thinking, as my hopeful heart starts to flutter.  I take a breath and squirm a bit in my seat as he settles comfortably in the chair across from me.

“OK, I can do this,” I try to convince myself, though his bitten fingernails don’t bode well.

“Hi.  I’m Anna,” I say, my smile wide as a fruit wedge, my voice already cracking. “Pleased to meet you,” I chirp, but he’s already off and running.  I just nod.

“Oh, that’s nice,” I lie.

“Really?  How interesting,” I lie again.

He’s busy yapping away, and pretty soon I’m starting to feel like a bobble-head, nodding and nodding.

“Just keep smiling,” I remind myself as I notice a couple of stray hairs sticking out of his ear.

It’s been at least two minutes, and he still hasn’t come up for air, but my smile stays pasted because the good girl voice in me says I’m supposed to be polite.  About half-way through his well-rehearsed litany, he finally reaches for his drink, and I manage to squeeze in a quick question.

“A licensed M. P.?” I ask, part of me still hoping that his incessant chatter is just a sign of nerves. Waiting for clarification, I rapidly run through a Rolodex of possibilities: “Member of Parliament? Probably not.  Management Planner? Hmm, maybe? Military Police?  Oh, God, I hope not.”

When he sees that I’m all ears again, my smile still strung like a hammock, he hands me his card.

“Oh” I say politely, smile now frozen, “A licensed master plumber.  That’s nice,” I say, wondering, “How the hell did I get talked into this fiasco?”

Think what you will of me, but I am not looking for a plumber.  I already have a plumber.  Marty and I have a great relationship.  He shows up when he says he will, listens carefully to what needs fixing, does what he needs to do, cleans up his mess, and leaves.  That’s it, nice and simple.

But tonight, it’s anything but.  I shift in my seat, sneaking a peak at my watch, hoping it won’t be much longer before the next Ding! Ding!  My face is weary from smiling so much, and I’m slightly pissed that he hasn’t even noticed my dimples.   I take another deep breath and force myself to refocus.

“Sorry–you were saying?” I press myself to ask the mug now looking less and less appealing, and I think the stray hairs have gotten longer.

“Oh, me?  Um, I teach,” I stammer, omitting the particulars of college prof with Ph. D. in English, which he wouldn’t have heard anyway cause he was already off at the races.

“NASCAR?” I repeat, my frozen smile going visibly limp.

“Well, no, can’t say that I have,” I confess, almost apologetically, “but I have been to Saratoga,” I offer as compensation.  But he looks at me as if I’m speaking Greek.  I try to spell it out for him, “You know, the horse races?”

Nothing.

“Saratoga Springs?”

Still nothing.

“Upstate, New York?” I tag on, tempted to add “where I’d rather be right now,” but I don’t.  Yes, I’m thinking, Saratoga, Canada, Siberia—anywhere but here.

His next question nearly floors me, but I muster up a puny smile because I hear that damned voice again scolding me to “Be nice.”

“Wrestling matches?  No, gee, no, I’m afraid not,” I murmur.  “But I do have a photo of me with Hulk Hogan,” I blurt out, surprised at my need to impress this idiot, who still hasn’t noticed my dimples.

“My son took that picture when we were vacationing in Clearwater Beach,” I continue, but nothing I’m saying seems to register with this guy.  “That’s where the Hulk lives you know,” I say smugly, looking straight at him and raising the volume a bit.  By now, I’m convinced that he must be deaf, for what other explanation could there be for such cluelessness.

When it’s clear he has nothing more to say, I take a long hard look at my watch. Little Goody Two Shoes is still nagging at me, but this time I don’t care if he’s insulted; in truth, I am hoping he is.

I decide to keep talking.  “My son, who’s 27 with an MA in PE, he used to love watching wrestling,” I say, smile hard as chewed bubble gum, “but he was 12 then.”

“Ouch, that was cold,” yells Miss Nice, but I’m already licking up the sarcasm that’s dripping like melted ice cream down the sides of my snarky mouth.  Delish!!

His startled look convinces me that he’s not deaf, maybe just dumb.  He starts to fidget with the business card that never made it to my wallet, and I see again the white porcelain bowl advertising his credentials.   Must be the Taurus in me is awake now cause I’m no longer hearing voices.    As I watch beads of perspiration trickle from his temples into his beard, I just can’t help myself.  I am genuinely smiling.   And then, there’s no stopping me.

“And another thing. . .”

Ding, Ding.  Ding, Ding.

The lovely Vana White-clone is ringing her bell, signaling my next victim to take a seat.  Yum, yum.  I just keep smiling.

Co-published with the North Shoreian Magazine, February 2010.

By Judah Mahay

The popular craze of technology these days has driven forward a demand for products never dreamed of a couple of years ago. With the advent of the iPhone and its newly birthed competitors, namely Android based phones, artists have been blessed with an array of previously unimaginable tools. This article will begin the series “Best iPhone Apps for Artists” exploring this topic. Furthermore, “The Writer’s Spotlight” will focus on the iPhone apps for masters fiction. Writers have seen applications dedicated to them pop into existence on what seems like a daily basis. Let’s take a look at what is available at the moment.

Story Tracker | Submission Tracking Tool

I always like to start with my favorites. The submission process can be overwhelming, especially if you are dealing with simultaneous submissions and sending out multiple stories at the same time. You’re asking yourself if you should contact a magazine, but can’t remember when you sent the story. You finally get a story published and have to make phone calls to the other markets, but can’t find the piece of paper you wrote the list of magazines on. This nifty application helps you deal with just that and it does an excellent job at it. The tool lets you input stories and markets, at which point it lets you link them up with probable response dates. Beyond the basics it allows for a depth of information for each market and it tracks statistics such as work published, rejected, earnings, trunked stories, and more. A great tool and well worth the $9.99. Frankly, I would buy it even if it cost $20.

Price: $9.99

NoteMaster | Google Docs Sync

There are numerous note taking applications available, but none provide full Google Docs syncing. This might seem like an inconsequential feature, but I write all my stories on Google Docs. The biggest reason is it allows for an online backup-source of documents, multiple user editing (great for critique groups), and revision history. Google Docs is a dream for writers and being able to access it on your iTouch or iPhone

simply is priceless. NoteMaster is the first application to provide this feature and work (a few other apps say they do, but either crash all the time or only do one-way syncing).

Price: $3.99

IdeaOrganizer | Text & Audio Notes

Now this might sound strange adding another note application, but it serves a different purpose. In fact, I don’t even use NoteMaster to take notes. It is solely a Google Docs application which allows offline access, editing, and full syncing. As for IdeaOrganizer, we have a completely different tool. The interface is superb and it allows text, audio, and visual notes. The audio notes and the design were the big sellers for me. The leading competitor for note taking is Evernote, but IdeaOrganizer has cleaner navigation and it recognizes what your iTouch or iPhone can do. For instance, when I plug in the mic/headset to my iTouch the application will show the option to make audio notes, while Evernote always has audio notes. When I can’t make audio notes, it doesn’t display the option. Plus, I love the light-bulb icon for IdeaOrganizer.

Price: $1.99

SimpleMind xXpress | Mind Mapping Tool

This is a great tool for developing your ideas. Start with a single cloud and begin the branching. Cut, Copy, paste, and drag ideas to different branches, letting your ideas grow on the fly. Once you are finished, send your map via email for archiving and later review. You can use this to develop the central conflict of a story or add layers to your characters. The fact that the application is free makes it that much better.

Price: Free

NameShake | Random Name Generator

This is a simple tool which lets you lock in certain categories shake your phone and get a random name within your criteria. The categories include gender, language, and a letter. Your story might have a German man walk into an Irish pub, carrying a dying woman in his arms. This scene would potentially call for a bunch of Irish names. For the price of a latte you have a crowd of drunken Irish men.

Price: $2.99

NaNoMojo | National Novel Writing Month

If you are crazy enough to write a novel in one month like all the other insane people out there (myself included), you would love this application. It shows the current word counts for all your friends and has some useful links to the NaNoWriMo website. The only change I would like to see is the ability to update your personal word count. Again, worth the price of a latte. Make coffee at home for a day and buy this app.

Price: $2.99

Writer’s Block Buster | Idea Generator

Now I’m not big on these idea generators, but I give the developers of Writer’s Block Buster credit for making a good tool. The application deals with several categories including character development, plot development, setting choice, writing mechanics, dialogue, and much more. If anything it is a wealth of knowledge sure to distract you as much as whatever is creating your writer’s block.

Price: $3.99

Questia | Academic Research Database

If you have heard of JSTOR you basically have it in an iPhone app. If you haven’t heard of JSTORlet me explain to those of you not screaming with researcher glee. It is a HUGE database of scholastic research about everything you can image. Usually, you have to either be browsing college computers or have few million dollars in order to access this information. Now you can get it for about the quarter of the price of a latte. Nothing to be excited about, it only has about 24,000 books and about 2.2 million journal, newspaper, and magazine articles. No big deal. Go buy yourself a York Peppermint Paddy instead (then again Yorks might be over a buck these days).

Price: $0.99 (They now charge a monthly fee for featured content)

Wikipanion | Wikipedia Search

If you don’t know what Wikipedia is and you have an iPhone we need to have a talk. This is the best (and coincidentally free) tool to access Wikipedia. There is also a paid version of Wikipanion which has gotten rave reviews, but the additional features don’t seem necessary. By the way, if you don’t know what Wikipedia is, I might as well tell you. It is a massive user created online encyclopedia which has every fact you could ever imagine. Of course the authenticity of the information is questionable, but you can ascertain the articles merit with a click glance at its bibliography.

Price: Free

Dictionary.com | Dictionary & Thesaurus

A few large companies created their own iPhone dictionaries such as Oxford and Merriam-Webster, but they simply don’t hold up to Dictionary.com. The interface is cleaner, it is both a thesaurus and dictionary, it can be used offline, and it is free! The other dictionaries cost anywhere from $20-$40. The answer is easy.

Price: Free

That sums up the iPhone applications for writers. Next month we will look at what tech savvy musicians are using.

Third Place Winner of the 2009 Be Your Art Writing Competition. Co-published with the North Shoreian Magazine, December 2009.

By Micki Peluso

Hank’s eyelids opened with aching slowness, blinking away the bright wash of sunlight spilling into his room. He squinted out the window at a high, pale sun. Past noon. Damn. He’d overslept. Most mornings he enjoyed watching the sun rise over the Palo Duro canyons, deep below the Texas plains—last night’s binge at the Rock n’ Bull Saloon had laid him low.

Rubbing a hand across his face, Hank swung his feet over the side of the bed and reached for his boots.  He frowned as he looked for the other one and found it on his foot. He’d slept, shirtless, one boot still on, caught up in his pulled down denims which hung at his knees.

Bleary-eyed, he found the bottle on the table beside the bed and took a long swig to quell the shakes. He dragged his worn chambray shirt from the foot of the bed. Blood stains spattered the front. Nothing hurt much, no cuts far as he could see. Wonder what the other guy looks like? His stomach lurched, reminding him other things  required more immediate attention. Half a dozen eggs, hash browns and a rasher of bacon would settle his rocky stomach. Hank tried, but couldn’t remember much of the tear he’d been on last night. Scary. The blackouts were becoming more frequent. Gotta cut down on the booze. Not as young as I used to be. He chuckled hoarsely and scratched at a day’s worth of stubble.

He needed a shave. But not yet—way too shaky for that. Ain’t aiming to slit my own throat.

Mail would be in by now. A little fresh air might help clear his muddled brain. He half-walked, half-staggered toward the door. Walking plumb down to the box wasn’t happening.

“Where are my damn keys?” he muttered. His dog, Alpha Blue, raised his shaggy head and Hank bent and scratched his ears. The animal grunted and went back to sleep. He’d seen it all before. No keys on the table. Hank threw open the door and peered suspiciously at his dust-coated jeep. It leaned precariously close to the gnarled trunk of the scruffy pine tree in front of the house. Nearly hit that one, huh? Tarnation; would have been just his luck if he’d wrecked his only vehicle. Drawing a deep breath of hot, thin air jolted him from his lethargy. He swung into the four-wheel vehicle, revved the engine, and headed down the long, rutted driveway to the dented silver mailbox standing at the edge of the road. Hank shuffled through junk mail and bills, planning on dealing with them on a full and sober stomach, when a large flyer caught his eye.

What the hell is this? Yard sale poster? Scrawled on a rough rectangle of cardboard, a personal message in large letters stated: MEET ME AT THE CORRAL BEHIND YOUR BARN ONE HOUR BEFORE SUNSET. I PLAN TO SHOOT YOU DEAD. IF YOU REFUSE, I WILL SHOOT YOU IN YOUR SLEEP. YOUR CHOICE, MISTER. I’LL GET YOU FOR WHAT YOU DID.

No signature. Damnation! What did I do last night to deserve this?

Try as he would, little after his arrival at the saloon seemed clear. He strolled in, got a drink, talked to the bartender. Then? Slowly images flitted across his vision—a young raven-haired woman with sensual green eyes and a body a man would die for. Would he? He shook his head, unable to recall enough to solve the puzzle or jog his memory of what he might have done to be challenged to a shootout. Who does shootouts in this day and age? A chill down his spine warned him not to take this threat lightly.

Hank showered, then searched the fridge for something to fill his grumbling, queasy stomach and settled for toast, eggs, and a pot of strong black coffee. Wispy flashbacks of dancing with the dark-haired beauty floated elusively just beyond his mind’s reach. He remembered dancing, then leaning her back for a long, hungry kiss, just as a huge, bearded man with red hair swung the saloon doors open and strode across the room. Hank laughed briefly, thinking he looked like an actor in a spaghetti western. The first punch slammed him across the floor. The woman screamed. The bits of memory felt disjointed, surreal. More screams.Then the big man had charged him as he’d tried to get up and landed a brutal blow that laid him out cold. After that—nothing.

The grandfather clock that had been in his family for generations chimed the hour—four o’clock. The sun set early above the canyon. He’d need to face whoever wrote that note soon, try to make him see reason.

Had to have been a jealous boyfriend, or worse, an irate husband. Hank usually steered away from married women . . . he couldn’t rightly recall why he’d messed with this woman. She sure was pretty, though. Well, nothing for it. He’d have to make the fella understand it was a mistake, nothing more.

He loaded his 22 caliber pistol, shoved it into his holster and headed for the door. Alpha Blue rose and stretched, eager to follow. “Not this time, big guy.” Hank patted his head, then locked the door. Alpha Blue whined and scratched the screen, and Hank hurried toward the corral before he gave in to the dog’s pleading and let him come along as always.

He spotted a small figure walking toward the corral. Sagebrush tumbled across the barren plains and the setting sun glared brightly in his eyes. Facing west probably wasn’t the best position for a shootout, Hank considered wryly. Then again, it’s my first. He squinted to make out the approaching figure, but it grew no taller. Must be one of those ‘little people’—a midget—or else a kid, a boy maybe ten or twelve years old, dressed all in black. Like a tiny Johnny Cash, Hank thought with a grin. Black vest over a black t-shirt, black jeans tucked into too large black boots. Even with three inch heels on those knee-high boots, the lad couldn’t be five feet tall.

“What can I do you for?” Hank called out, fighting a chuckle at the way the kid  lugged a shotgun over half as long as he was tall, wrapped in both arms.

“You caused my mama to die. Now you’re gonna die too.” The steely cold voice was deadly and resolute.

“What’re you talkin’ about, son? I ain’t killed no one.” Hank motioned to the boy. “Put down that heavy gun and let’s talk some.”

“No need for talkin, Mister. And this gun ain’t heavy. You die today,” his voice quavered, “same as my mama died last night.”

What the devil was the kid talking about? Hank racked his scattered memories to no avail.

“I’m no angel, boy, but I never kilt no one in my life, whether they deserved it or not.” Hank started toward the boy, but jerked to a stop as the boy leveled the shotgun straight at him.

“I saw you with her last night. Disgusting. Dancing and kissin’. I followed her to the saloon to get her home before it was too late. Before Pa found her. But he did. And Pa dragged her home and slit her throat and” . . . the voice trembled, hitching with suppressed tears. “Mama died in my arms. When my Pa fell asleep, drunk like always, I took the axe Mama used for beheading the chickens, and cut him across his throat.”

A stab of regret rushed through Hank’s heart. He never hurt the woman, but his actions played a part in her dying. “I’m sorry—“ The blast of the shotgun ripped through him. He dropped to his knees, his hand closing on his 22. He could pull off a shot, but had no heart for it now. It was just a boy, avenging his mother. God, he couldn’t shoot the boy for that. Not firing, even as he felt his life slipping away, seemed  right…as if it somehow atoned for his part in this tragedy. “Justice served,” he choked, as his lungs filled with blood and his pulse slowed to a flutter of a beat.

Hank rolled to his back, clutching his gut, staring into the eyes of the child standing over him. Eyes as blue as the Blue Bonnet blossoms of Texas brimmed with tears.

“We’re even now,” the child said, sobbing. “I would wish you could rot in hell, but I asked God to forgive you your sin against my mama. I hope He’ll forgive me too, cause killin’ is a big sin.”

The kid knelt and pressed something into Hank’s hand, then rose and walked slowly away, shoulders slumped with the weight of sorrow beyond his few years, lazy clouds of dust raising where he dragged the shotgun behind him. A gust of desert wind caught the big hat and yanked it away. Long raven curls fell loose around the thin figure, blowing in the breeze.

Lord Almighty, I’ve been shot by a snippet of a  young girl. May God forgive us both. Hank stared after her, his blood a sticky river against his hands, his breath coming in gurgling gasps. He could hear Alpha Blue howling in the house, slamming against the door. The sun dipped toward the canyons at last. Wonder if Hell really is hotter than Texas.

#

Hank’s drinking buddies found him a few days later, after he’d not returned their calls. Alpha Blue lay at his side, fiercely protecting his master from the buzzards and coyotes that swooped to feast on his corpse. He lifted a weary head at their approach and whined softly.

“Come on, boy. Ain’t nothing you can do for him now.” One of the men knelt, covering his nose and mouth with one hand as he pulled a crudely carved wooden cross from Hank’s half-closed fist. He patted Blue’s head and got to his feet, tracing his finger along the words etched into the wood.

“Wonder what that means?” he asked, handing the small cross to the other man. “Just says, ‘Forgive me’.”

Listings

This is broken up into five categories. General Listings, which does what it says in being the catch all. Workshops and Studio Space listings will helps artists learn and find housing. We also have a free Marketplace for artists to sell stuff much like Craigslist.

Lastly, is a fun new idea entitled the Exchange, which will allow artists to off their artistic services in exchange for other artistic services (since we lack money why not revert to the old barter system). Prime example is the potter can give a few of his prize clay pots away to a photographer who will exchange take pictures of all of her art to post online. There is great potential with this method of interaction.

Questions & Answers

There is also a new section, which will allow artists to post questions and the community then can answer to the best of their knowledge. We really like this idea in that it cuts to the core of community collaboration.

Other Updates

We did a bit of refinement to the navigation and the home page. If you have anymore suggestions please let us know.

Subscribe to Artcast on iTunes

This Artcast episode of “Art Interruptions” hosted by Judah Mahay and John Sleek deals with big question like the term artist and much more. Don’t forget to submit questions for John and Judah to discuss.

Please leave your questions and comments below.

The Life of the Intern

Co-Published: BeYourArt.com and The North Shoreian Magazine, Volume 2, Issue 8, Practicalities of the Surviving Artist, The Harvest Issue. Article written by Don Rebar.

Intern.  The word alone strikes fear into the hearts of many—from the most seasoned professional to the hungry high school student wishing to gain experience.  Nightmarish legends of supervisors that transform budding young professionals into ditch diggers, or of slacker interns whose apathy will be the downfall of society are commonplace.  No matter how many of these horror stories are tall tales in actuality, the basic principle behind them remains: at the end of the internship, one party’s experience with the other was poor.  Sometimes, no matter how hard the intern works or how generous the supervisor is, this outcome is inevitable.  Even in these cases, there are a few fundamental rules to help maximize a marginalized experience.

While there are many tools out there to help find internships (ArtSearch—a publication of Theatre Communications Group, Playbill.com, Craigslist), the most prudent way to find out about internships is to take a visit to the theatres you are considering.  Research their work beforehand—who has worked with them, how they approach their brand of theatre, what kinds of outreach they do.  Go see their shows and get to know their staff.  Many theatres will also hold receptions, talkbacks, and other free gatherings to meet and greet their audience members.  Although they might be too busy to speak in-depth with, briefly introduce yourself and try to further the conversation over email, phone, or by making an appointment.  If distance is an issue, surf their website for a glimpse into their work.  Even if another theatre seems like a better fit, being familiar with multiple organizations will aid you in the long run.

Once hired, know what kind of work will be expected, but be prepared to do anything.  The phrase “and all other duties as applies” should be taken very seriously.  Remind yourself that the company will not ask you to perform jobs outside of your chosen field to simply disrespect you.  More than likely the theatre will try to expose their interns to as many different aspects of the profession as possible.  Also, many are operating off of a shoestring budget and their interns are also an inexpensive source of labor.

When this happens (and it will), there are a few steps that will help you take matters into your own hands without clashing with the administrative office.  First of all, finish the jobs that you are assigned to do.  This is a sign of professionalism and also tells the company that you are mature enough to take ownership in their work, no matter what the task.  Feel free to speak to someone if you feel unsafe, mistreated, or intentionally disrespected, but be discreet about your complaints.  Secondly, undertaking these tasks will help you gain respect among your peers.  In small organization like a theatre company, word of mouth is a powerful ally.  If someone sees you preparing a prompt book in the morning, moving furniture in the afternoon, and changing the marquee sign after the evening show, you force them to acknowledge that you are serious about your craft and your career.  Third, do take the time to speak to other artists about their work.  Do not (like many interns) shut down or gossip about how much better the world would be if you were onstage or designing costumes.  Your internship is an opportunity to ask professionals for insight into their process.  Take advantage of it.  Inevitably, your interest in their work will help pique interest in yours.  This is the time to show off your audition pieces or the scenic rendering that got you the “A”.

Remember, the interns who get the most out of their experience come away from their experience with two basic things: connections and experience.  Be aware that there are many ways that these objectives can become derailed.  The best thing for any intern to do is to be proactive and take responsibility for getting the most out of the situation.

Don Rebar is a 3 year MFA Candidate in Dramaturgy at Stony Brook University.  On various theatre jobs he has worked as a carpenter, a stage manager, an undertaker, a wine pourer, a file clerk, an usher, a furniture mover, a stagehand, and a dramaturg.

Subscribe to Artcast on iTunes

This Artcast by Judah Mahay and John Sleek focuses on the article “How to Use the Internet to Promote Yourself as an Artist” by Christine Stoddard. A great article and a fun Artcast. Check it out and leave your comments below.

Also, you can send suggestions for other articles you want to be added to Art Notes by emailing artnotes@beyourart.com. Though most articles will be from BeYourArt.com we are more than willing to consider articles elsewhere.

Subscribe to Artcast on iTunes.

Excerpt from the Article:

The “starving artist” cliché exists for a reason: no matter what kind of artist you are—actor, writer, painter, singer, photographer, dancer, etc.—earning a living is a struggle. Regardless of your talent and experience, which school you attended, or where you took an apprenticeship or internship, you will have to market yourself in order to sell your art. In fact, self-promotion is perhaps the most important way to turn your artistic passion into a full-fledged career…(read more)

Recently, we posted a few ideas to the startup Appswell.com. Each month this company takes the idea with the highest rating and develops it into an app for the iPhone or iTouch.

Below is a list of some of the ideas we posted. If you like what you see, please vote to help them be considered for development. Detailed information is provided for each app through the links.

In order to vote, register with Appswell.com (it takes about thirty seconds) then go to the links below. Also, the company factors in comments as well as the votes in the selection process, so please leave your thoughts and suggestions.

iAuthor
Take control of your novel. All your ideas, your outline, your glossary, your timeline, your notes, and so much more in one place to help develop your dream novel. Being a writer, I can’t think of a better app to help my career as a novelist.
http://appswell.com/site/idea/136

Singer’s Toolkit
Sing a single note into your iPhone and the notation will appear on the screen. No need for a piano to begin your songs. This is also a great way to practice pitch.
http://appswell.com/site/idea/96

Be Your Art
Want to know how people succeed in the art world? Find out from quick and easy audio notes. Give advice, share ideas, ask questions, meet like-minded artists (writers, painter, actors, etc), and rate/review what people post. Save your favorite notes, friend other artists, and even follow a specific topic or artist.
http://appswell.com/site/idea/262

Thank you all for your support in making BeYourArt.com an incredible resource for artists. Keep up the great work.