Category: Non-Fiction

  • How to Get Paid: Tools You Can Use Today

    How to Get Paid: Tools You Can Use Today

    By Paul Bindel

    Paul Bindel Illustration
    Art by Lonnie MF Allen

    For centuries, creative people have often wondered—mostly in their own minds— “Am I really an artist? A writer? A musician? Or merely someone who makes art, writes, or plays music?”

    We can easily settle this debate. You know you’ve really made it if anyone has ever asked you to create for “exposure” or if you’ve ever had a patron ignore your notices about late payment for creative work you’ve already completed. Congrats!

    Is that a sadistic way to define an artist? Only if it weren’t true. As many an artist can attest, tens of thousands of clients, patrons and publishers are ready and willing to undervalue your work. (Cue the #notallpatrons crowd.) It’s so common that Jessica Hische has made a playful infographic, which you can find at shouldiworkforfree.com. Spoiler alert: no, you shouldn’t.

    While there are many aspects to a healthy client/artist relationship—efficiency, scope of work, collaboration, meeting client goals—payment and the agreements around it should remain a top priority. It’s your bottom line. Here are offensive, defensive and preventative tactics to ensure that you take home what you’ve earned.

    Nonfiction writer Scott Carney has seen both tricky and terrible when it comes to publishers. He recently pulled out of a six-figure book deal with Random House when his publishers didn’t respect his creative process. “A lot of freelancers feel like they don’t have any options,” he says. “You have to use whatever tool you can.”

    After publishing several best-selling books and countless magazine articles with Wired, Mother Jones, and Playboy, Carney has developed effective—if sometimes curt—tactics in dealing with clients who pay late, or for less than the agreed-upon price.

    Carney underscores that slighted creatives shouldn’t hesitate to take action. “Always be escalating,” he says. “Many freelancers feel like their relationships with the client is sacred, and if the client is treating them badly, they need to do better in some way and they’ll never have a client again. My take is that if you have a shitty client, you don’t want to work with them. You need to return the energy they give you.”

    When dealing with a late-paying client, the first step is the infamous reminder email: short and dispassionate usually does the trick. When gentle reminders don’t work, however, Carney adds a daily late fee of $100 to the invoice balance to escalate the process. No publication has yet to pay the late fees, but each of them have, finally, paid the invoice.

    To add external pressure, you may consider hiring a lawyer or debt collector. While many creatives might believe that hiring a lawyer is out of reach, sometimes all it takes is a sternly worded letter from an attorney for your clients to take action. Additionally, some lawyers are willing to work on contingency, meaning they won’t be paid until after your case wins. A debt collector may be a suitable choice if a client owes you a large amount, but be aware that they will take a cut.

    Local musician Jesse Mathews remembers negotiating one of his first gigs at The Aggie in Fort Collins. Over a text the promoter had promised “a cut of ALL ticket sales from the concert on top of a small guarantee,” Mathews recalls. This arrangement motivated the band to sell 50 tickets just on their own. When it was time to pay up, the band earned a measly $300—a cut of only the tickets they had sold, not all the tickets. Mathews now knows this arrangement to be a common industry practice, but that didn’t help him then, after the promoter’s texts had led him to believe otherwise. “I had to give my cut plus more out of my pocket to our trombone player,” he says, “and a few bucks each to the rest of my band, who were visibly disappointed after I had been led to hype them up about our profit for the evening.”

    Many stories like Jesse’s start with fuzzy agreements: “I didn’t get it in writing,” “I thought we were friends,” “I understood I would be paid.” While we want to give clients, patrons and publishers the benefit of the doubt, the first step toward clarity is laying out who will do what, by when, and spelling out what happens if any of those fail to happen.

    Painter and owner of Afro Triangle Designs, Adri Norris, swears by Tad Crawford’s “Business and Legal Forms” series. “Ever since getting that book and always making sure to do a contract, I’ve gotten paid every time.” In addition to contracts, Norris uses a range of payment processes—half payment up front, accepting online payments and milestone payments—to build trust and protect her work. Even the final payment may need protective measures, Norris explains. “Especially with products, whether physical or digital, I don’t deliver until I get paid.”

    But what if your defense against the dark arts isn’t strong enough? Even with a contract, my copywriting clients have gotten behind on payments and in one instance, ended our agreement prematurely due to cashflow issues. Not getting paid can feel annoying, infuriating and even hopeless.

    Ultimately, having positive, healthy client relationships requires careful evaluation from the jump. Lincoln Young hasn’t had any significant payment issues in 12+ years as a graphic designer and owner of Swell Creative. He credits that in part to avoiding red flags in the discovery phase.

    For instance, Young is very careful to avoid clients who micromanage: “Clients who allow me to do what I’m good at and, in turn, spend their time doing what they’re good at end up with the best results. And, of course, if their teenage neighbor has ‘insight’, we’re probably not a good match.” Young also uses up-front billing in order to protect himself, and he’s only had late payments a few times in his twelve-year career. “Once I’ve worked with a client for a while and there’s mutual trust,” he says, “we can move into a more regular monthly billing process.”

    Client relationships characterized by mutual respect, understanding and trust take time to build. And walking away from prospective clients who might not be a good fit isn’t always easy—especially if you need to make money quickly. If you’re feeling stuck, remember to account for the total costs of a client relationship—not just a one-time chance to make money. Every client relationship also involves your energy, your time and your emotions, and it’s as important to protect those as it is to bring home a paycheck.



    Originally from rural New Mexico, Paul Bindel spent five years teaching writing before transitioning full time into marketing at Doghead Creative, a digital marketing firm that specializes in content writing, strategy and social media.


  • Business Resources for Creative Entrepreneurs

    Business Resources for Creative Entrepreneurs

    By Paul Bindel

    This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is Paul-Bindel_portrait-300x300.jpg

    Love or hate resolutions, now is the time most of the Western world pauses to plan and reflect. What will your next step be?
    Whether you need peers to push you deeper into your craft or you want to finally write a business plan, use this list as a springboard for action. Think of the people you know who put off doing that one thing that could take their creative work to the next level. Do you want to be them? Then do your thing!

    Get Inspired & Connected

    Denver Metro has many networking groups and masterminds. What sets the list below apart from your everyday mixer is that each of them feature a skills-based workshop or inspirational talk to help you learn new things-in this case, with other people!

    1 Million Cups,
    Enterprise Coworking, 3000 Lawrence St.

    Each Wednesday morning, entrepreneurs gather and listen to 6-min pitches from the local community. Aside from the ever-flowing coffee, the best part is the 20-min Q&A that follows each pitch.

    Creative Mornings Denver, Location varies
    This monthly caffeine-fueled happy hour features networking and an inspiring speaker, by and for creatives. Grab your tickets early because these free events usually sell out. Be on the lookout for evening happy hours as well.

    Consultants For Good, Location varies
    Part networking, part put-it-into-practice, this monthly a.m. series hosted by Lauren Andraski is essentially a free professional development session for freelancers or business owners with a vision for social change. Do you work for arts nonprofits or social enterprises? This is your jam!

    Ladies, Wine & Design, Location varies
    Once a month, badass women in design gather and connect. This multi-city event, originally started by Jessica Walsh, seeks to increase the number of women who spearhead design agencies, so find your people, whether you work in fashion design, product design, graphic design or architecture.

    Denver Metro Small Business Development Center, 445 Market St.
    If you’ve never been to an SBDC office, now is the time to get over that fear. You already pay for this service through your taxes—why not take advantage of their courses, free consulting and pitch competitions? With an approachable culture and offices next door to the Denver Metro Chamber of Commerce, you can meet or get an introduction to pretty much anyone you need to meet in the local business community.

    RiNoMade Salons
    Converge Denver, 3327 Brighton Blvd.

    The Denver Public Library and RiNo Art District have teamed up for monthly workshops for creative entrepreneurs. Learn how to introduce your business or how to set up a business budget or other lessons they didn’t teach you in school.

    Level Up

    Most of us didn’t get an MBA, so these business and leadership courses could provide essential information so that you can earn more money, find new customers or finally understand a balance sheet. If you feel uncomfortable at the thought of a business course, that might be all the more reason to step towards it. Embracing discomfort is how you grow!

    Rocky Mountain MicroFinance Institute, Re/Launch $150-400 (sliding scale)
    Plenty of businesses have made money without a business plan, but writing one ensures that you understand every part of your business and how to keep it running healthy. This 12-week bootcamp, designed for early stage entrepreneurs, includes one-on-one mentorship and culminates in the option of a microloan to help you grow.

    Denver Metro SBDC, Leading Edge for Entrepreneurs
    $550-695 (scholarships available)

    This 10-week course will help you write a business plan, and it will connect you in a huge way to all of the resources of the Small Business Development Center. (Psst—Arts & Venues offers a 50% scholarship to creative businesses. Also, if you attend an info session, you might even score a discount on tuition!)

    The Commons on Champa, CO. Starters $250
    Testing an idea? Ready to launch? The Commons hosts events every day—many of them free, so take a moment to explore their calendar and pathways. The CO.Starters program is a 9-week program designed to help you grow, but you could also benefit from their two-day Business Bootcamp ($200, scholarships available) or even the Resource Navigator, a free online resource.

    Creative Startups, Accelerator $895
    The business accelerator that launched Meow Wolf also had two Denver alumni in 2018—GoodCinema and Futures United Network (FUN). Everything about this 10-week program is specifically calibrated for artists and creatives. Each cohort kicks off with five days in Albuquerque, NM (lodging and food included) and features a yearlong mentorship program.

    Colorado Business Community for the Arts, Leadership Arts $1,500-2,200 (scholarships available)
    The only Denver Metro leadership academy focused specifically on arts and culture, this 9-month program (Sept-May) promises to equip its 50 participants with the skills they need to serve on nonprofit boards. While it’s easy to balk at the price, you can write tuition off, and the networking aspect of this program could ultimately lead to sales much greater than the fee.


    Originally from rural New Mexico, Paul Bindel spent five years teaching writing before transitioning full time into marketing at Doghead Creative, a digital marketing firm that specializes in content writing, strategy and social media.

  • How Do Artists Develop New Products and Services?

    How Do Artists Develop New Products and Services?

    By Paul Bindel

    [dropcap]I[/dropcap]n 2010, at the height of the recession, when a friend admitted to considering grad school for  literature, I begged him to turn around. Of course, I’d nerded out on Emily Dickinson and African postcolonial lit on my own degree a few years earlier, but I was left more indebted than inspired and wound up hustling at a coffee roaster and homeless shelter to pay the bills.

    Six months later, between coffee bean deliveries, my coworker Chloe found out I could write and walked straight up to the owner: “Did you know this guy has a fucking English degree?” The one thing I was most embarrassed of, my professional chagrin, ended up leading to a raise and my first writing project: a barista training manual.

    While I didn’t become a full-time technical writer, I did get better at translating skills from one context to another. I had to learn how to see all the skills I’d already developed as valuable and build from there.

    Most creatives understand the challenge of pivoting and repackaging. Your chosen medium may be oil landscapes or three-act plays, but how do you distribute—and make money on—your work right now? And if your medium is term limited (like dance) or site dependant (like installation art), how do you develop other revenue streams? I spoke to three artists who created new paths for themselves along their way to finding creative (and economic) fulfillment.  

    If you’ve ever felt bittersweet fuzzies before the Robin Williams mural on 14th Ave, or taken a shameless selfie at a “Love This City” mural in RiNo, Golden Triangle or the Arts District on Santa Fe, you’ve seen SoGnar Creative Division’s colorful work. Today, their clients include Denver Zoo, Denver Public Schools, the Broncos, Budweiser and many towns across Colorado. Their journey to large-scale murals, however, was far from direct.

    SoGnar’s founder Pat Milbery was a pro snowboarder, so his company took the best parts of that culture—music, gnar and art. Their submarine logo spoke to an underground aesthetic and DIY ethos: “We were communicating tons of guerilla marketing: stickers, wheatpasting and a lot of propaganda. For the first handful of years, very little of what we did was done with permission.”

    Milbery’s athletic success inspired a snowboarding camp for kids and multiple collaborations with sports and marketing companies, effortlessly shuttling from designs and prints to in-store and experiential installations.

    To switch to full-time art, though, Milbery had to leave the sport behind. “As much as I loved what I was doing, I saw a bigger calling. I was scared because it was a shift in image. If we pulled out of the [snowboarding] market, would people still have our back?” (Spoiler alert: they did.)

    Denver artist Kaitlin Ziesmer, whose work straddles the line between illustration and fine art, never expected to be designing merchandise—but now buttons, pins, books and stickers are part of her regular monthly income.

    “I started making products so that my friends could afford my work,” Ziesmer says, “I was surprised that I really enjoy designing packaging. From a practical standpoint, the better the packaging, the better it would sell. It makes creating the work that much easier, less dependent on selling originals. Selling originals is awesome, but you can’t rely on it.”

    Now that Ziesmer’s work is available in eight different Denver stores, she can finally afford a studio, which has boosted her art production. Recently, she began creating sculpture and even murals, including a PBR-sponsored polar bear on Colfax Ave.  

    If you’re looking to break into the retail world, Ziesmer explains, most stores will either offer consignment—paying you monthly or quarterly when your work sells—or wholesale: paying you in a lump sum. Be sure to ask how often you’ll get paid and how much you’ll make (splits can range from 50/50 to 70/30, with the store taking more for overhead). Ziesmer says her biggest lifesaver has been a spreadsheet that tracks her payments. If a store owner forgets to send a check, her spreadsheet reminds her to send a gentle reminder. Finally, you’ll need to know if the store will be tracking inventory, or if you’ll need to come by and refill it yourself. Before a big art project comes up, Ziesmer calls her vendors to see if they’re well-stocked, so she can put her full attention on her art.   

    At the same time, the risk of others exploiting your innovation is real. This happened to Ethan Bach from Alt Ethos, an experiential design company: “We developed an interactive mirror for live events, but this year, three to four similar products came out that claim to do it better.” His solution? Double down on what makes your offering unique. For Alt Ethos, customer service and sustainability give them an advantage over other creative companies.   

    Your path to new, lucrative avenues for your art may not be clear immediately. Some of Ziesmer’s items sell better at one store than another; sometimes they don’t sell at all. It takes time and persistence to launch something new. “You gotta be passionate about it, you gotta give it all you got, and you can’t see any obstacles,” says Bach.  

    Milbery clarifies that when developing new services or products, purpose always trumps profit: “If you’re going to venture into a new place, do it 110%, but don’t have huge expectations or assumptions about financial gain. I go into new projects with a purpose of what we’re accomplishing and how this can create an impact.”


    Fund Your Art: Residencies & Fellowships

    Some creative careers offer a narrow path through the woods (lucky you, architects!), but for composers, new media artists, entrepreneurs and the rest of us, it’s often half bushwacking, half stumbling into fields of opportunity. One respite from this choose-your-own adventure are residencies and fellowships.  

    Many artists crave these structured spaces to grow and experiment. Fellowships offer a stipend for work you have done or will do, while residencies typically provide you space to work, or work and live. You might also have access to specialized tools or mentorship.

    Spots may be competitive, but don’t let that keep you from applying. In fact, psych yourself up right now—you’re 100% worthy of developing your skills, and you deserve to invest in yourself.   

    In the event you’re not accepted, consider designing your own residency by asking friends and family for a space to retreat and work. Remember that the endgame is spending dedicated time on your craft—not just a line on your resume. Even a weeklong sabbatical can benefit your art.

    Music

    Residency, The Music District
    If music is a business, this is the business gym for musicians to work out at. For less mixed metaphors, contact Julie@themusicdistrict.org.

    Artist in Residence, Nocturne Jazz & Supper Club
    Get instant feedback on your jazz licks (for better or worse) from live audiences during your weekly performances in this 4–8 week residence.  

    Visual Arts

    Artist in Residency, Anderson Ranch, $750 or $1,500 fee
    Who doesn’t love a mountain resort? Spend five weeks in spring, or ten weeks in fall honing your medium in Snowmass Village. Apply by Feb 15.

    Film

    Fellowship, The Outdoor Film Fellowship
    Like a good reality TV show, this experience brings a team of students and recent grads together for a month to create a high-impact film.

    Commitment Grants + Emerging Filmmaker Fellowship, MountainFilm, $1,000-5,000 award
    Telluride’s iconic documentary film fest makes a ton of money; each year, they pay it forward to emerging filmmakers’ new projects.

    Writing

    Writing in Color Fellowship, Lighthouse Writers, Free classes
    This yearlong program prepares one writer of color to publish their first manuscript. Application due in the spring.

    Fort Lyon Fellowships, Lighthouse Writers, $2,500 stipend
    For four weeks, work on a writing project while teaching creative writing classes to homeless veterans (~10 hours/week). Applications open in the fall.  

    Performing Arts

    Guest Artist Presenting, Control Group Productions
    You can dance. You can jive. Have the time of your life developing a new production. Apps due in February.

    Multidisciplinary (visual, performing, etc.)

    Creative in Residence, Denver Art Museum, $7,500 stipend
    Who hasn’t dreamed of taking over at least a corner of the museum? If you know how to inspire collaboration and visitor engagement, apply in the fall for this April–September gig.

    The Residency Program, Elsewhere Studios, $600-850 fee/month
    Literally any artist or creative person (“scientists, teachers, and other creative thinkers”) can apply for this year-round Paonia residency. What’s holding you back?

    Artist in Residency, Platteforum, $250/week + studio space
    Be the weird creative mentor that inspires high school students to take risks! This 6-8 week studio residency culminates in an exhibition in your medium.

    Artist Residency, Redline Contemporary Art Center
    Two years. A dedicated studio. It doesn’t get any more Denver than this Five Points, community-centered space. Applications open in March 2020.

    *Don’t see a good match in our list? There are hundreds more to search from in the Alliance of Artists Communities’ database.


    Originally from rural New Mexico, Paul Bindel spent five years teaching writing before transitioning full time into marketing at Doghead Creative, a digital marketing firm that specializes in content writing, strategy and social media.


  • Can The DIY Roots of Rhinoceropolis Survive Its Bureaucratic Renovations?

    Can The DIY Roots of Rhinoceropolis Survive Its Bureaucratic Renovations?

    By Josiah Hesse

    Photo by Tom Murphy

    [dropcap]F[/dropcap]or anyone that remembers pre-gentrification, pre-legal weed Denver, the all-ages, DIY venue Rhinoceropolis was the beating heart of our city’s underground art scene. Denver staples like the feminist/queer music festival, Titwrench, Denver Noise Fest, and the immersive art festival Fantasia, were born and thrived at Rhino. A young (pre-Elon Musk) Grimes performed there, and electronic musician Pictureplane (Travis Egedy) spent years performing and organizing shows at Rhino before moving to Brooklyn. And there’s Flosstradamus, Wolves In The Throne Room, and Lightning Bolt…we could go on.

    Back then Rhinoceropolis was in a dark corner of a warehouse district, where artists endured poverty but enjoyed freedom. And then a dark cloud by the name of RiNo (River North) Arts moved in, appropriating the name of the DIY venue while transforming the neighborhood into a cartoonish playground for developers and corporate-funded art.

    This was followed by the tragic fire at the Oakland DIY venue, Ghost Ship, where 36 people were killed and a panic about underground venues permeated the nation. Despite years of routine inspections from the Denver Fire Department, Rhinoceropolis was shut down by city officials shortly after the Ghost Ship fire, leaving several of its members homeless (including weirdo genius Colin Ward, who committed suicide shortly after) and a massive hole in the Denver arts scene.

    Fast forward two years and Rhinoceropolis is back open, having complied with all the bureaucratic demands thrust upon them by various civic agencies. Rhino director John Gross has put in countless hours and energy making sure the venue has all the walls, ramps, electrics, bank accounts, permits and contracts needed to make it a legit, above-ground venue.

    But can the spirit of DIY arts be maintained in a space that works hand in hand with city officials? We traveled out to the newly renovated Rhinoceropolis to speak with John Gross about this cultural conundrum, and what the future holds for one of our city’s finest arts institutions.

    Honestly, after hearing about all the changes you had to make to get this place up to code, I was expecting Rhinoceropolis to look like a slick, AEG venue. But it still feels like the same place. What’s different about running this place today compared to before the shut-down?

    Before, when we were living here and putting on events, it was like throwing a house party in my living room, so I didn’t care whether or not I turned a profit. It was about having a good time, and making sure the bands had enough gas money to get to the next place. For anything like this to work, the focus has to be on taking care of the artists.

    Today I’ve got these laws and bureaucracy to conform to that we never bothered to deal with before.

    What did you do before that you can’t now?

    The biggest one is we can’t live here anymore. But I’ve also gotta operate as an LLC, and if we pay any bands more than $600 I gotta have them fill out a 1099. Which would never have crossed my mind before. It was all cash. But now we’ve got a square reader, a business bank account, online ticket sales, all the stuff that you would do when you think of a legit arts organization.

    Photo by Tom Murphy

    After the Ghost Ship fire and Rhino being raided, was there a period of time when you thought: “Fuck it, Rhino is over”? How big of a blow was all that to your spirit?

    The Ghost Ship fire was still on my mind when the cops showed up that freezing cold night in December 2016. It was less than a week since the fire. Two of my personal friends died in that fire, who I’d met through this place.

    The moment I saw it on the news, I called my friend and said “we’re gonna need to be careful.” But there was never any point in my mind that this was a “death trap,” which was a common phrase in the news about Ghost Ship. With the DIY scene there’s always an attitude of self-policing, so I told my team that we’re gonna have to up our game. In the back of my mind I thought: The city is going to be paying attention to us.

    And then, soon enough, the Sheriff was here, social services, fire department, the press, all these city agencies watching us while we moved our stuff out. That was when I got a call from Vince from Meow Wolf and he asked, “What do you need?” And that’s when I thought we might have access to resources to keep this thing alive.

    Photo by Tom Murphy

    Did you have a sense of what it would take to keep it alive?

    Absolutely not. I don’t know how anyone could without a background in commercial real estate and international building code. And yeah, there were times when I had doubts that we could pull this off. But I started hearing from a lot of people, who reached out to say how much they thought Rhinoceropolis meant to their community. I heard from a lot of people who said all-ages spaces are incredibly important for music culture. There are a lot of people who had their first exposure to the DIY culture here, the first time they could relate to people performing, and first time they experienced art that challenged them. And that gives them the idea that “hey, if they can do that maybe I can.” Then a few months later they called me and said, “I’ve got a band, can I book a show?”

    Was Colin Ward’s death a factor in wanting to push on with Rhinoceropolis?

    Colin was my partner in all this. He was going to have a big leadership role in the new version of the venue, and his suicide hit me really hard. I think it hit everyone really hard. I can’t know what was in his mind, but all of the hurdles, delays, red-tape and city bureaucracy stuff [at Rhinoceropolis] had a big impact on his mental state, and maybe made him do what he did. For him to suddenly not be there, I thought, “I can’t do it without him.” But at the same time, I had to keep going because that’s what he would’ve wanted.

    Photo by Tom Murphy

    Everyone knew him as a great artist, but how was he as an event organizer?

    He was amazing at that. Fantasia was the biggest, craziest…It was a lot like what Meow Wolf does, but a little more of the chaotic, ecstatic, over-the-top type of thing. And that was all him. He was manic when it came to organizing that thing. He would pull people together from very diverse backgrounds.

    While the space itself doesn’t look wildly different than it did before, this neighborhood has changed exponentially. What’s it like trying to put on a show here late at night?

    Yeah, this area is the new Cherry Creek. We have had some noise complaints, but the cops just came in to tell us to turn it down a bit, and that was it. I try and go around and talk to the neighbors, but the trouble is I don’t live here anymore. This neighborhood went from being a forgotten industrial wasteland to hot property and the gateway to downtown. And that’s when they started rebranding it as an arts district.

    Photo by Tom Murphy

    And appropriated the name RiNo, right?

    Yeah, I’ve been saying that forever. The people from RiNo deny it and deny it. Was it too much of a coincidence? I think so. We’ve always had a problematic relationship with the arts district. They did support us financially when we were being shut down though. I don’t think they wanted us gone. I would like us to be more involved with them. The problem is a lot of the people from the DIY community don’t want anything to do with them.

    Do you feel like a diplomat between the DIY community and mainstream arts and law enforcement?

    Absolutely. A lot of the people from the DIY community are around 21. And I’m 41. And they ask, “Why do we need to deal with the city? This is bullshit.” And I say that we have to be legit now. You used to be able to do whatever you wanted, for years, but not anymore. Or maybe it’s just a generational thing, I don’t know. It’s complicated.

    Photo by John Gross (on far left)

    Yet I like the idea that there are still 21-year-olds out there saying, “Fuck the city.” I went to that Community Forum on Safe Spaces, with city officials and the DIY community, and when the Q&A started, the first kid up there let out the most horrendous screechy howl into the mic for something like two minutes. At first I was aghast, but then I thought: They’re all meeting with the city on the city’s terms, maybe the city should get a taste of this weirdo art world.

    That’s funny, because at the time I was upset about it. That was what made our first architect quit the project. But then I thought: Maybe this guy isn’t a good fit for us. And in the end we were able to find an architect that was an artist and knew this community. There are a lot of people out there who are really skilled professionals who support the DIY community and aren’t just in it for a check.


    Author of psychological horror novel Carnality: Dancing on Red Lake, and regular contributor to VICE and The Guardian, Hesse aims to blend journalism and the arts within the pages of Suspect Press, making it both a reflection of our time and an innovative force of creativity. He’s recently released the second book in his series, Carnality: Sebastian Phoenix and the Dark Star, available at several Denver booksellers and on the Suspect Press website. Contact: josiah@suspectpress.com, josiahhesse.com & @JosiahMHesse


  • Making Art, Making Money: Wrestling With The Market In New Denver

    Making Art, Making Money: Wrestling With The Market In New Denver

    by Paul Bindel

    [dropcap]A[/dropcap] few months back, a gallery-owning friend of mine met with an artist for an upcoming show, and the artist’s first question was, “What are people buying? What images are selling the most?” My friend was annoyed at this formulaic approach. “If we’re only making art for the market,” he asked, “what kind of closed loop are we creating?”

    Point taken, but this artist, along with the rest of us, still has to pay “New Denver” rent. While creativity is democratic (if you can speak, you can tell stories; if you can hold a pencil, you can make drawings) the art market is not.

    Back in 2015, I had to weigh my own need to make money alongside my need to create, forcing me to rethink idealistic beliefs like “art is good; business is bad.” I left a steady teaching job to pursue writing and took whatever work I could get. There were a few rabbit holes—like the time I wrote grants for a bitter divorcée—but even these somehow became useful experiences.

      Was this selling out? Maybe. I had less time to work on my poetry and plays, but my writing helped others and earned me a paycheck. It’s an eternal struggle that every creative person goes through, and there’s no universal solution to this conundrum.

      We’re all dancing for somebody. Some for the market, some for our parents or lovers, others for ourselves, and still others for Lovecraftian deities. How do you find an audience that will pay for the work you want to create? Let me know if you find the perfect answer (submissions@suspectpress.com), but here are some stories of people I know who’ve found ways to make it work.

      Some artists, like my friend Frank Martinez, stick to a personal vision. Frank challenges himself to change and grow with each series of paintings. When one of his shows sold out, his gallerist suggested more of the same style. It was so popular, there was potentially some good money to be made. Frank, however, was ready to move on, so “Bye, Felicia!”

      “It comes down to authenticity,” Frank says, “I don’t disparage someone for creating art only to sell, but it’s not something I can do.” This approach certainly comes with some sacrifices. You might need to keep a day-job, or to live simply (hello, coupons and roommates) while you realize your vision. For many artists, a little momentary discomfort is worth it to achieve your artistic vision.

      Other artists, like Jonathan Saíz, make a discipline out of collaboration. Through “So Wrong It’s So Right,” Jonathan posts other artists’ works on Instagram in 24-hour auctions. Even more, he never takes a commission. “In the old model,” he says, “we were taught there’s limited wall space, and we have to be competitive. What I’ve found is that collaborating with other artists has done nothing but make my work and my network stronger.”

      This approach may require you to give before you get; particularly to other artists in the form of purchases, Patreon, or just lending a hand with their projects in any way you can.

    “Do you believe in magic?” Jonathan asks, “If you don’t believe we’re in an energetic game where what we give is what we get back, then you’ll always need to be properly compensated before moving forward. But if you believe that the energetic system feeds off what you’re doing, then giving first in order to get is a way more economical way to live.”

      Still other artists like Romelle see market needs and meet them, alongside her art. To supplement her painting, Romelle takes Airbnb guests on photoshoot tours of Denver street art, teaching them how to take better selfies while she makes $125/person. This also gives her the chance to talk about local art and instruct tourists on why tagging artists on social media is important (an artist’s Instagram follower-count can have a big impact on their income).

    This approach isn’t for everyone, especially if it takes you away from what you perceive to be your main work. Do what feels right.

    Ultimately, finding patrons who connect with you and your work is a long term process, without a single path. The only north star is your integrity and, often, patience. Artist Angela Craven spent hours organizing a solo show, only to sell one piece. Though “two years later someone called me about buying a piece they had seen in the show,” she recalls, and they ultimately bought two pieces and are considering a third. “You’re always planting seeds, even if they may not have an immediate return.”


    Fund Your Art: City & State Edition

    Your tax dollars finance highway expansions, belligerent wildlife relocations and traffic cop salaries. So shouldn’t they also fund the creation of beautiful things? Well, it just so happens that they do! Denver alone issues more than $500,000 in funding each year to artists, creative businesses and arts organizations.These Colorado and Denver programs can not only fund your art, but also establish your name in the wider (above ground) arts community.

    Career Advancement Grant, Colorado Creative Industries, $500–$2,500

    Available each summer and winter, this State of Colorado program supports creative business owners and entrepreneurs in leveling up. If your creative business receives this grant to develop management practices, revenue streams or new audiences, you’ll need to match it.

    Denver Music Advancement Fund, Denver Arts & Venues, Varies

    The MO behind this grant, open in April and May, is building Denver’s musical ecosystem. Anyone can apply, though priority goes to music programs for kids, who can obviously take Denver’s music scene the furthest, chronologically speaking.

    Denver Urban Arts Fund, Denver Arts & Venues, $2,000–8,000

    The OG graffiti prevention program, Denver UAF now also promotes community building and social change. Proposals come in every February, with thousands of spray paint cans emptied late summer and fall. Bonus tip: neighborhoods with fewer existing murals take priority.

    P.S. You Are Here, Denver Arts & Venues, up to $10,000

    This September placemaking grant allows artists to collaborate with neighborhoods or place-based nonprofits. The resulting temporary installations might highlight a place’s unique history or improve residents’ experiences. If you love partnerships, this grant is for you.

    1% for Art Program, Denver Public Art, Varies

    Denver approved $937 million of bonds in 2017, and thanks to this program, millions of that will fund public art. Requests for qualifications happen 3-6x per year. Worried you can’t deliver Blucifer-scale work? Most public artists hire designers and fabricators—you can too.

    IMAGINE 2020 Fund, Denver Arts & Venues, up to $7,500

    Anyone can apply to this summertime matching grant so long as you make the case that your new project aligns with the City’s cultural plan. One tip is that the City wants an economic impact—money should go to communities or locations that haven’t always had access to art.

    Many more public art grant opportunities, Callforentry.org, Varies

    Paul wants to build the cooperative commons in Colorado through affordable, community-centered financing and cross-class, interracial coalition building.

    With 40 public art agencies in Colorado and mural commissions around the state (even in a new King Soopers!), Call For Entry is the place to stay connected. Don’t wait—create a profile, upload high quality images of your work and apply!


    Originally from rural New Mexico, Paul Bindel spent five years teaching writing before transitioning full time into marketing at Doghead Creative, a digital marketing firm that specializes in content writing, strategy and social media.


  • #21 Letter From The Editor

    #21 Letter From The Editor

    [dropcap]I[/dropcap]’ve been having more stress dreams than usual. Dreams of inadequacy and failure and loss. I’ve felt death in my bones—the same subcutaneous, amorphous fatigue I’ve felt before two of my close relatives died. I’ve been calling people I haven’t been in touch with in months to see if they’re still alive. They are. I’ve visited my therapist, I’ve journaled and I’ve talked to loved ones to try and unearth this intuitive dread, and yet it still lingers and for the life of me I can’t identify where this is stemming from.

    As I looked through the winter issue to write this letter, multiple themes stood out to me, and yet all of them seem to be part of a cohesive larger theme: Reassessment of self.

    Our cover by Sofie Birkin showcases indulgence and reinvisioned mythology. When discussing her cover in the Suspect Press office she said of playing with classic imagery, “Why not queer it up a bit?” Allow us to see more of ourselves in history. Societal norms are ever-shifting but, as Noah Van Sciver’s comic highlights, loss and fear and struggles follow us wherever we go. No matter your age or innocence, illness can overcome you (see Amy Yang’s illustration “Sick Sad Kids” on p. 11). Nor can we escape the age-old tropes of deception and violence, as exhibited in Cleon Peterson’s stunning centerfold piece “The End of Days.”

    If I haven’t depressed the fuck out of you yet, give Jack Orleans’ piece “The Orchid” a read to see how ever-so-subtly people in authority can misuse their positions of power. Or take a look at Karl Christian Krumpholz’s illustration “Agoraphobia” for a depiction of desolation and loneliness. However, on the flip side, maybe we could all use a little more solitude—a little more getting-away-from-it-all. For how can we see how we might be hurting others, or hurting ourselves, unless we spend time alone to assess our words and behaviors? Are we treating ourselves and others with kindness and fairness? Josiah Hesse reflects on this in his essay comparing the unlikely similarities between Henry Rollins and Morrissey, owning his previously-held hypocritical prejudice.

    In Lonnie Allen’s comic about icon Grace Jones, we see the power of believing in yourself against all odds and the beauty that arises from self-transformation. And in Adrian H Molina’s poem “Winter, An Epilogue” we get an uplifting message of hope and progress despite personal storms.

    As you read through the issue, see if you can apply this theme to the other pieces. And send us a note on your thoughts if you like. As for me, I’ll be here, listening to Radiohead’s “How To Disappear Completely” until the weight lifts.

    By Amanda E.K.
    Editor In Chief



    Amanda is a short fiction and freelance writer, and a member of the Knife Brothers writing group – a small collective of short fiction writers. Her work has been featured on the Denver Orbit podcast and on Mortified Live. She has stories in Suspect Press, Birdy, Jersey Devil Press, and the Punch Drunk Press Poetry anthology. She’s currently working on a diary memoir about the damaging effects of growing up in evangelical purity culture – available late 2019 through Suspect Press.

  • Stan Lee, ‘Nuff Said

    Stan Lee, ‘Nuff Said

    By Lonnie MF Allen

    [dropcap]I[/dropcap] was five years old when I first knew who Stan Lee was. In 1981, I would religiously wake up before my parents did on Saturday mornings to watch Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends. Stan Lee would voice a preface for each upcoming episode, and I remember knowing that the sound of his voice would mean a quality show was to come. It was doubly so when they would later add the Incredible Hulk to make it a full hour of Marvel characters. The cartoon would lead me to read Marvel comics (as I imagine the cartoons were intended to do: be a marketing venue for the comics). Within most printed Marvel comics there would be on the opening splash page: “Stan Lee presents:” as well as “Stan’s Soapbox” which was his editorial that would be promoting a new series. Stan Lee is of course indelibly tied to Marvel comics.

    As I grew into my teens, I never much thought of Lee besides that of an old hokey self-promoter. His comics weren’t edgy enough compared to much of the mainstream comics during the late ‘80s and early ‘90s (he tried an awful endeavor to reimagine DC characters with a darker slant). However, as I started to become a comic creator myself in my early twenties, I began to read and hear stories of Stan Lee that almost every serious cartoonist knows: Stan Lee fucked over a lot of people. Most people on the street know Stan Lee’s name, but most are also almost entirely unaware of the other comic industry giants that made all of Marvel’s characters possible. People like: Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko, Bill Everett, and Joe Simon contributed as much if not more to many of the beloved and iconic characters we know so well today. Stan Lee usually created narratives in interviews implying he was the sole creator of such characters as Spider-Man, Fantastic Four, or Black Panther while the truth was much more complicated.

    Stan Lee taking full credit for most of the Marvel characters had deep repercussions for many of his co-creators and their families. While the Marvel business empire grew with merchandise and tie-ins which are still ubiquitous today, many, if not all of the co-creators did/do not see a dime for their creations and have their artwork plastered across t-shirts, lunch-boxes, and toy packaging. Even recently, many of the Jack Kirby’s creations go uncredited to him while they fill the movie screens across the world raking in billions. There is sort of a poetic justice that happened with Stan in the late ‘90s, he had departed from Marvel to create his own company that within a few years went bankrupt and he, like many of the co-creators he screwed over, had to sue Marvel to receive royalties from his characters in film.

    Similar to Steve Jobs who is the face and name of Apple Computers, while only the ardent talk about Steve Wozniak, so too is it the way of Stan Lee. My twelve-year son and many of his friends are sad at the passing of Lee and see him as the funny guy who does cameos in the films they really enjoy and is the creator of all of the Marvel comics. Would Marvel be where it is today if not for Lee’s constant promotion? Undoubtedly not. The hard truth is that the Marvel comics we see today whether on the page or on screen would not exist without Stan Lee. He just didn’t do it alone.

    -Excelsior!



    Lonnie MF Allen has long been a stalwart of Denver’s comix scene. He’s an illustrator, writer, and designer. Lonnie is also the cat-wrangler of Denver Drink & Draw and was named as one of Westword’s100 Colorado Creatives.” His work has been published by Dark Horse, Image Comics, and he’s a regular contributor to the Colorado Sun.

     

  • A Brief History of John DeLorean

    A Brief History of John DeLorean

    By Lonnie MF Allen

     

     

     

    Lonnie MF Allen found his comic-art stride as a high-schooler dabbling in zines and mini-comics, eventually coming up through the ranks in the local comix scene, where he’s long been a regular among Denver’s close-knit cartooning community. An oft-published illustrator, writer and designer in addition to his niche as an award-winning cartoonist, and named one of Westword’s 100 Colorado Creatives, Allen is an organizer for the Denver Drink & Draw meet-up. His work has been published by Dark Horse, Image Comics, and he’s been nominated for an Eisner Award. Find him at lonniemfallen.com.

     

     

  • Lost

    Lost

    By Dan Landes

    Illustration by Karl Christian Krumpholz

     

    I walked in the room
    She said I reeked of death
    I said “I’m an American what the fuck you expect?
    I owe 40 million dead Indians for all my success.”

    The last thing I wrote for Suspect Press, the magazine I launched with Brian Polk over four years ago, was a letter from the editor. The letter expressed my need to shut my mouth, and take a hard look at myself. Despite my successes as a restaurateur (City, O’ City, Watercourse), I was becoming disenfranchised and lost within a changing city and couldn’t find the strength to admit it. I hid the fact that I felt lost like a tourist trying to not look at a map. I strolled along with aimless confidence portraying a false image of what success looks like.  

    Since writing that letter from the editor I’ve followed through and shut my mouth. This process led me to shutting many other things. I shut down my social media accounts. I sold my businesses and my sweet little Cap Hill home. I ditched my smartphone and replaced it with a flip phone (not sure how long this will last—texting is a bitch on a numeric keyboard). I closed my Spotify, Netflix and Hulu accounts. I turned off the news. I quit drinking. I hardly write anymore, but I read a lot. While I’ve become bored with my own thoughts, I am devouring the thoughts of others. I am grateful that Suspect Press exists for this reason.  

    Shutting my mouth adversely affected my worth as a conversationalist. I don’t really care about opinions—yours or mine. I don’t trust any sources of information unless divine.  Divine to me, anyway.

    Those without faith
    Are limited to logic

    I had reached the limits of what Western thought could show me. Deducing, categorizing, rationalizing and quantifying were not going to help me find my way. The scientific method killed the magic that I so much need in my life.

    My father taught me
    How to not dance

    Lost and quiet I’ve been trying to locate myself. Where am I? Literally. Where am I on earth? Denver.

    The buildings make the city
    The land makes it stand

    Denver’s footprint leans against the Eastern slope of the Rockies facing the Great Plains and stretches up and down the Front Range. The South Platte River confluences with the Cherry Creek in the energetic center of Denver and then continues northeast to eventually deposit into the Gulf of Mexico. For millennia, the confluence was an important landmark for migratory hunters (today it hosts REI—the Fascinations for outdoor fetishists). Cold air, blowing east over the Rockies, pools in the valley as the warm air from the Plains settles over it creating a thermal inversion trapping the cold air and all its accompanying pollutants.

    The migratory people never camped near the confluence. The smoke from their fire would be trapped under the inversion, signaling their exact location to others. Fast-forward a thousand years, and on cold days the stench of the Greeley slaughterhouses hovers above Denver city like rancid breath.

    I enjoyed being locked in this room with you
    However,
    If I knew the key was hidden beneath the welcome mat
    I would have left much earlier

    Denver is becoming massive. All the new asphalt, buildings and people have created a thermal mass that soaks up the heat during the day like a cast iron skillet and emits the heat back slowly into the cool night. I like to look at Denver from the foothills at 9000 feet. I go there to figure out where I am. From that vantage point the confluence looks like the center of a vortex sucking in the surrounding counties.

    From the mountaintop I spin a slow 360 degrees.  Where am I? To the North the spine of the Rockies divides the watershed. My mind reaches West toward the California shoreline, where 20 million people, guided by wanderlust and the desire for a better life, now wonder where the fuck to go. I turn to the East Coast, where a man lives in a white house built by people who were beat into servitude; he seems to enjoy smearing his feces over everyone. Finally down South to the Mexico border where Americans do as they’re told, upholding the law, and separating parents from their children.

    Where am I? I close my eyes and meditate on the Four Directions. The morning sun of the East. The abundance of the South. The cold North and the promise of the West. Here I am. Always and forever in the middle.  Wherever I go I am always and forever in the middle.

    Aho mitakuye oyasin; all my relations.  

    The people who migrated across this land believed that they were related to all things. I don’t. I understand the concept that everything is made from stardust—but I can’t help feeling separate. Rocks are rocks, trees are trees, stars are stars and I am in awe of them. Separate and in awe, like an alien observing a foreign land. Perhaps I am an alien. I don’t feel related to all things but I am aware that I can find myself in relation to all things by the Four Directions.

    Writing this for Suspect Press has been difficult. I used to love sharing my thoughts and stories, and perhaps I will again. For now I am systematically dismantling a scientific view of my existence. I am letting go. A sail pulled by unpredictable winds. There is no apology here. No regrets. Those sentiments only serve to placate me. I desire to get right with my god, to acknowledge my privilege and what it took for me to get here. Who was oppressed and eliminated to put me in a position of authority? I know the answers and it ain’t pretty.

    We can only make amends for the atrocities of our ancestors
    When we stop reaping the benefits of their crimes

    I look up:

    What the blue sky above Denver City told me:
    ‘On this desert lies hope.
    You are not on this desert.
    You are on the one below it.’

    I no longer act like I know what I’m doing. It’s better to be honestly lost than falsely found.   

     

     

  • Teenage Letters to My Future Husband

    Teenage Letters to My Future Husband

    By Amanda E.K.

    Illustration by Lonnie MF Allen

     

    In Christian college, I founded a monthly event called Single Girls Sleepovers. We’d dress up in old prom dresses and plastic costume jewelry, listen to Disney tunes, and color in coloring books while watching a romantic comedy. We were great at having “safe” fun, but the real point of these sleepovers was to spend time in discussion and prayer for our future husbands. (Assuming we were all to be married, and to men.) We’d sit in a circle and talk about our ideal guys, dissolving into giggles when describing body types. Then we’d blast “A Whole New World” and write our imaginary grooms a letter.

    We believed in God’s plan, and we were saving ourselves for the men God had already chosen for us. All we had to do was prepare our hearts for the union through prayer and contrition, and when we were finally ready, God would let us meet The One.

    We read books called When God Writes Your Love Story, The Bride Wore White, and I Kissed Dating Goodbye. I think it was one of these books, or maybe Brio Magazine (a lifestyle and entertainment mag for teen Christian girls) that sparked the husband-letter trend.

    The letters included promises to pray for this unknown boy’s purity and to remain pure for him (though you were unclear where the line was drawn for self-gratification). You let him know your interests, and how close your walk with God was. (“How’s your walk been?” you might add as a postscript.)

    The letters were never sent, but collected and saved to present to your husband on your wedding night.

    I still have all of these letters. No longer to share, but to keep a record of how I’ve changed.
    Here is the first of those letters:

    Amanda is a short fiction and freelance writer originally from Iowa. She’s a member of the Knife Brothers writing group – a small collective of short fiction writers – who can be found occasionally haunting the Victorian halls of Lighthouse Writers Workshop. You can find her work in Suspect Press, Birdy Magazine, Jersey Devil Press, and in the Punch Drunk Press Poetry anthology.
  • “People Hating You Can Be Energizing,” Says Westword’s Patricia Calhoun

    “People Hating You Can Be Energizing,” Says Westword’s Patricia Calhoun

    By Amanda E.K.

     

    Illustration by Lonnie MF Allen

    I sat down with Patricia Calhoun, co-founder of Westword and longtime editor, to talk about the Denver arts & literature scene, and to solicit some advice on managing a team of creatives.

    She greeted me at the Westword offices, her purse slung over her shoulder, ready to go out for a beer. My first impression: This lady’s got style. I took note of what she refers to as her ‘Granny Clampett gets a BeDazzler’ ensemble, complete with cowgirl boots and denim skirt, and thought: This is going to be fun.

     

    You’re known for working around the clock with Westword. How do you spend your downtime?

    Some friends and I just bought a crazy tower outside Lymon. It’s the World’s Wonderview Tower in Genoa, Colorado. It’s a 90-year-old tourist attraction that was falling down, so we bought it to save it, but we don’t know quite how we’re going to do that.

    Do you ever get caught up in fantasy, or are you mostly realistic and analytical?

    I think reality is much more interesting than anything coming out of my brain. Much more important than imagination is the ability to be surprised. You have to be willing to give up everything you thought going into a story because it might be very different. You’ve got to listen for nuance, look for detail, make connections, especially if you’re doing news and investigative reporting.

    Any addictions that get you through the day?

    Drinking is a time-honored tradition, especially in newspapers. When you go to a bar, you meet people who aren’t in your everyday life, and you find stories you wouldn’t find otherwise. Also, if you’re having a difficult conversation with someone it’s a lot easier to do it over a beer. I don’t like to drink alone, which might be why I’m not alone that often.

    I read too much, if that’s a vice. I read everything I can get my hands on. I love the fact that neighborhood papers and niche publications still seem to be doing pretty well compared to daily papers, which are dying right and left.

    What’s your take on the Denver underground magazines like Birdy, Barf, Cherry and Suspect Press?

    Really it’s similar to what it’s been over the last forty years. There’ve been a lot of zines and independent art publications; they don’t necessarily last that long, music ones especially, but I love it when people are trying to do it. But it’s hard to make a living at. You have to love what you’re doing.

    Do you see any of the art scenes in Denver expanding outside the state?

    It’s really cyclical. Sometimes bands are hitting it big, like Nathaniel Rateliff. You’ll have times when comedy is really strong. A lot of it depends on who’s running a venue. The writing area’s boomed a lot because of publications like Birdy and Suspect Press and Lighthouse Writers Workshop. But the book pub industry is so tough. You’ve got to have a strong writer’s community just so you can have people to commiserate with. I think the bigger change right now is people who think they can’t afford to stay in Denver, so they’re not necessarily moving to make it bigger, but just to survive and still be able to do their art, and that’s a depressing development.

    Have you had to make changes at Westword to evolve with an ever-changing Denver?

    The changes in Westword have a lot less to do with Denver itself than the media in general. Westword is one of a group of papers that evolved in the seventies called alternative papers, so we took that name because we weren’t the daily mainstream press, but now, most of the mainstream press is gone, or they’ve changed so much…What are we an alternative to now? A very tiny Denver Post? So now we’re really just a local media outlet.

    What advice would you give a new editor in chief?

    Absolutely be as clear as you can with people about why a story works or why it doesn’t. But the other thing is, always give yourself enough time to sleep on it, or at least walk around the block because, especially when you’re doing creative things, with a little time and distance the solution will float into your head. Also, get ready for everyone to lie to you and make up the most creative excuses for missing a deadline. I’ve heard about more sick cats—even from people with cats I know died months earlier.

    How do you justify pissing someone off in order to stand by what you think is best?

    As an editor, you’re working for the story, and the reader, so you want the story to be the best it can be. At Westword we’re either disappointing or hurting people, or making them mad because we’re telling stories they might not want told, because they’re true. It might be the easy thing to not run that story, but it wouldn’t be the right thing to do.

    People hating you can be energizing. Sometimes the haters are right. If we make mistakes and people call us on it, more power to them. I love when readers care enough to even say that.

    One of our editors—and a former writer for Westword—asked me to ask you: What was it like dating James Eckhouse, the guy who played Jim Walsh on 90210?

    He and I both played the violin, so we shared a stand in junior high, and both completely faked what we were supposed to be playing because neither of us ever practiced. It’s funny when one of your early boyfriends is not the hunk on Beverly Hills 90210—he’s the dad.

     

     

    Amanda is a short fiction and freelance writer originally from Iowa. She’s a member of the Knife Brothers writing group – a small collective of short fiction writers – who can be found occasionally haunting the Victorian halls of Lighthouse Writers Workshop. You can find her work in Suspect Press, Birdy, Jersey Devil Press, and forthcoming in the Punch Drunk Press Anthology.
  • Interview: Talking Economics with Meow Wolf

    Interview: Talking Economics with Meow Wolf

    By Josiah Hesse

     

    Meow Wolf House of Eternal Return

     

    There is an old cliche that “real” artists aren’t interested in making money. Or that if you are focused on making money, you must be a shit artist. Sometimes things do play out that way, leading to great talents being ripped off, and hacks making a killing on hotel room art. But it doesn’t have to be that way, says Vince Kadlubek, co-founder and CEO of the Santa Fe, New Mexico art collective Meow Wolf.

    Since its inception in 2008 as an underground music and arts venue, Meow Wolf has set a new standard for what artists can accomplish when they pool their resources and aren’t afraid of  playing a little footsie with capitalism. In 2016 the collective landed their first permanent space—a converted bowling alley owned by Game Of Thrones author George RR Martin—and there created the world-renowned exhibit, House of Eternal Return, which has hosted more than 400,000 visitors in less than two years.

    Kadlubek has had no qualms about monetizing the popularity of Meow Wolf, and in turn his organization has been turning some of that capital into grants for various organizations, not least of all Denver’s DIY arts community, who received a total $74,000 in the form of 20 different grants just this year.

    We recently spoke with Kadlubek about Meow Wolf’s upcoming plans for a Denver location,  what our arts community can learn about the success they’ve had in Santa Fe, and why getting along with business and government doesn’t have to kill your creativity.

    For those that don’t know, what is Meow Wolf?

    Meow Wolf is a creative company that grew out of an art collective. Our main product, the thing we like to create the most, are immersive exhibitions. We’ve done around 30 temporary exhibits, but we have a permanent one in Santa Fe.

    But we’re also in entertainment media, AR, VR stuff. We’re looking to do feature films, documentaries, merchandising, product development, whatever. Our aim is to keep the spirit of the artist collective alive and open to whatever people are passionate about.

    How much of Meow Wolf is an extension of Santa Fe and the arts culture down there?

    It’s kind of based on Santa Fe in that it’s a psychedelic, weird, cyber-spiritual, culty, new age kinda thing. There’s a lot of Santa Fe influence on Meow Wolf, but there’s also a lot of national aesthetics we’re pulling from. We’re just doing what we’re doing.

    Meow Wolf House of Eternal Return

    In this age of income inequality, Meow Wolf seems to be pursuing a new economic model for artists and collectives. What can other artists communities learn from what you’re up to?

    I think artists getting comfortable with business-minded people—and business-minded people getting comfortable with artists—is very important. That needs to happen if we want to have the arts and creativity survive in this economic climate. Artists need to apply some business-type thinking to their work.

    Art exhibits get a lot of traffic, they’re an event that’s cultural and important and people want to be there. And yet it’s considered totally wrong to charge admission to an art exhibit—that mentality needs to change. I could have four thousand people lined up outside the door to see my paintings, but if no one’s buying them and everyone just wants to be there at the event, then I need to rethink this and consider charging everyone five bucks. Because there’s a valuable exchange happening there.

    In addition to a distrust with the business community, in Denver the DIY community has a strong apprehension toward working with city officials. Do you think it’s possible for underground communities to have a good relationship with the city without losing the culture, politics and lifestyle that make them what they are?

    I don’t see it as a need to balance to strike, or compromise. What you’re seeing in Denver is an issue with fire codes: An inspection from the city on DIY spaces finds that they’re not up to code and everyone gets kicked out. The honest truth of it is that artists don’t want to live in spaces that aren’t up to code, and the city doesn’t want to kick artists out—so there is some common ground there.

    From my perspective, the conversations and progress happening in Denver on this issue are far beyond most any major city in the country. Denver is having the most upfront, honest attempts on both sides to make this situation right.

    Rumors have been circulating for some time about a permanent Meow Wolf instillation in Denver. What can you tell us about that?

    Denver is at the top of the list of cities that we want to go to. We’re still working it out. We’re trying to find a large piece of real estate where we can do a badass exhibit, and real estate in Denver is complicated and expensive. I think we’ll have a space locked in soon, but there’s a lot of work to do even after that. We’d like to announce something in November.

    How can ambitious art projects like Meow Wolf serve as an antidote to all the damage that gentrification has wrought on the Denver arts community?

    When money pours in from the tech industry, or marijuana industry, or whatever, artists can’t keep up, they get priced out of their own neighborhoods, and their art spaces get turned into high rise condos.

    But it’s not going to be solved by slowing the economic growth of a city. Artists and creative industries need to be able to keep up with the economic growth curves, so that artists aren’t poor. And that’s the problem here: artists don’t have work. The world doesn’t value artists, businesses don’t value artists, and cities don’t value artists.

    So our hope [with Meow Wolf] is to show the economic value of artists. And hopefully artists can start to represent themselves in ways that produce value. And new businesses can be developed that are dedicated to supporting creatives. So hopefully artists can start getting bigger paychecks. And with bigger paychecks they can keep up with the economic growth curves of the city.  

     

     

    Author of the psychological horror novel Carnality: Dancing on Red Lake, and regular contributor to VICE and The Guardian, Hesse aims to blend journalism and the arts within the pages of Suspect Press, making it both a reflection of our time and an innovative force of creativity.