Artist Resources, Grants for Artists, Creative Projects, Making Money for Artists

It’s no small feat to hold the anxiety, worry, and fear that comes from living through these turbulent times, while also having to continue working our jobs, doing laundry, and finding joy where we can. With the U.S. presidential election tomorrow, these feelings may be heightened, as the country and the world prepares to face another unknown. It’s likely that we’ll be in a similar position as the 2020 election, where we won’t know the results until well after election day. And no matter the result, we may be in for a tense few months.

In a world where our time and attention are continually mined as a resource, reclaiming your focus and directing it towards creative work is nothing short of a revolution. But if you’re anything like me, devoting time to your creative work is an ongoing process with perpetually shifting seasons. Some months, you might be on a roll and fall into a nice, smoooooth rhythm: making art before breakfast, chores after dinner, plotting revenge plus resting on the weekend. In my busy bee era, an entire year could fly by with plenty of creative gigs (and all the admin work that they bring)—but seemingly no time left over for a personal, creative practice.

My first experience of pluralism took place on the second floor of the sunniest side of my elementary school building, in the Goose Room. The Goose Room (inside-the-box thinkers might call it an art classroom) was the quietest place in the entire school. While other teachers struggled to negotiate or enforce an appropriate volume level with groups of energetic young people, my art teacher floated from one quiet pod of students to another, asking as many questions as she answered. We learned that there were infinite ways to mix colors, and that mixing ideas, cultures, backgrounds worked the same way.

This past summer, the Fractured Atlas ecosystem welcomed Alberto Mejia as our organization’s new Chief Operating Officer. As the confetti settled, it was time to sit down and chat expansively with Alberto. He shares his personal definitions of artist support and solidarity, his hopes for the creative economy, and how fiscal sponsorship can fit into this complex puzzle. We hope you enjoy Alberto’s colorful window into Fractured Atlas’s work.

For this Seeding Collaborations, we spoke with artists and educators Michael López and Karl Orozco who founded and run Risolana, a community risograph studio located in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Risolana’s name is inspired by the New Mexican concept of la resolana, which is a south-facing wall where community members can gather together. Risolana offers public access to a risograph printer and runs a range of educational workshops and programs highlighting the potential of the risograph as a medium and tool for artistic and social change.

If you’re an artist, you’ve probably experienced a moment—maybe even several—when you look back on a stretch of time and realize that you’ve created less art than usual, or even no art at all. Maybe you’re in the middle of some big changes, like becoming a parent, or attending to your mental health. You might be emerging from a particularly busy period, and just want to soak up some rest for the time being. Moving through different seasons is a normal part of both life and the creative process. But what happens when those short breaks in between your art sessions start stretching into weeks, months, or even years? How do we navigate longer, extended breaks away from our art practice and the emotions that may arise with them?

Years ago, I had a roommate who built sets for local theater productions. I would come home from a closing shift and he would be painting a sign for some make-believe business. I would get back from the movies and he’d be hammering nails into some crude, unfinished structure. I wondered what it was like to move through the day the way he did, from project to project, seemingly paying little to no attention to what time of day it was, whether it was time to eat lunch or go to bed.

For this Seeding Collaborations, we spoke with farid rakun—an artist, writer, editor, teacher and instigator based in Jakarta, Indonesia and a part of the artist collective ruangrupa. rakun is trained as an architect, but “wears different hats, dependent on who is asking.” We were drawn to his extensive practice in working collectively and his generosity in knowledge building and sharing. Our time with rakun was spent hopping from one idea to the next, including the plurality of collectivity throughout the world, making room for experimentation, and the importance of joy in art.

Many of us, myself included, were raised in a world where competing with the people around you is the norm—even when it leads us nowhere. Don’t get me wrong: I’m an incredibly competitive person at heart and have been forcibly removed from a number of casual board game groups. But when it comes to art, I believe that competition creates a false sense of scarcity among artists and keeps all of us hungry for the everyday magic of art.

In a world where our time and attention are continually mined as a resource, reclaiming your focus and directing it towards creative work is nothing short of a revolution. But if you’re anything like me, devoting time to your creative work is an ongoing process with perpetually shifting seasons. Some months, you might be on a roll and fall into a nice, smoooooth rhythm: making art before breakfast, chores after dinner, plotting revenge plus resting on the weekend. In my busy bee era, an entire year could fly by with plenty of creative gigs (and all the admin work that they bring)—but seemingly no time left over for a personal, creative practice.