"A Sea of Blue" - Wonderful and exciting publication news.

 

I painted my pencil drawn artwork A Sea of Blue my first summer (2023) living in Fairbanks, Alaska. I moved here from Nome, Alaska where I lived in teacher housing and taught 2nd grade for the school district. I wrote much about this piece in earlier posts here on my blog. 

A few months after I completed it, I noted a publisher's post listed on Submittable that was seeking artwork promoting the various hues of the color blue. They had published an earlier book dedicated to the hues of the color red. Before I submitted my work for consideration, I re-read a recently self-created list of ways to promote my artwork that I had written in my personal journal. The two items at the top of the list were/are: 

1.) Submit work to calls for art to be published in a book.

2.) Seek submissions opportunities with a press / journal outside of Alaska. 

This call for work met both. The accepted work would be published in a book, the second in a series. The publisher was a small press in San Francisco, California. I uploaded my art, wrote an artist's statement and pressed Submit.

Two months later I received an email from the publisher, Jambu Press, stating that they really valued my artwork and were eager to include it in their upcoming book, BLUE: A Hue Are You Anthology. Yet, they had a question for me, "Would I be comfortable with my artwork being published in black and white as their budget for color printing was limited?" They also stated that a descriptive paragraph, written by myself, would be printed below the artwork image. This would extend the reader's invitation to view the work; to mentally see it in color. 

I asked family and friends what their thoughts were regarding having my colorful artwork printed in black and white. Too, I asked them questions like, "Would it change the work?" All of my asked family members answered by saying something like, "Say yes and get your artwork published in a book!" I had mixed responses from artists I know.  A few said they would decline adding that if their art was created in color, it should be printed in color.  Others didn't hesitate to say I should email the publishers back ASAP and say, "Yup! I am in." 

One artist messaged me the following, "I am quite sure you will paint another work, actually many more, of this quality. Let it go and send it out into the world so others may appreciate it. It's an amazing opportunity." An hour after reading their insightful words, I emailed the publisher and said it was a go. I was good with it being printed in black and white. Also, I let them know that I would have my written paragraph to them in a day or two. They email me back confirming my work's acceptance for publication. 

Twenty months later, just last week, (publication was delayed due to many small press issues), I returned home to find a brown cardboard envelope with my name and address handwritten across it. Too, Jambu Press and its address was stamped above my own. I placed the package on my kitchen counter, took a few minutes to greet my cat and feed her, then sat down and slowly opened my delivered mail. It was their book, Blue: A Hue Are You Anthology. The anthology has 196 pages and just about as many artists/poets included. My work, art and description, are on page 57. Not bad; not bad at all.

An unexpected surprise was that the poem published opposite my artwork is titled, Heron. That was what I almost named my son and occasionally add as an additional middle name when I send him cards and packages. It felt like he was part of it, of the book. It made the publication feel even more personal. 

The other surprise was viewing the list of Credits and Contributors and seeing my name just below Emily Dickinson's. I still get a kick out of looking at that. Yes, its in alphabetically order, but it is so cool!

I have painted several other works since this piece. A small handful have been published in journals with their full color. Yet, I had no less excitement at seeing my work in black and white in this book than seeing those. I simply celebrate that I am now comfortable telling people I am an artist when they asked me what I do outside the classroom. "I am a watercolor painter," I say with certainty, such certainty. 

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