"One Artist, Two Arts" from Flutist Quarterly

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The Value of Optimal Musical Communication

Commissioning New Repertoire Communicating Beauty One Artist, Two Arts T H E O F F I C I A L M A G A Z I N E O F T H E N AT I O N A L F L U T E A S S O C I AT I O N , I N C

One Artist, Two Arts Many flutists will recognize this photographer’s name—in fact, many of her portraits have appeared in this magazine.

Kate Lemmon brings the same philosophy to her camera work as she does to her flute playing, and here she offers advice on how to thrive in yours.

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KATE LEMMON

by Kate Lemmon

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This portrait of Paula Robison is among many by flutist and photographer Kate Lemmon. “Each art form influences and strengthens my love for the other,” she says.

enjoy meeting strangers on airplanes, and I imagine that many artists feel the same way—after all, we spend our lives in pursuit of sharing beauty with the world, and friendly conversations certainly suit that goal! Many of my airplane conversations begin when the person next to me asks about the photos that I’m editing, and some time in the next few minutes, they learn that I am pursuing my master’s degree in flute performance while simultaneously running my own photography business.

The number one question I hear: “So you want to be in an orchestra and take photos on the side, right?” I used to answer yes, but I no longer consider photography a “side interest.”

Learning how to take appealing photographs and successfully market and operate my business has taught me so much about musicianship and artistry. Each art form influences and strengthens my love for the other, and I doubt I would be pursuing either without both!

Here are a few lessons I’ve learned and continue to strive to incorporate into both my music and photography.

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Build your brand People often mistakenly think of “branding” as a fancy term reserved for corporations and high-end boutiques, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. A brand is a simplified representation, and every person has his or her own brand. Each time I interact with a fellow flutist, perform in a concert, or participate in a rehearsal, I represent and define my brand as a musician. I think about the type of person and musician that I want others to see, and then I think about how my daily activities can contribute to that goal.

I spent a lot of time determining the visual look and feel of my photography website; I made it fresh, fun, and casual

because those are the types of clients I wanted to attract.

Beyond my web presence, I think about my brand on a day-today basis—everything from my style to my body language when communicating with others.

Because I run my own business (and this applies to my flute playing as well—every musician is a small business), I view every moment as an opportunity to connect with a potential contact/client. My business cards live in my wallet, waiting for that person on the subway who notices my Altieri backpack or the camera strap that’s sticking out of it. Consistency in my personal brand is an essential part of attracting the kinds of clients with whom I would love to work.

Technical knowledge precedes effective art It’s easy for me get caught up in wanting to create something dramatic and moving. But it’s hard to take photographs that speak to people without getting the technical details out of the way first.

My artistic eye won’t do any good if the shots I take are blurry or over-exposed. Similarly, if I don’t take great care to play in tune and with a beautiful sound, listeners won’t pay any attention to my musical ideas.

Every craft takes practice and dedication Malcolm Gladwell stresses this in his book Outliers, arguing that to master a craft you must put in 10,000 hours of practice. I’ve clocked more than 12 years of practicing, rehearsing, and performing; although I may not feel immediate progress after every practice session, it’s the combined hours that have gotten me to a point where I feel stable and comfortable with my instrument.

When I first started photography, practicing meant constantly bugging my family and friends to take their portraits nfaonline.org

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and practically living in Barnes & Noble’s photography section.

It took a lot of time to become acquainted with my two crafts, and it’s an ongoing process.

Hold your ground

I began my business with a Canon XTi, and although it was a great starter camera, after awhile I got really frustrated—no matter what I did, I couldn’t get my photos to look “professional.” Two years later when I bought my first Canon 5D, I realized it wasn’t so much that I was photography-challenged as it was that my old camera was just not designed for professionals. With my new camera, it suddenly became much easier to take focused and vibrant pictures. If only I had made the investment two years earlier!

I felt the same way when I invested in a new flute this past year. So many technical problems that I had tried desperately to work through (cracking, articulation, depth of sound, etc.) became instantly easier when I upgraded my instrument. While a more expensive flute was no substitute for practicing, it helped me bring my musical potential and my real-life results closer to equilibrium.

Most of my clients are happy to follow my requests and policies. However, I occasionally hear from more difficult clients who are eager to push my boundaries to get lower prices or make photography requests that I’m not comfortable filling.

I used to accept every type of photography job, no matter how strange or inconvenient, because I didn’t want to turn anyone down or lose money. When I became more comfortable with saying no, I increased my credibility because I became a specialist in what I enjoyed.

I once had a conductor who helped enforce this lesson.

When I began working with him, I was overeager to earn his approval, and any slightly negative comment or look significantly affected me. I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t make the conductor happy; after all, I was trying to do everything right all the time! Then I realized that he was harder on me because I wasn’t projecting confidence, so I learned to believe in my abilities enough so that I could present myself calmly but still take criticism in a beneficial way. As soon as I made the corresponding mental switch, my experience with the conductor became much more constructive.

Make people’s eyes shine

A great mentor is crucial to your career

I first heard this expression from a conductor I worked with, and it’s changed how I think about both flute and photography.

He told us that he defines success based on whether or not his audience’s eyes are “shining,” or reflecting positive energy.

My goal in every flute performance and photography session is to break past my clients’/audience’s exterior and appeal to a deeper level. By showing energy, enthusiasm, and passion for what I do, I help bring that out in the people with whom I interact.

The only reason I became a photographer is because of a mentorship class that I took in high school. I owe my entire photography career to my mentor, Michele Anderson, for teaching me how to start a portrait business and develop my own vision.

Similarly, I began studying flute with the late Tal Perkes, former principal of the San Antonio Symphony, during my sophomore year of high school. He completely transformed my playing and challenged me to be meticulous about every

Invest in the best tools for your craft

Lemmon’s goal as both flutist and photographer is to break past exteriors and appeal to deeper levels. Below is Benjamin Smolen, principal flutist with Pacific Symphony.

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detail. Without him, I never would’ve had the confidence to audition for a conservatory, nor would I have found my subsequent mentors, Bonnie Boyd and Paula Robison.

If you have the time and money to invest, search for the best teacher you can find. I can’t imagine where I would be had I not had the help of these wonderful people.

The best creative work comes after breaks It’s easy to fall into the mindset that hard work alone will bring you success; after all, that’s how most of the world operates.

However, creative work is somewhat different. Don’t get me wrong; there is no substitute for time spent in the practice room!

However, I’ve noticed something I call the “winter break phenomenon.” Every December, as school draws to a close, the cumulative stress of the semester and the holidays drives my playing into the ground. No matter how many hours I spend practicing my repertoire, my playing becomes worse and worse.

Then, winter break rolls around, and because my photography schedule fills my days to the brim for those three weeks, I’m unable to practice flute.

Every January, I come back to school dreading my return to flute because I’ve convinced myself that the time off has ruined my playing forever. However, every year, my problems magically disappear and my flute feels better than ever.

Creativity cannot be forced, and sometimes my own best remedy is to stop trying completely and let art find its way back to me. I’m lucky because I go through flute and photography “phases” at different times, so my work in one field allows me the needed break from the other.

Redefine “professional” Some people associate the word “professional” with acting cold and impersonal, but to me it means consistently striving to produce work at a high level and presenting myself respectably. As much as people want something “professional,” they also want someone they can relate to, especially in artistic career fields.

I used to try to write my photography blog entries to sound like every other professional photographer, but then I reconsidered. My pictures don’t look like every other photographer’s, and part of what makes my photo sessions different is that they are laid-back and fun. Why should I make my writing stiff when I’m not? I decided it’s better to reflect who I am through my blog, even if that means every word isn’t capitalized and I use words like “supercrazyfabulous.” Maybe my writing isn’t 100 percent “professional,” but the most important thing is that I continue to produce work that my clients love.

The same goes for my music. No one will want to hear me perform if they can hear the exact same thing on a recording from the comfort of their home. I strive to play how I feel and give my audience authenticity.

Parting thought: beauty in imperfection Flutists (and musicians in general) constantly aim for perfection—music must be in time and in tune, and one cracked note is the end of the world. Right? Wrong! At the risk of hypocrisy (I constantly struggle with my Type A personality), I believe that the best art is the imperfect kind.

Bonita Boyd, above, and Paula Robison are among Lemmon’s mentors.

My favorite photographs always turn out to be the shots “in between” poses, when my clients let down their guard or I pressed the shutter twice accidentally and caught a laugh or a tender moment. Those shots have raw beauty and appeal to a deeper human connection. At a symphony concert, I would so much rather hear a concerto soloist miss a few notes with artistic conviction than to hear a flawless but otherwise boring performance.

I found a fantastic quote from Marc Schoen in a recent issue of Southwest Airlines’ Spirit Magazine.

“No matter your profession, perfection isn’t achievable.

Just look at The Beatles. They would leave flaws in their early recordings—like Paul’s voice cracking or John singing the wrong word—but those things made the end result magical.

When today’s Auto-Tuned artists aim to be perfect, their songs lack that same richness. Pressuring [people] to be perfect leads them to take desperate measures and cut corners.

And it breeds mediocrity. If there’s an intolerance for accepting differences and flaws—and different ways of seeing, feeling, and operating—it suffocates the potential for innovation and creativity.” ❃ Kate Lemmon lives in Boston, where she is pursuing her master’s degree with Paula Robison at New England Conservatory. Visit katelemmon.com. nfaonline.org

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