Writing an Artist Statement

Dear Bubbles,
How best to write an artist statement? Thanks,
~Kari

Dear Kari,
Few things can render a photographer speechless like an artist statement can. We seem perfectly content to express ourselves visually, but as soon as we put down the camera and pick up a pen to write about ourselves and our art, all the wheels fall off.

Even when we do try to write something, we try wayyyyyyy too hard and use words and sentences we’d never utter in real life conversation. How many of you have read an artist statement that goes something like this: “I aim to interrogate the intersectionality of reality through a multidisciplinary exploration of liminal spatialities while deconstructing the ontological binaries between permanence and impermanence…”

No, I have no idea what I’m talking about either.

That’s my point. You don’t have to understand how to write an artist statement before you write your first one. You just have to start. And you can’t possibly write anything weirder than what I just wrote above.

You also can’t possibly write anything worse than my first artist statement, one I prepared for my very first art show in late November 2003. Since I’m ALL about embarrassing myself for the sake of learning, here it is:

Yep, for real. I actually framed that and hung it on a wall in my booth at art shows. I’ll wait if you need a minute to stop laughing.

It’s positively ridiculous. But in a cute sorta way. Hey, at least I was really trying hard…and at least I used words that weren’t on an SAT test.

Now that you know what not to do, let’s talk about what to do with an artist statement.

An artist statement is a short piece of writing, usually in between a single paragraph and a single page, that explains your artistic practice to someone observing your work. It provides additional context that your photographs can’t necessarily provide on their own. Think of an artist statement as a conversation you might have with someone standing in front of your photographs who says, “Tell me about this work.”

People typically ask for an artist statement when applying for an exhibition, residency, grant, competition, portfolio review, and the like. That said, I think it’s actually worth writing one even when nobody has asked for it. The process of putting words to what you make, how you make it, and why you make it can reveal patterns, clarify your vision, and help you better understand who you are as an artist. Sharing it (like on your website) can aid curious visitors understand you and your work.

An artist statement should answer three main questions:

1. WHAT do you make? Start by identifying what you photograph. Study your work and write down your observations of it. What patterns and common themes consistently appear? Don’t worry about turning your thoughts into beautiful sentences yet. You’re brainstorming, not auditioning for the Pulitzer Prize. But go beyond saying: “I photograph landscapes.”  What subjects, places, people, ideas, and/or experiences grab your attention? Are you making intimate portraits, broad landscapes, documentary photographs, still lifes, using experimental techniques, or some wonderfully hard-to-explain combination of all of the above? You don’t need to list everything you’ve ever photographed. Instead, describe the body of work you’re showing in conjunction with the artist statement and the themes that threads the individual pieces together into that collection.
2. HOW do you make it? Explain your creative process and the choices involved in making your work. How do your choices help you communicate your ideas visually? Keep the how-to and technical jargon to a minimum (or eliminate entirely). No one needs to know that you photographed your entire series at f/22, ISO 100 with a 24–70mm lens with a 4-stop graduated neutral density filter. Your camera is a tool. Tell the people how you are using that tool to say something visually. If you use long exposures, intentional camera movement, multiple exposures, unusual perspectives or alternative printing processes, explain how those approaches assist you in bringing your vision to life—not just that you utilize them.
3. WHY do you make it? WHY does this matter to you? This is the really at the heart of an artist statement—and also perhaps the hardest part to write. Why do you do what you do? Why do you photograph? Why are you drawn to your preferred subjects? What are you trying to understand, express, question or explore? Why are these subjects, themes, ideas, and explorations important to you? What do you want the viewer to consider about your work? What perspective, experience, memories, and ideas do you offer than no one else does or can? Someone else can photograph the same river, bubble, or pie but they can’t photograph it through your metaphorical lens. You may start with an answer like, “Because I love it.” That’s a fine place to start, but keep asking why over and over? Why do you love it? You may have to endure multiple cycles of obvious answers to get to something deeper and more meaningful. But keep in mind, you don’t need a profound philosophical revelation in pretentious terms. You simply need to find what your collection of photographs mean to you.

Using the three questions above as prompts, write the worst possible first draft without judging or editing. Just get words on the paper. Don’t worry about sounding artistic. In fact, actively resist it. Write as though you’re explaining your work to a curious friend who genuinely wants to understand you and your work.

Write your artist statement in first person and present tense. You’re talking about the work you make and the choices you make, so “I photograph,” “I explore,” and “I’m drawn to” generally work better than the more distant-sounding third person (e.g., “the artist photographs” or “the work explores”). Present tense also keeps the statement focused on what you’re doing now rather than what you did three years ago. Keep your sentences relatively short and straightforward, and use active (not passive) voice. Most importantly, write in your own voice. If you wouldn’t say a sentence out loud to another human being, ask yourself why you’re putting it in your artist statement.

Let your sh!tty first draft simmer on your hard drive for a few days before returning to edit it. When you do, be ruthless and judge the heck out. Be suspicious of sentences that could have been written by any photographer. Challenge and simplify every sentence. Did you write something like “My work invites the viewer to connect with the natural world.” Great. How? And then, why? The more specific you can get about your work, the better and stronger your artist statement will read.

Cut anything that sounds like clichés, jargon, repetitive, unnecessarily fancy, or overly snooty artist B.S. Move biographical information and accomplishments into your artist bio. (Note: an artist bio differs from an artist statement. A bio tells people who you are and what you’ve done—and is a whole ‘nother beast for another column.)

Keep your artist statement short and sweet. This isn’t a dissertation about your entire life. Save that for your memoir. If you’d like outside assistance in keeping things brief, tap into the Hemingway Editor to help: https://hemingwayapp.com. (Be forewarned, it can be brutal!)

Avoid telling your reader what they’re supposed to feel when they have the privilege of witnessing your work. Rather than saying, “My photographs create a sense of peace and stillness,” allow the viewer to make their own choices and have their own experience with your work. A better statement would be something like “I seek to draw the viewers attention to the dramatic way the light falls across the buttery crust of warm apple pie.” Maybe they feel peaceful. Maybe they feel stillness. Maybe your photograph reminds them of their grandmother’s apple pie. That’s their business, not yours.

Sign off with your full name, followed by your city and state and the date of creation. Some outfits want you to get really specific with this information. With today’s (lack of) privacy, I prefer more a more generic listing (see mine below).

Once you have a more polished draft prepared, let a trusted friend or two who know your authentic voice read it. Ask them if it sounds like you and if it makes sense for what you do. Consider their feedback but also stay true to your own voice in future revisions.

Then go with it—all while remembering that once you write your artist statement, it isn’t set in stone. You can change it anytime. And I recommend that you do. Your work will change over time. You will change. So should your artist statement.

Now for a fun story! When I started writing this column, I thought I’d show you my first artist statement from 2003 and then my current one so you could see how my thinking—and my writing—have evolved. There was just one problem: I couldn’t find a recent artist statement. After doing some digging, I realized I didn’t actually have one…

So, naturally, I decided to write one. Right now. I set the timer for one hour this morning and drafted one up. Because if I’m going to tell you that the first draft doesn’t have to be perfect, I figure I should be willing to put my money where my mouth is.

What follows is not my polished, final, engraved-in-stone artist statement. It’s a first draft, a starting point. Here ya go:

It is said, “Water gives life.” So it does; so it has.

Despite a life-long fear of swimming in water where I couldn’t see my feet, I came to understand and respect coastal hydrology during my three terms as an Artist-in-Residence in Acadia National Park in Maine starting in 2009. At home in Arizona, I redirected my artistic focus to learning more about water (and its scarcity) in the West. Then, in 2015, I fell off my stand-up paddleboard in a rapid on the Colorado River outside of Moab, Utah, and I fell in love with the river.

Of the 25 years I’ve practiced photography, the last 17 have focused on landscapes shaped by water. I’m drawn to rivers, oceans, waterfalls, creeks (or cricks, as we called them growing up in Arkansas) puddles, and bubbles. I make photographs not just to memorialize beauty and awe, but also to convey movement, impermanence, and perseverance and to be present within a changing world.

Mindfulness, curiosity, discovery, connection, and reverence drive my photography. Conceptual blending and combinatory play help me make unexpected connections and build relationships between things that might not initially seem related. Increasingly, I also work across other creative forms—writing, painting, dancing, and most recently, music—expanding how I notice, connect, make meaning, and create.

As a lifelong learner, I use art not only to find answers, but also to ask questions. Making art is how I investigate the places that intrigue me, the moments that move me, and ideas that challenge me. As I try to make sense of this wild ride called life, I hope my artistic practice encourages others to be curious and courageous as they study the world and consider their own place within it.

Like water, I believe life gives art and art gives life.

Colleen Miniuk
Chandler, AZ
September 2026

And there you have it! Is it finished? Nope. Will I revisit it after I’ve had a chance to let it simmer? You bet. Will the Hemingway Editor completely destroy it? Probably.

But thanks to this question, I now have a start to an artist statement again. In fact, I liked it well enough to post it on my website. For now.

I won’t argue this new one is perfect—it doesn’t have to be—but it’s definitely evolved since the first one I wrote. Trust me, if I can go from that 2003 statement to something I can actually defend in public, there’s hope for you, too.

Now grab some warm apple pie and go forth and create your own artist statement!

Be well, be brave, be wild
~Bubbles

 

Have a question about photography, art, and/or the creative life? Looking for advice or inspiration? Send your question to Dear Bubbles at colleen@colleenminiuk.com to be possibly featured in a future column post. (If you’d prefer a different display name than your real first name, please include your preferred nickname in your note.

Thanks to the generous support of many, the Dear Bubbles monthly column will remain free for all to read. If you’ve gained inspiration, education, or even just a laugh out of this and the other Dear Bubbles posts, please consider chipping in a small donation. For as little as $2/month (less than a cup of coffee!) as a Dear Bubbles Patreon supporter, you’ll gain access to the Making the Photo video series, the forthcoming “Bubble Wraps” image reviews, and other special perks. Your generosity at any level keeps this site ad-free and focused on learning which is hug-worthy and greatly appreciated!