The Artist's Guide to Grant Writing

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Your artist statement already
exists even if you haven’t
written it. It’s left tracks in
your paintings, journals,
dances, melodies. It’s written
all over you.

When visual artist Linda Hutchins has to write an artist statement, she starts by poring over the voluminous notes she takes while working on line drawings in her studio. “I work without music or radio or any programmed sound,” ​said Hutchins from her sunny studio with a view of the lush verdant mound of Forest Park in Portland, Oregon. “I want to listen to what comes up into my head. A lot of the times it’s a voice that’s trying to explain what I’m doing.”

It’s so funny. You think, I’m going to be an artist so I don’t have to write. There’s probably more writing than anything. But the writing helps you define your ideas. There’s a clarity that comes when you have to verbalize them. Then that gives you the ammunition to go back and make the work even if you don’t get the funding. Now you have this document that describes in detail what you’d like to do.

· MARK R. SMITH, VISUAL ARTIST ·

For Hutchins, this voice anticipates the questions people ask about her work: Why do you rub silver spoons on paper to create the marks of your drawings? Can’t you get a computer to do that? Her answers end up in her artist statement. (See Hutchins’s statement on this page.) They are her self-defense, she says, because her process is anything but random.

Many applications for grants and residencies will request an artist statement, bio, résumé, or some combination of these documents. This is your chance to demonstrate that you’re the obvious recipient for this funding. Your artist statement discusses your philosophy—why you create. Your bio reveals the story of your life as an artist—where you’ve been. And your résumé lists the facts of your ​career—the marks you’ve made along the way. Of all of these, the artist statement is the most challenging to write because to philosophize about why you create requires a lot of pondering, considering, and questioning.

The benefit of all this deep thinking, however, is that a honed statement gives funders a way to understand and become enthused about your work. A good artist statement is also a manifesto for you, the artist. It’s your marching orders and your reason for being. Writing, editing, and revisiting your artist statement reminds you where you’ve been and where you’re headed. Let this manifesto keep you true to your own aspirations and creative vision.

Write Your Artist Statement

An artist statement reveals your philosophy, why you do what you do—your themes, your processes, your obsessions, and all the other details your audience needs to know. It’s what viewers read in tandem with experiencing your work, whether that work is hanging in a gallery or submitted in a grant application.

A statement can be as short as a few sentences or as long as one page. All artists (including writers) need one. You’ll use your artist statement many times during your career, for instance, with

  • Grant applications
  • Residency applications
  • Teaching applications
  • Gallery shows
  • Portfolio
  • Website
  • Graduate school application
  • Press packets
  • Catalogs
  • Theater programs

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A good critic is a better writer than most artists. But often an artist, if they think about their work, is better than a fast reviewer, a fast critic, or a fast curator just quickly trying to get something at the last minute for a press release.

· DREAD SCOTT, VISUAL ARTIST ·

The most important use of an artist statement, however, is a private one: It’s what you, the artist, express and understand about why you do what you do.

Your artist statement helps you decide which project to pursue next. It’ll remind you what is most important to you. It’s also a record of your growth as an artist. The statement you wrote at twenty-five will be very different from the one you write at fifty-five. Your statements help you track and appreciate the trajectory of your career. As you develop your career, you will absolutely need one.

Writing your statement may make you irritable; most artists won’t write a statement until they absolutely have to. Some don’t like to analyze what they do. While you’re working, you may not have words to describe your pursuit. You may even feel that analyzing it destroys some magic. Fortunately, first you create the work and then you look for the words to describe it. If you don’t, find other people—your audience and your friends (artists and nonartists)—to help you find the language.

The most useful aspect of writing an artist statement is the actual process of writing one. It grounds you. It forces you to fess up, to admit what it is you’re after. Expressing your creative goals gives you direction and keeps up your momentum. Writing an artist statement helps you find your own true north.

​The artist statement you write for a grant application can be organized by theme, by chronology, or some other way. It might tell a story: This is where I began, I was influenced by that, then I brought in this element, and this is where I’m taking the work next. The statement can place your proposed work in context of the arc of your career and take the reader on a journey that has a past, present, and a future.

There is no one recipe for writing an artist statement. However, because an artist statement will be read by other people, start by asking, Who is my audience? What am I using this particular statement for? Like every other aspect of your grant application, your artist statement must be customized for each grant because each funder will be most interested in a different aspect of you and your work.

If your artist statement will appear alongside your work, your audience wants a look inside your process. They want to know what makes you tick. The more abstract your work is, the more the audience needs you as a guide. “People are curious how your brain works,” said Hutchins. “I try and tell them. I’m curious how my brain works, too, so I like to write about it.”

For some audience members, a statement is a window to understanding the art. Some people don’t know how to talk about art, and a statement teaches them how. It’s a visual, literary, or aural aid that helps them expand their world. With the statement, your audience may find more of an emotional connection to the work. Now they know the story behind it.

Not every artist wants the viewer to know the story behind the work. That’s fine. If that’s the case for you, your artist statement can be a series of questions—maybe questions you were asking when you made the work that never got answered or questions you are always asking.

Collect artist statement from artists you admire. Many artists’ websites have artist statements, so they’re easy to find. Read as many statements as you can and emulate the ones that speak to you.

You’ll need to have several different statements for different purposes to emphasize specific aspects of your work. Think about what ​you’re using your statement for and you’ll know what to include and delete. When I was applying for a residency that would enable me to perfect my skills in performing my work on the radio, I emphasized the aural, spoken aspect of my writing. If I had been applying for a literary grant, I wouldn’t have mentioned this aspect at all.

Start writing your statement by answering any of the questions in the assignment at the end of the chapter, or have a colleague interview you using some of those questions. Write down your words and phrases verbatim. You may need this interview before you put pen to paper. To generate even more answers, use these questions to interview your audience. They can’t talk about your internal process, of course, but they can tell you what they experience in your work. Their comments may resonate with your intentions or be the kick-start you need.

Hutchins advises artists who find it hard to talk about their work to start by asking, Why is my work hard to talk about? Your answer may be the doorway into your own words.

Even if a grant application doesn’t specifically ask for an artist statement, it can be a handy reference as you compose your answers, pulling pieces from it as you describe your goals, aspirations, and plans for your next work. Your artist statement will always be a work in progress. Print it in large type and tack it to your workspace wall. Read it regularly and add notes, cross out what’s no longer true. It will evolve over the rest of your life, so don’t worry if it never feels done.

In the examples of artist statements on this page notice the topics artists chose to include: the art-making process, historical context, philosophy, autobiography, intended impact, and recurring themes. Some even reference past work as examples of how they manifest their philosophy.

Dos

• Write in simple sentences.

• Write about yourself in the first person—that is, use “I” rather than “she” or “he.”

• Choose descriptive language that paints a picture in the mind of the reader.

​• Keep your audience in mind.

• Use twelve-point type and paragraph breaks so the text is easy to read and navigate.

• Be specific to yourself and to your work.

• Reflect the tone of your work in your statement—for example, if your work is humorous, your statement can be funny.

• Reveal your medium, especially if there’s potential for confusion; however, don’t describe what is obvious to the viewer.

Don’ts

• Avoid jargon, technical terms, abbreviations, and acronyms.

• Don’t use convoluted language.

• Avoid clichés.

• Refrain from philosophical generalizations.

• Don’t tell the audience how they’ll feel in response to your work. Instead, describe your intentions.

• Don’t mention your childhood unless your work is autobiographical. Even then, be brief.

Sample Artist Statements

Each artist statement is as unique as the artist who writes it. I’ve included two examples to show you the range. As you find and study others, you’ll see a variety of tone and content.

VISUAL ARTIST STATEMENT · Linda Hutchins begins with the title of her work and the dictionary definition of those words. She continues with a brief description of her art-making process, the effect she creates, and the historical context. She concludes with a touching explanation of her personal connection to her tools and the meaning behind the work.

​LINEAL SILVER

LINEAL:

1. relating to a line or lines; linear

2. in a direct line of ancestry or descent

3. hereditary

SILVER:

4. a soft metallic element capable of a high degree of polish

5. articles of domestic use, such as tableware, made of or plated with silver

6. anything having the luster or appearance of silver; a neutral gray of medium brilliance

  I draw these lines directly on the walls with a silver spoon. The spoon leaves a trace of actual silver as I walk from one end of the wall to the other. Accidental nuances create undulations that ripple like water, clouds or hair. Line records the present moment through the pressure and pace of my movement.

Artists have made drawings in “silverpoint” for centuries, using a rounded piece of silver wire rather than a spoon. While silver won’t make a mark on plain paper, it will leave a delicate line on paper or board that has been coated with gesso. Ordinary wall paint is similar to gesso and creates a surface that is surprisingly satisfactory for silverpoint—and silver spoon—drawing.

The spoon I use belonged to my grandmother or to a close family friend. It deposits a vestige of the past as well as the present. In our time, silverware is acquired through inheritance and valued as a reminder of previous generations. ​We use it on special occasions among family and friends. Drawing with silverware links the physical line with the metaphorical lineage of ancestry, and the repetition of the drawn lines with the repetition of generations.

ACTOR/PLAYWRIGHT ARTIST STATEMENT · Aaron Landsman first describes exactly what his work is, then goes on to explain the unique venues for his plays. He continues with a description of what he’s striving for in the work, including the varied theatrical elements he uses. Notice Landsman’s powerful verbs: witnessed, burnish, embedded, bounce, and so on. His phrases are fresh and evocative, much like his work.

I make live performances that mix scenes, monologues, dance, installation, and the occasional cheap pratfall. I come at playwriting three-dimensionally; the text is a vehicle for embodiment and lives best when breathed, shaken, stirred, and witnessed. Many of my pieces are staged in apartments, offices, and other familiar locations, while others utilize established performance venues. Having created performances in a range of theatrical styles—from multimedia ensemble collage works, to plays strongly anchored in narrative and character—I am now working to make theater that draws from the best of these methods.

With each script, I try to burnish everyday intimacies and transgressions until they take on aspects of the epic, and to reveal deeper tensions embedded in unassuming situations. The narrative force accumulates through a structure and acting style that may seem offhand one moment, driven the next. Monologues, fourth wall scenes, subtle asides to viewers, and the occasional cheap pratfall all build on and bounce off each other until the audience is caught up in the same maelstrom as the characters themselves. I want immediacy and hindsight to ​exist in the same performative space. I write about nostalgia a lot, and the patina we place on the past from within the present seems an ideal predicament for theater to address.

Working site-specifically has been immensely rewarding for me. It has helped me try and understand some essential things about theater without being limited by the constraints that often hamper emerging artists (tight tech schedules, intense financial pressure, an assumed relationship among audience, text, and performer). I am beginning to envision a kind of theater-making that brings lessons I’ve learned from working outside the theater back into the space itself.

Write Your Bio

If your artist statement is your philosophy, your bio is the factual narrative of you. Written in sentences—not a list, like a résumé—it’s the story of who you are, what you make, where you were educated, and where your work has been seen or experienced. A bio can be as short as a paragraph and as long as a page or two.

Your bio also can include personal details including your birthplace, where you were raised, and where you reside now. You can include funny or interesting details about yourself, but avoid being cutesy. Every detail you reveal in your bio should have some relationship to you as an artist or to your artwork and the project you’re proposing.

Unlike an artist statement, a bio should be written in the third person—using “she” and “he,” not “I”—so that it sounds like somebody else is writing about you. Writing about yourself in the third person can feel strange, but sometimes this exercise alone—writing about yourself from the outside looking in—can provide the perspective you need to stand back and discuss your work as though you didn’t make it.

Sometimes an application will give you the choice to submit a bio or a résumé. If you’re still an “emerging artist” and your résumé is skimpy, submit a bio instead.

​Performance Artist’s Bio

Linda Austin includes the facts of her work—where she’s performed, the benefits of her new studio location, her education, and her funding history—in her long bio.

With a background originally in theatre, Linda Austin began making performance and dance in 1983, when her first piece was presented at the Danspace Project at St. Mark’s Church. As an active participant in the downtown New York dance and performance community until 1998, Austin presented work at Performance Space 122, the Danspace Project, the Kitchen, and Movement Research at Judson Church. From 1992 to 1994, she lived and made work in Mexico, returning to Mexico City in 1998 for a two-month residency sponsored by Movement Research and funded by the U.S./Mexico Culture Fund.

In 1998, needing a more expansive and stable environment for the creation of work, Austin moved to Portland, Oregon, bought a small church that became her studio and, with lighting designer Jeff Forbes, founded the performing arts nonprofit Performance Works NorthWest. PWNW serves as the parent organization for Linda Austin Dance as well as the catalyst for other projects, such as a 2002 residency and commissioning project with New York-based choreographer Sally Silvers.

In the Northwest, Austin has performed in Northwest New Works at On the Boards and as part of Portland Institute for Contemporary Art’s TBA Festival; at Velocity (Seattle), Conduit, the Echo Theatre; and at her home studio, Performance Works NorthWest.

Supporters of Austin’s work have included the Oregon Arts Commission, the Paul G. Allen Family Foundation, the New York Foundation for the Arts, Movement Research, the U.S./Mexico Cultural Fund, Oregon’s Regional Arts and Culture Council, and the Djerassi Resident Artists Program. ​Her writing has appeared in The Movement Research Performance Journal, Tierra Adentro (Mexico), the literary journal FO A RM, and a 2003 collection from MIT Press, Women, Art and Technology.

Musician/Sound Artist’s Bio

Ethan Rose presents a hybrid artist statement and bio. He mentions his influences, the types of projects he’s created, the instruments he uses—a unique aspect of his work—and what he hopes his audience will experience.

Ethan Rose’s work reflects his interests in old technologies, new sounds, and the restless exploration of musical form. Over the past ten years, he has released recordings, scored films, performed internationally, created sound installations, and worked with a variety of collaborators. Drawing from his interests in musique concrete, chance operations, and American minimalism, Ethan creates shifting sound environments that merge the old with the new.

His music is electronic in nature but maintains an organic quality because of his exclusive use of acoustic sound sources. Much of his recent work has centered around instruments from eras long past, including music boxes, player pianos, and carillons. However, he is interested in pulling new sounds and ideas out of these antiquated devices rather than treating them with a sense of preservation. By bringing a carefully detailed sense of arrangement to his music, Ethan’s pieces transport the close listener to a warm and unusual place.

Author’s Bio

In her bio, author Donna Matrazzo includes sensory details about the places she’s lived. Because she writes about the environment, this emphasis on the natural world of her surroundings makes perfect sense.

​There were no woods on Wood Street, in Braddock, Pennsylvania, where I grew up. Nor any connection to the natural world. Just one block of sooty homes, choked between the railroad tracks and the steel mill. Houses were so close together that if we shook the dust mop too far out the hallway window, it was in Mary Mihalko’s living room.

Braddock was the home of the first Carnegie Free Library, and I toted home armfuls of books whose pages took me on adventures I was determined to have when I grew up.

We studious sorts were encouraged by our high school headmaster to aim for college, assured that we would find scholarships and loans to see us through. It worked, and a degree in journalism from Duquesne University gave me solid grounding for a life beyond anything I’d imagined.

Now I live on Sauvie Island, at the confluence of the Columbia and Willamette Rivers, on the outskirts of Portland, Oregon. My house is nestled between an acre and a half of my own woods, and a seventy-five-acre state natural area across the little country road. Trilliums bloom by the hundreds in spring, and herons, hawks, bald eagles, tundra swans, and sandhill cranes fly overhead.

From this outpost I have travelled afar: Bali, China, Tibet, a summer bicycling across Europe, three week-long bike trips around Oregon, kayaking in Glacier Bay and the Fiji Islands, rafting, cross-country skiing, tromping, and camping through many a U.S. and Canadian wilderness.

I’m a founder of the Oregon Ocean Paddling Society and the Sauvie Island Conservancy, trained in Wilderness First Aid, a certified Schoolyard Wildlife Steward, and on the advisory board for the Columbia River Water Trail, and I have worked part time for Audubon and as a sea kayak guide.

​Write Your Résumé

If your bio is your story, then your résumé or curriculum vitae (CV) is your fact sheet. It’s the details in black and white.

Include the following information in your résumé:

• Name and contact info

• Work history (if relevant)

• Education

• Exhibitions (solo and group)

• Residencies

• Awards, grants, and fellowships

• Press coverage

• Collections

• Published works, including name of publication and date

• Any other facts associated with your art, including dates, locations, and other relevant details.

Customize your résumé for each application you submit. Every item on it should relate to that specific grant and that specific project. For example, when I’m applying for a literary grant, I don’t include my teaching experience; the funder is not interested in me as a teacher but as a literary artist.

List your education only if it’s relevant. For example, a visual artist with a bachelor of science degree in mechanical engineering would likely list the degree, especially if her work relates—however tangentially—to engineering. I usually don’t list my certificate in advanced French from a prestigious Paris institution, because it’s irrelevant to my writing now. However, if I were applying for a residency in France, I would list it. So, if your experience relates to the work that you’re describing on your application, list it; if not, omit.

The challenge for experienced artists is keeping the résumé to two pages. Read the application guidelines and find out if there is a page limit, and if so, stick to it. Leave in the accomplishments that are most ​recent, most impressive, and most relevant to the funder’s interests and the project you’re proposing. Be sure to proofread (or have someone else proofread) your résumé to eliminate typos, and be consistent in both the form and content of your list of achievements.

If you’re unsure how your résumé should look or what it should include, look at what other artists have done. Many artists post their résumés online, so look up some colleagues’ websites. If a granting organization gives you access to past successful applications, study the résumés submitted. Or ask an artist friend who has won that grant if you can look at the résumé he used. Bhandari and Melber’s book ART/WORK: Everything You Need to Know (and Do) as You Pursue Your Art Career, listed in Appendix A: Where to Find Grants and Residencies, includes an excellent section on résumé writing for the visual artist.

If you’re an “emerging artist” and the application gives you the choice to submit a bio or a résumé, submit a bio instead and continue to build your résumé until it’s a full page long.

The most important aspect of résumé writing is to include only the information that is relevant to the grant and to your artwork. If you work as a barista and you’re applying for a playwriting fellowship, don’t include this job. Write your résumé to present you the artist. If you’re having trouble deciding what to include, imagine that you’re on the panel and ask yourself, Does this detail support the proposal? There’s your answer.

Buy a new notebook and a metallic magic marker. Label the cover MY MANIFESTO. Turn to the first page and answer the questions below to jumpstart writing your artist statement. If you get stuck, think about what worries or obsesses you, or what’s still nagging at you after all ​these years. Remember that all of your answers must relate to the project you’re trying to fund.

  • What does the grant-review panel need to know about my work? What’s important to them?
  • What process do I use in making my work? What special research am I conducting?
  • How do I make my work, step-by-step?
  • What’s unique about my process or my result? What makes my work like no other?
  • Where do I go for inspiration?
  • How has making art saved my life?
  • How did my earliest years or upbringing affect my art?
  • What first drew me to this art form? What was I seeking? Did I find it?
  • Who are my influences—mentors, trainers, or famous artists I have never met?
  • What excites me most about my work?
  • What obsesses, fascinates, or haunts me? What still keeps me up at night?
  • What am I worried about? curious about?
  • Did I choose this art form, or did it choose me? How?
  • How does my work fit into the history of this type of art-making?
  • What do I want my audience to feel, question, wonder, understand, or do after experiencing my work? What’s my goal?
  • If my work were music, what kind of music would it be, played with what kind of instruments?
  • If my work could speak, what would it say it’s about?

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  • Customize your artist statement, bio, and résumé for each grant application you submit, including only the information that’s relevant and supports your case.
  • Use headings and paragraph breaks so the document is easy to read and navigate.
  • Be consistent with all formatting.
  • Draw inspiration from other artists’ artist statements.
  • Write your artist statement in the first person (using “I”) and your bio in the third person (using “he” or “she”).
  • Make your statement a living document that you read and edit regularly.