There is a quiet, unspoken moment at every art festival directors conference when a room full of otherwise composed, highly competent adults begins to look like people who have collectively just stepped on the same rake.
This year (2026), in Lubbock, that moment arrived right after coffee, when the conversation turned to a deceptively simple question: “What would you like artists to change?”
What followed was less a discussion and more a gentle, cathartic unraveling.
Now, before anyone clutches their perfectly weighted tent leg in alarm, let me say this clearly: directors love artists. Without artists, art festivals would simply be well-organized fields where nothing happens. But there are… patterns. Small, persistent habits that, over time, have caused directors to develop a very specific facial expression usually reserved for people trying to assemble furniture without instructions.
Let us begin with the application. There is a strong belief among some artists that applications are a form of abstract expressionism, where capitalization is optional and spelling is a bold personal statement. It is not. If your website is spelled one way, your social media another, and your application introduces a thrilling third variation, the director is left wondering if they are evaluating one artist or an avant-garde collective of three. Not to mention the enormous amount of time it takes to fix this expressionism for websites, social media posts, booth signs, name badges, etc.
Also, and this is key: submit the application. On time. Not in spirit. Not emotionally. Actually submit it.
Which brings us to reading emails. Directors send emails not because they enjoy typing into the void, but because these messages contain answers. Often to questions that will be asked approximately 14 seconds after the email is sent. Reading the email before asking the question is considered, in some circles, a revolutionary act.
There is also a growing trend of requesting accommodations that were never offered, as though the show prospectus were merely a light suggestion, like “try the soup.” If a show does not include electricity, indoor plumbing, or a personal violinist, insisting upon these things does not cause them to materialize. It causes a director to stare into the middle distance.
On the topic of clarity, it would be helpful if everyone could agree on what a collaborator is. A collaborator is someone who actively participates in the creation of the work in addition to yourself. An associate is… not that. Adding a “collaborator” after acceptance who did not exist during jurying is less collaboration and more surprise plot twist.
And while we are discussing jurying, let us talk about the booth shot. Directors would like to gently remind everyone that the booth shot is not a decorative afterthought. It is not a place to showcase your car, your folding chair, or what appears to be a small kitchen. It is, in fact, one of the most important images in your application. Treat it accordingly.
Similarly, your artwork images should not be historical artifacts. Updating them each year is not just encouraged, it is deeply appreciated. The jury would love to know what you are making now, as opposed to what you were making during a particularly strong emotional period in 2017.
Your artist or jury statement should be written in the third person, which feels strange at first but has the added benefit of preventing sentences like, “I create art because I am an artist who creates art,” which, while technically accurate, does not move the conversation forward.
At the show itself, there are a few small considerations.
Standing in your booth shot is not ideal. Drinking, smoking, or engaging in activities that suggest you have mistaken the festival for a backyard gathering is also discouraged. This includes pot, which, while legal in some places, still tends to create an atmosphere not typically described as “fine craft adjacent.”
Closing early is another area of concern. When a show is open until 5 PM, this is not a suggestion or a philosophical concept. It is a time. Leaving early communicates to patrons, fellow artists, and directors that time itself is negotiable, which it is not.
There is also a gentle request to refrain from complaining to your neighbors, being disrespectful to staff, or behaving as though you are the only artist at the show. You are, in fact, one of many talented individuals who have all gone through the same process to be there.
Which leads us to the waitlist. Artists often ask, with understandable hope, if they are getting off the waitlist. Directors would like to answer this question. Truly. But the honest answer is: we don’t know. Not in a coy, mysterious way. In a very real, very human way. The future remains stubbornly uncooperative.
In a related note, showing up without an invitation to participate in the show is not a bold entrepreneurial move. It is, in most cases, confusing for everyone involved.
A word about sponsors. Sponsors are the reason many shows can exist at the level they do. They are not there to personally inconvenience you. They are there so that tents, marketing, and basic infrastructure continue to happen. Being kind to them is not just polite, it is practical.
Finally, if a show requests a Certificate of Insurance, it is not an abstract exercise. The dates should be correct. The show should be listed. This is not the moment for improvisation.
After all of this, it is worth saying again: directors and artists are on the same team. Everyone wants the same outcome, which is a successful, vibrant show where great work is seen, appreciated, and sold.
These “pet peeves” are not about control. They are about clarity, professionalism, and making sure that the entire experience works for everyone involved.
Also, and this is important, nobody stepped on a rake this year. But it was close.