A Space Called Home: Joe Rosshirt

 

 

Artist in his studio
Joe Rosshirt, owner of FortHouse Studios. © Brian Fitzgerald

“Kids from an early age all think they’re artists. They’ll raise their hands if you ask them in kindergarten class, says Joe Rosshirt. “Every year that goes by, less and less hands will come up, to a point where you’re self-conscious to put your hand up.”

Joe Rosshirt is an illustrator, animator and artist who operates FortHouse Studios out of his home studio in South Portland, Maine. Over the past 15 years, the Maine College of Art (MECA) graduate has worked with all types of clients incuding national and regional marketing agencies and sells his own creations at art festivals and other venues.

© Brian Fitzgerald

It’s a long way from his childhood, when he remembers doubting his dream of being an artist. “I thought, I shouldn’t be an artist because all artists are poor,” Rosshirt says. “You think that ‘starving artists’ is the one rule for artists. It’s a limiting belief.”

Rosshirt has operated out of other spaces, but this studio—he’s been here for about a year—is the first he’s owned. “I love the security. I don’t have to think where I’ll be next year. My rent’s not going up and I’m not getting pushed out. That was always a back-of-the-mind issue with all my other spaces,” he says.

Rosshirt’s previous studio was larger and ‘gorgeous’ but he says he realized after a few years that it wasn’t the space that made him an artist. “The space affects your creativity, turning into a creativity vacuum chamber. If you make the space your own, your ideas can live there. It feels like I can just access those ideas by being here.”

Rosshirt doesn’t have a set schedule, usually getting into the studio by 10 but often working odd hours. “I transition into work mode easily. Even in the middle of the night, I act on it,” he explains. “Nine-to-five never got me into a flow state. Lightning strikes of creativity can’t be predicted.” He adds: “The Stephen King style isn’t for me: ‘Show up, do work, get out.’ Not my approach.” 

One of the things Rosshirt loves most about his work is going to art shows, where he sells directly to the public.  “I have this tagline, ‘Make Happy Happen'”, he says.   “I just want to spread smiles.  That’s enough.  I don’t need to make the sale.”

© Brian Fitzgerald

 

Creating Spaces is a project that explores the connection between Maine artists and craftsmen and their physical workspaces-—places that are often hallowed grounds of creativity and solitude, far from the public eye or the gallery.

 

Redundancy and Creative Resilience

 

David Moses Bridges
David Moses Bridges, Passamaquoddy artist and activist, photographed in 2007.  © Brian Fitzgerald

 

Redundancy has a bad rap.  It conjures images of lost jobs, of being the expendable one.  But as a creative, redundancy is my secret weapon. It makes me and my creative work resilient.

Think about photo gear:  cameras, cards, batteries, lights—all need backups. When I’m far from home, a single gear failure can derail a shoot.  But the idea goes deeper. Redundant copies of client work, a shortlist of reliable assistants, multiple setups for every shoot—they all are necessary in my world.

A case in point: a recent shoot went sideways.  My first location and setup just wasn’t working the way I wanted it to.  Then, my subject got pulled into a surprise last-minute meeting.  This chewed up one hour of a two-hour shoot.  Fortunately, I’d arrived hours before the shoot and had other setups and locations waiting. I pivoted, and once my subject was free, we were able to move on.

Those second and third locations turned out to be gold.  Far better than the original, in fact.  Redundancy gave me options, which in turn gave me the ability to adapt.  Challenges are a certainty in any business. But if you give yourself options, you’re not just surviving—you’re thriving when things change. Maybe it’s better to reframe redundancy.  Rather than being expendable, it’s about being prepared. 

 

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Gael McKeon: Inspired and Unbound

 

Bass Luthier
Bass Luthier Gael McKeon, Portland, Maine. © Brian Fitzgerald

“As a young (bass) luthier, I thought I was going to make all of these innovative changes. You see people doing it all the time: they change (instruments) sporadically. It doesn’t work. If you’re going to make it different, (the instrument) still has to work,” says Gael McKeon.

© Brian Fitzgerald

McKeon, originally from New York City, has been a double bass luthier since 1998. He’s since worked and studied in New York, North Carolina, San Francisco, and Toulouse, France, before moving to Maine. In his workshop on the third floor of the State Theater building on Congress Street, McKeon repairs and restores traditional instruments while designing his own.

“Humidity and temperature control is essential. I’m ruined without that,” says McKeon of his tidy but cramped space, one wall dominated by views of Congress Street below. McKeon describes his shop as the ‘second best’ space he’s ever had. “I’m here mostly because of the windows,” he says. “It’s just big enough so that I can manage the amount of repairs that I can handle. If I had less space, I would have to tell people to hold on to their instruments while I finished other things. Here, I can juggle a little bit, and I can have adequate machinery.”

McKeon also builds his own instruments. He describes his approach as conventional, using traditional proportions, but with his own departures of design inspired by classic and modern forms. One bass on display in his shop sat broken for 12 years before he restored it with a paper fingerboard and a custom scroll that he first sketched in 1998. “I’ve added some innovations,” says McKeon, “but there are technical reasons for its aesthetics.”

 

Creating Spaces is a project that explores the connection between Maine artists and craftsmen and their physical workspaces-—places that are often hallowed grounds of creativity and solitude, far from the public eye or the gallery.

© Brian Fitzgerald

 

© Brian Fitzgerald

 

© Brian Fitzgerald

 

Cut it Out: When Less is More

 

Maine Cops
Pete Herring, District Game Warden with the Maine Dept. of Inland Fisheries & Wildlife, © Brian Fitzgerald

 

My default mode seems set to Acquire: Get more gear, more software, more skills, new stuff. But more isn’t better. It’s often a trap. Over time, the act of acquiring can become the goal itself.

That’s why the skill of subtraction is so important.

Subtractive lighting is critical in portrait photography. Blanket a subject with light, and then step by step, remove or block light to reveal shadow, shape and negative space. Stop when things get interesting. Light makes images possible, but shadow is what gives images definition, mood and impact.

The same concept applies elsewhere in life. Pruning makes plants stronger. Editing is critical for impactful writing. Decluttering homes make it easier to live in them. Cutting away the old and extraneous gives space for other things to grow.

Adding new things to life is fun and essential, but so is regular culling. I try to carve out time regularly, ideally at least twice a year, to evaluate and to subtract things that no longer work for me or are preventing progress on meaningful work. Embrace the process of subtraction by regularly and systematically clearing out the overgrowth in your life. You might be surprised by the things you learn and discover along the way.

 

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Erica Moody: Forging Art in a Maine Barn

Erica Moody with Elio, © Brian Fitzgerald

Erica Moody, a metal fabricator and artist, sits in the late-1800s barn that now serves as her workshop in Waldoboro, Maine.  

Moody has been working with metal for more than three decades. After years working in Boston, she chose to move to Maine to forge a simpler life—and the handcrafted serving utensils she is increasingly known for.  Moody uses traditional metal crafting methods to make spoons, knives and other wares from copper, brass and steel.  Her work has been featured in local and national publications, such as Bon Appétit and Saveur.

After years of working with large pieces of metal, her scaled-down workshop—filled with vintage machining tools—is the perfect place to create her one-of-a-kind spoons, coffee scoops, and knives.  It’s also attached to her home, built in 1854.  “To be close to home, to be able to work right here is everything. It’s why I moved to Maine,” she says.

Creating Spaces is a project that explores the connection between Maine artists and craftsmen and their physical workspaces-—places that are often hallowed grounds of creativity and solitude, far from the public eye or the gallery. 

© Brian Fitzgerald

 

© Brian Fitzgerald

 

© Brian Fitzgerald

 

Metal Artist Erica Moody
© Brian Fitzgerald

Bridging the Gap

© Brian Fitzgerald

In the classic “South Park” episode featuring the Underpants Gnomes, a straightforward but fundamentally flawed business plan is unveiled: Phase 1, collect underpants.  Phase 3, reap the profits. This presentation humorously omits a crucial element — Phase 2.

Aspiring artists watching YouTube might hear similar-sounding plans: “Step one, buy this camera; watch this course. Step 3, get clients,  fame, and financial freedom.”   So simple, anyone can do it.  

So why don’t they?

As with the gnomes’ plan, several vital steps are missing.  True success as a creative requires identifying and filling these gaps.

For creatives, learning doesn’t follow a neat linear path — mastering one skill thoroughly before progressing to the next. It’s a more chaotic, but rewarding, journey: gain a foundational understanding, move forward, stumble, recognize a gap in knowledge or skill, then return to deepen your understanding. It is an ongoing cycle of growth where mistakes aren’t setbacks but signals, guiding you toward the gaps begging for attention.

The goal isn’t to avoid errors; it’s to engage actively and learn from them. It’s about embracing a dynamic learning process where missteps aren’t failures but opportunities to go deeper.

If you think you’ve addressed the gap but issues persist, you’ve dealt with a surface-level gap but not the true, core gap at the root of your problems. In other words, maybe the issue isn’t that the gnomes don’t know how to make stolen underpants profitable. Maybe the real gap is their decision to venture into the underpants business in the first place.

Gaps are the elusive Phase 2 on the path to genuine, sustainable success as a creative. Look for the gaps and let them lead you in the right direction.

 

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In the Room Where It Happens

Boxing Coach
Coach Bob Russo, Portland Boxing Club. © Brian Fitzgerald

During my years as a newspaper photo editor, I often invited myself into any meetings I saw that included an editor and writers.  Leaning into the doorway I’d ask, “Should I be in here?”  Early involvement in story development leads to better visual opportunities, benefitting the story and ultimately, readers.

Images wield unique emotional power.  This seems intuitive, and research backs it up.  Words are potent, but images go straight for the gut.  For evidence of the power of prose, pick up Cormac McCarthy’s All the Pretty Horses.  But pair that visceral sort of writing with images that connect, and the impact multiplies.

Engaging in the storytelling process fires me up. There are tactical mountains to climb: the right questions to ask that dig deep into the marrow of the narrative bones of a story.

But you’ve got to be in the room.  You’ve got to have a chair and be part of the planning.  Even before the story takes shape.  Before you know where the story will take you.

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What’s Your Problem?

 

brand stories
© Brian Fitzgerald

Clients hire me for all sorts of reasons—often to create content for an ongoing campaign or to make their websites look more appealing. These situations involve parameters that are already set, and my task is to execute consistently with an established look or direction. It’s a valuable service and a useful skill for any visual professional. I’m grateful for that part of my business.

However, when clients ask me to help create a new campaign, a new style, or tell a story about their brand, it’s an entirely different level of creation, involvement, and trust.

Initiating any new visual project involves an exercise that cuts to the heart of things—to establish the story that most needs telling. Once that is done, actually telling the story becomes straightforward. Without this crucial step, it’s impossible to create anything cohesive or interesting.

This is particularly true with video. No one wants to watch a 10-minute video listing a company’s services or products. However, they may watch a video that impacts them, relates to them, or shows them something new. I ask questions like, ‘What is the number one problem you’d like to solve?’ For non-profits, it might be needing more donations. For some companies, it might be brand awareness. For others, it’s to highlight something that truly makes them unique.

I always seize the opportunity to be involved in the process of telling a story and crafting an approach that gets to the heart of what is important. There are plenty of tactical problems to solve when it comes to telling a story. The most important thing is to ask the right questions at the outset to clarify the expected results.

 

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From Cartoons to Glass: A Creative Maine Journey

 

Maine Glassblower David Jacobson
David Jacobson, Glassblower, Belfast, Maine. © Brian Fitzgerald

David Jacobson was a freshman majoring in telecommunications at Kent State University in Ohio when he happened upon an outdoor glassblowing demonstration. “I knew at that moment that was something I needed to do,” he said.

It took a few years—and a few colleges—but Jacobson did end up studying for an MFA in glassblowing. He also became a professional editorial cartoonist for a Gannett newspaper in New York, where he is from, spending his career cartooning for various publications and with a full-time syndicated cartoon with United Media. Still, he found himself taking more glassblowing classes on the side. “Things were going well there. Yet it turned out that my cartooning supported my glass habit,” said Jacobson.

By 2003, Jacobson’s glass art was selling in galleries. He relocated to Montville, Maine that same year and did what Mainers do: cobbled together an income,  by running a glass studio and a house-painting business.

Maine Glassblower David Jacobson
David Jacobson, Glassblower, Belfast, Maine. © Brian Fitzgerald

He rebuilt his 200-year-old barn into a glass studio. “There was a lot of hard work, a lot of doubt, and a lot of moments thinking, ‘I’m the biggest idiot in the world.’ But the passion was always there and fortunately, the talent was always there too. I just kept meeting the right people and kept saying yes.”

Saying yes is what led Jacobson to co-found a studio with artist Carmi Katsir as part of the Waterfall Arts in Belfast. They built out the studio using much of Jacobson’s equipment from his old studio, adapting it to run off of vegetable oil and electricity—one of just a handful in the US. Now, Jacobson produces his own work and, together with Katsir and others, teaches hot glass classes to the public and to Belfast high school students.

David Jacobson, Glassblower, Belfast, Maine. © Brian Fitzgerald

 

David Jacobson, Glassblower, Belfast, Maine. © Brian Fitzgerald

Of the studio, owned by Waterfall Arts, Jacobson says that he’s grateful. “It allows me to do work that makes me the happiest I’ve ever been.”

As a creative business owner, Jacobson was used to being a lone wolf but is excited by the community aspect of the Waterfall Arts Glassworks. “One of the greatest assets of glassblowing is that it is community-oriented. People are trained to work with someone. So to come into this community situation is thrilling. It’s affected my work in that it’s given me great enthusiasm to try new things,” Jacobson said.

“It’s beyond any kind of vision that I ever had.”

David Jacobson, Belfast, Maine ©Brian Fitzgerald

 

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Find out more about the Waterfall Arts Glassworks or to sign up for a class at the only public-access glassblowing studio in Maine. 

Creating Spaces is a project that explores the connection between Maine artists and craftsmen and their physical workspaces—places that are often hallowed grounds of creativity and solitude, far from the public eye or the gallery.

Elevate Your Marketing with Aerials This Fall

 

power plant aerial
Waste-To-Energy Power Generating Facility, ecomaine.  © Brian Fitzgerald

It’s incredible just how a small change in perspective can transform your view of the world.
Since early 2021, Fitzgerald Photo has operated commercial drones, offering aerial photography and video services for our clients. The elevated view shows familiar cities and landscapes in a new light, capturing details and scale often missed at ground level.

Summer is a great time to capture aerials, and we’ve been busy capturing imagery for many of our clients.  Autumn offers unique opportunities for aerial imagery as well.   Between the dramatic light and the fall foliage, it’s my favorite time of year to be photographing with a drone.

Safety and professionalism underpin all our operations.  As an FAA certified pilot, I ensure our flights meet all regulatory standards.  Our FAA certification has allowed us to secure permission to operate even in highly restricted zones, including near busy urban airports. We’re also commercially insured to further protect our clients.

If your business is considering commercial drone photography this fall, let us know how we can help create a plan that works for your specific needs and budget. 

 

Spring Point Ledge Lighthouse, South Portland, ME.  © Brian Fitzgerald