My Art is Worth Money // or Why Artists Fail

The other day I had a friend of my brother's contact me, asking how he could get acquire one my work.  This friend--let's say he's more an acquaintance is a nice enough kid.  He comes from a family with money, but he's living the Santa Cruz trust-fund lifestyle, and devotes a lot of time and energy to hanging out with hippies, fire dancing and making his annual pilgrimage to Burning Man.

His message looked something like this:

hey there

i was just wondering how i could get my hands on a piece by you?

money trades favors love? let me know...

To this I replied:

Hi _____, I'm glad you like the work.

I'm trying to get in the habit of selling work, since it's the best way to grow my reputation as viable artist. If you buy from me, you'll be one of my first legitimate customers. For my 9x12" pen drawings, I think $40 plus shipping is a fair asking price. I have a sizable collection of recent work, so you'd have plenty to choose from. If you want the piece framed (which I recommend you do in any case, since it protects and enhances the drawing), I can frame (black or white) and ship you the piece for a clean $60. 

Let me know if you're interested.

Since then it's been radio silence, and I haven't heard from him since.  Presumably because I am not interested in giving away my work to someone I only barely know for "Love," it has become a bad deal in his eyes.  Yeah, maybe I was a bit too upfront around pricing (in sales you should come to the price at the very end), but too many artists aren't confident selling their work--valuing it in monetary terms (myself included)--and I don't want to go down the path of giving away all of my work or permanently underpricing it.  I've been drawing for nearly two decades, and I have my own (fairly recognizable) style.  My art is worth money.

Maybe $40, or $60 is steep for his budget, but if he wants my work he needs to pay.  It may sound ruthless, but it actually benefits  both of us.  In addition to compensating someone for their time, when you buy work by an artist, you are telling the artist you value their work--that it brings you pleasure enough to warrant payment.  And by paying for the work, you will not only value it more highly in the long run (since you had to sacrifice something to acquire it), you will also take better care of it.  You paid for it, so there's less risk that it will end up in the garbage can when you change up the decoration on your walls. And with any luck the work will appreciate over time--by the same process you participated in--people buying the work.  

Artists should stand up for themselves.  Charging money for your work does not mean you are extrinsically motivated.  It means you have confidence in the value of your work, the foresight to grow the value of your work, and the pragmatism to pay for the everyday--so that you can continue making the work.  The fact that many don't is lamentable.

Jungle Gothic; SketchUp Pro 8

SketchUp is like Microsoft paint--but in three dimensions.  It's an intuitive 3D drawing program, that's easy to use, and easy to learn.  I downloaded it the other day, hoping to learn sharpen my skills thinking in three dimensions.  This was the product of my second drawing in SketchUp.  It's some kind of citadel or cathedral.  I call it jungle gothic, but that's probably totally inaccurate terminology.  it's a mix of things.   It's probably about 12 hours of work--but much of that time was spent getting better at the program.  

What's nice about SketchUp is that even with only a little experience, I felt like I understood the program enough to get it to do what I want.  Compare this with Adobe Illustrator--I program I've used at least a dozen times--and still don't understand.

So pirate yourself a copy of SketchUp Pro, and learn the program.  If you can model your ideas in 3D, you are ahead of the game.  It's fun.  It's easy.  

 

shadows of a breakup

draining the veins

When depression leaves you feeling hopeless, angry, guilty and anxious, it sucks.  Its like no other feeling in the world.  It tends to build up inside, pressurizing the hollow of your chest while simultaneously draining all clarity from your mind.  Whats left is a sort of dull equalization: dull, anxious pressure animates your heart and your brain.

In discussing the stress and anxiety associated with the darkest depressions, I am reminded of the song "Bad Meets Evil."  Eminem has a line about corrupting Royce Da 5'9, where he says he'll hoist his bed until the evilness flows through his veins like poisonous lead.  I've felt that evilness--mostly as a guilt and self-directed anger.

And when I'm drawing, I feel that lead in my veins.

And when I'm done--boom!--it's gone.  Out of my veins; onto the page.

looseleaf sketches