Tag: professional artist

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Ten ways an art career can drive you nuts

Coast Guard Inspection, oil on archival canvasboard, $435 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

“Finishing, mounting, framing, prepping, switching out the last mixed colors on my palette… this art @#$% is a lot of work,” one of my students texted as he prepared for a show.

That’s why my first question to someone who wants to become a professional artist is, “Do you really want to work that hard?” I’m blessed to be able to support myself as an artist, but I’m under no illusion about what goes into a successful art career. Some weeks, very little of my time is spent painting.

Toy Monkey and Candy, oil on archival canvasboard, $435 framed.

Here are the ways an art career can mess with your head:

Financial instability: Many professional artists face financial challenges when starting out. It takes time to establish a reputation and generate a steady income from art sales, but it can be done. Professional artists are the canaries in the coal mine when it’s time for an economic downturn, and they will come. Make sure you have a backup plan.

The need for endless self-promotion: Yes, a successful art career rests on marketing ourselves and our work, and building a brand is crucial for success. But self-promotion is challenging to most normal people. I never want to be the person who says, “But enough about me; how do you like my hair?”

Subjectivity: While there are objective standards by which to judge art, success itself is highly subjective. It may have more to do with your external circumstances (your strong white teeth, who you know, being at the right place at the right time) as the quality of your work.

All of us hate rejection: Yesterday I was texting with a person who was rejected for a show for which I thought he was a shoo-in. We’ve all been there. Over time, we either develop thicker skins or we move on to doing something else, but at times we all complain bitterly about jurying. The wisest of us do it quietly, to our trusted friends.

Back It Up, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $435.

The push and pull of communication and isolation: Art is communication, but creating art is a solitary activity. There’s great tension between needing to talk through our work at the same time as we should be buckling down alone in our studios. (Resolving that tension is one of the benefits of classes and workshops.)

Balancing creativity and commercialism: The professional artist must find a balance between creating art for personal fulfillment and art that sells. Omphaloskepsis is the luxury of the person who doesn’t need to work, but at the same time, there’s no point to churning out lighthouse paintings on black velvet. Your art career needs to find a happy medium.

No job security, no 401K, no PTO: As bad as corporate benefits have become, professional artists are, in comparison, out on the highwire without a net. We work project-to-project, often a year or more before we show our work. Our financial management must be very keen or we’ll be working at Walmart before you can say Jack Robinson, whoever he was.

Constant skill development: You never totally master painting; you just keep refining your skills until your hands fall off. A successful art career requires mastering new technologies and concepts. Staying relevant means continuously leaning into them. The art world bears little resemblance to that of my youth. Overall, I think the changes are great, but they do keep me on my toes.

Brooding Skies, 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, $522

Constantly foraging for opportunity: Securing exhibition opportunities and commissions is competitive and challenging. Next time you’re debating curling up with a good book or going to that opening, consider your art career and put your shoes on.

That blasted time management: I started writing this because something knocked me for a loop yesterday. I flitted between unrelated tasks all day rather than buckling down to what I had intended to do. Juggling multiple projects is the hardest part of my job.

My 2024 workshops:

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Monday Morning Art School: what should I charge?

Dish of Butter, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $435 includes shipping in continental US. I was discussing transparency with my drawing class on Saturday, so here are some transparency paintings.

In 2018, I wrote, “Does anyone ever tell Christian Louboutin that $995 is a bit much for a pair of platform suede pumps? No; they either understand Louboutin’s market or they don’t buy designer shoes.” I was stunned to learn that you can still buy a pair of Christian Louboutin suede pumps for $995. Meanwhile the price of a loaf of white bread has risen 33.69% during the same period.

Luxury goods-which paintings very much are-do not follow the general rules of retail pricing. Since people don’t need them, they can be as fickle and subjective as they want in their purchasing.

Stuffed animal in a bowl with Saran Wrap. 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $435.

A proper price is the intersection of how much you can produce of the product and how much demand there is for it. If you can’t keep your paintings stocked, you’re charging too little. If your studio is jammed with unsold work, you’re either charging too much or not putting enough effort into marketing. Your job is to find that sweet spot. (But bear in mind that we all paint a lot of duds between the good ones, and periodically weed them out accordingly.)

A friend prices his work slightly lower than his peers, because he wants it to look like a good deal in comparison. It helps that we both know exactly who our peers are. (Of course, women’s art generally sells at a discount to men’s, despite the fact that in a blind test, consumers can’t tell the difference.)

Back It Up, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $435.

Most artists are terrible judges of their own work, seesawing between believing they’re geniuses and thinking they’re hopeless. That hinders our ability to subjectively price our work. Don’t assume that because you labored for a long time over a piece, it is more valuable. Your challenges are not the buyers’ problem.

Set aside your emotions and base your selling price on the size of the piece and your selling history. How do you do that if you’ve never sold anything before? Survey other artists with the same level of experience and set your first prices in line with theirs. Visit galleries, plein air events and art fairs. Before you decide an artist is your peer, find his resume online and check his experience. Painting in a national show is not the same as painting your local, unjuried Paint the Town.

The artist’s prominence is the single biggest factor in a painting’s value.

Charity auctions are a good way to leverage your talent to help others. They also provide a sales history to new artists. Let’s say you donated an 8X10 watercolor and it sold at auction for $100. Great! You have a sales history (albeit a limited and imperfect one) from which to calculate prices. Just figure out the value per square inch and calculate from there.

Square inch is the height times the width. That means your 8X10 painting is 80 square inches. Dividing the $100 selling price by 80 gives you a value of $1.25/square inch.

To use this to calculate other sizes, you would end up with: 6X8 is 48 square inches.

48 X $1.25 = $60
9X12: $135
11X14: $240
12X16: $315

In practice, my price/sq. inch gets lower the larger I go. This reflects my working and marketing costs.

Saran Wrap Cynic, 20X24, oil on canvas, $2100 includes shipping and handling in continental US. This was the endpoint of all those plastic wrap paintings–a series on the commodification of women. Ah, to be young and didactic again!

When I first moved to Maine, one of my gallerists was also my good friend. She took a red pencil to my price list and brought it up to Maine standards. But don’t expect gallerists to do this for you; they expect artists to set their own prices.

It’s much easier to raise prices than lower them, so start low and work your way up. Another wise birdie once told me that I should adjust my prices annually, so that’s what I do. Our goal ought to be to sell at constantly rising prices. When you find yourself painting on a treadmill to have enough work for your next show, it’s time to charge more. Each time you show, your work will be better known, and over time your prices will rise.

And, by the way, I would never spend $995 on a pair of shoes.

On Friday, I released Step 5, the Foundation Layer, of my Seven Protocols for Successful Painters. This is the heart of painting, where the first layer of color is applied. It’s the next best thing to studying with me live.

My 2024 workshops:

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Going pro

Bracken Fern, 9X12, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

A professional artist is, by definition, one who sells art. That’s different from an amateur, or one who makes art as an avocation. Neither is inherently better than the other. There is a range of engagement, of course. There are people who never sell work, people who sell occasionally, people who sell as a side gig, and people for whom art is a full-time job.

Over the years, I’ve seen a lot of people move from amateur to pro. I love watching the transition, although it ultimately takes painters out of my orbit and onto a path of their own. I’d like to introduce you to a few painters that I taught in 2023. I encourage you to follow their links to see not just the work they’re doing, but how they’re marketing.

American Eagle in Drydock, 12X16, $1159 unframed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Patty Mabie Rich blew out of New York about five seconds after retirement, relocating to the sun-drenched sands of Myrtle Beach. If you look at her About the Artist page, you’ll see her painting in the filtered light that’s so common in central New York. Her palette has exploded in color since her move, as she thoroughly embraces the southern coastal vibe.

Karen Ames has a gilt-edged CV that included stints as the communications director for the San Francisco Opera, San Francisco Symphony, and Houston Grand Opera. I wish she’d do my marketing too, because her first solo show of paintings sold out. She’s also very larky and funny, and her painting has an edgy energy.

Eastern Manitoba River, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $348 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Linda Smiley is a principal at Saam Architecture in Boston and paints on the side. Although she doesn’t have an art website, she sells her work through ArtbyKaty Gallery in Stonington, ME. Last year she did a collaborative show with woodworker Bob Winters, where she painted inset panels for his beautiful cabinets. Low-key marketing works for her; she sold at least ten paintings at that show.

Stephen Florimbi only studied with me for one session as he negotiated the pivot from abstraction to realism. He likes painting the world of boats and boatbuilding. However, he also has an almost-obsession with the winter woods. He did a solo show at the Apprenticeshop, where he was artist-in-residence. I noticed several red dots at the opening.

“Do you ever sleep?” I asked Cassie Sano. In addition to teaching watercolor and doing regular solo shows, she has written and published three children’s books, with a fourth coming out this spring. She’s as bubbly and energetic and outdoorsy as her work.

Maynard Dixon Clouds, 11X14, oil on archival canvas board, $869 includes shipping in continental US.

Last month, Amy Sirianni stopped by my studio to pick my brain about teaching art to young kids. She’s a natural, since she has a degree in art and teaching experience. I touched base with her recently. “My class is sold out,” she told me. She’s a success with almost no internet presence.

Texan Mary Silver shows her watercolors with the historic River Arts Group in San Antonio. She has a wicked sense of humor, and her work often reflects that. She’s been studying with me on and off since COVID, and is planning on joining me in Austin for my workshop in March.

Mary and her friend Annette once stayed with me after my workshop aboard American Eagle, when their hotel room fell through. It was a terrible deal for them; they helped me empty my kitchen for demolition.

Mark Gale started studying with me as he prepared to retire and move from Wisconsin to Texas. He is my monitor at the Austin workshop. Through Park Art Project, he donates part of the proceeds from his sales to non-profits in the Austin area. He also works with Austin’s homeless population, encouraging them to make and sell art.

Becky Bense has been my student at Sea & Sky at Schoodic for many years. (She would like to take my Monday evening classes, but inevitably falls asleep before they’re half finished.) Recently she’s been interested in neurographic drawing, an approach that neatly ties together her delicate drawing and the spirituality that underlies her work.

Lastly, I would be remiss in not mentioning MP. He’s not a professional, but he sold his first watercolor painting at a fundraiser last year for $7000. (That is not a typo.) I’d suggested a nominal price of $750-shows what I know!

My 2024 workshops:

An addendum: since it’s hard to understand Linda Smiley’s collaboration with Bob Winters, here’s a photo:

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Monday Morning Art School: how to tell people what to do

Windsurfers at La Pocatière, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $348 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Witness this exchange:

“You should do more plein air events,” said A. “You’re a good painter.”

“I don’t enjoy them,” said B, who’s older and wiser. “I find them almost painful.”

“But they’re good for you,” insisted A.

I don’t think A’s comment was malicious. She works the plein air circuit. She can’t conceive of an art career that doesn’t involve competition. On the other hand, B has an extensive resume that includes signature membership in several prestigious national organizations. For her, plein air events are too much effort for too little return.

Early Morning at Moon Lake, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $348 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

I love plein air events myself, but they have their downsides. There are often more artists than the market can bear, resulting in bargain-basement pricing. They can encourage artists to churn out quantity instead of quality. Without a good gallerist to guide buyers, sometimes sentimental dreck goes for good prices and fine paintings are ignored.

They can be nerve-wracking. I once did an event with a very fine painter who downed four glasses of wine in rapid succession before he could go to the awards ceremony. He took first place, but that is not a healthy way to run your art career.

Marshes along the Ottawa River, Plaisance, 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, $522 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Underlying A’s comment was the assumption that growth comes only through pain. Sometimes that’s true, as anyone who’s been through the creative desert can tell you. (The desert is a necessary step in growth, but you don’t realize that the first half a dozen times it happens to you.)

It’s equally true that growth comes through joy, quiet reflection, prayer, thought, or going for a walk. Each time I held one of my children for the first time was a transformative moment. It was joyful, but it came with the realization that my life was changed forever. A wedding is like that; so is getting your first dog. All have the potential to make you a better person, and the mechanism for that is joy and a determination to live up to the promise of the moment.

Pensive 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, $522 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

I had two influential painting teachers. First was my father, who was often irascible but who taught me to draw and paint with great patience. Then there was Cornelia Foss, who is as tough a nut as ever came out of the Upper East Side. I’m not easily cowed, and I learned a great deal from her. However, my friend and sometimes-roommate Peter was a much gentler soul. I don’t think he ever finished a painting in her class. He would pluck his eyebrows out in frustration and anxiety. He’d make a good start and then wipe it out, he was so nervous. Cornelia’s indisputable genius landed on stony ground because he was so daunted by her. That’s pain to absolutely no purpose.

The second problem with A’s comment is that there is more than one way to skin a cat. (Sorry, Wylie.) My own path has been very different than A’s or B’s, but it has worked for me. Chutzpah seems to be a specialty of our age, and we’re all quick to give unsolicited advice, myself included. But if someone doesn’t seek our opinion, we don’t need to give it. If someone doesn’t depend on us for support, we can let them make their own choices. There are many routes to the same goal and what works for one person may not work for the next. That’s a big part of what makes life so beautiful and fascinating.

My 2024 workshops:

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How to become an artist

Skylarking, 24X36, oil on canvas, $3985 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

I learned to draw and paint from my father. However, my parents were adamant that I couldn’t major in art unless I planned to teach, and I hated the idea. That prohibition turned out to be blessing in disguise, because art education at SUNY schools in the 1970s was dismal.

I’ve helped a lot of kids get into art school but it isn’t something I’d encourage today. A year at Pratt currently runs $73,390. That is unrealistic for anyone but a trust fund baby.

Instead of being a fine artist, I became a graphic designer. Programs like Microsoft Publisher reduced the need for layout artists, so I went back to college for a software degree.

Ravening Wolves, oil on canvas, 24X30, $3,478.00 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

I took off my last semester immediately after the birth of my fourth child. Bored, I set up an easel in my kitchen and started painting again. “If you can paint that well after laying off for so long, forget software. The world is full of programmers; but there aren’t that many good artists,” my husband said.

I didn’t need to be told twice.

I knew my skills needed updating, so I commuted on weekends to the Art Students League in New York from Rochester. That is a 670-mile round trip, but when you want something badly enough, you’ll find a way to do it. There, I met Cornelia Foss. Her first assignment for me was to draw and paint an orange. “If this was 1950, I’d say brava,” she told me. “But it’s not.” Of my teachers, she was the most demanding, and I owe more to her than to anyone else.

In Control (Grace and her Unicorn), 24X30, $3,478 framed, oil on canvas, includes shipping in continental United States.

I decided to paint plein air once a day for a whole year, excluding Sundays. That generated an inventory of 313 landscape paintings. Having no better ideas, I started doing tent shows like Rochester’s Clothesline Art Festival. Eventually, I did these across the Northeast and Midwest.

These are fun but brutal. When 5 PM rolls around on the last day, you must pack up your merchandise, stow your tent and display walls and then drive home. I started doing plein air events instead. I still enjoy them, but I now only do a few each year.

Two old and dear friends were the nucleus of my first painting classes. Today I look back and wonder how I had the audacity to teach when I knew so little. I’ve learned as much from my students as they have from me.

I have friends who painted right after art school, but too many promising painters are forced by student loans into working other jobs. It’s more common that art is a second career. Most of us must make a living before we do art. As my mother once trenchantly put it, “In my day, we didn’t have time to self-actualize.”

Ever-Changing Camden Harbor, 24X36, oil on canvas, $3188 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Here are my recommendations for a career in art:

At first you must play. I made prints, sculpted, and drew for decades before I settled down into painting. Don’t worry about wasting time and money at this stage; exploration is important.

Then choose one medium and do a deep dive. I was once a competent musician, but painting took all my available bandwidth. That’s a necessary sacrifice, except it never felt like a sacrifice.

Take classes and workshops. It’s cheaper and easier than trying to figure out everything by yourself.

Study art. Know your place in art history.

Do art every day, at least when you’re starting.

Let your style evolve naturally. Resist the temptation to pigeonhole yourself, or, worse, be pigeonholed.

Suck it up and apply to shows. Competition drives us to be better, faster. But don’t get discouraged; there are a lot of excellent artists out there.

Embrace marketing, it’s not a dirty word. Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, “Build a better mousetrap, and the world will beat a path to your door.” That’s nuts. The world loves a good marketing plan, first and foremost.

My 2024 workshops:

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I’m thankful, how about you?

Skylarking II, 18X24, $1855 unframed or $2318 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

For the professional artist, marketing is our most important job. People often say, “But you’re doing what you love!” Sadly, artists must buy groceries and pay mortgages and taxes just like everyone else. And while my friend derives great satisfaction from being a surgeon, nobody expects her to work for free.

One can’t sell in America without engaging with Black Friday. In the past, I’ve made haphazard efforts toward Black Friday Sales, but they aren’t a good fit for me. I loathe shopping and Black Friday most of all. My products (paintings and painting instruction) don’t fit the model of Kohl’s or Macy’s, which have limitless items they can mix and max in the advertisements they’ll barrage you with this month.

“Skylarking,” 24X36, oil on canvas, $3,188 unframed or $3985 framed, includes shipping in continental US.

On Friday, I had a brainstorm that will radically change my blog for the remainder of November. Instead of focusing on Black Friday, why not explore thanksgiving?

For years, I publicly counted my blessings every November. This year, I’ve been a little shaken on my pins. Mired in worry, I completely forgot about that practice. But it’s never too late to start practicing gratitude.

Breaking storm, 48X30, oil on canvas, $5,579 framed includes shipping in continental US.

What’s in it for you?

For much of my adult life, I believed the ‘black dog’ of depression was my lot. My father and grandmother both died of it, and I experienced significant trauma as a child. Psychologists reinforced the idea that my depression needed management, not banishment.

I’m not saying that the simple act of counting my blessings cured my depression-it was a far bigger transition than that. (And if you want to hear it, you’ll have to email me, because I’m not getting into it on a public forum.) But counting my blessings played a tremendously big part of making me the larky person I am today.

Larky Morning at Rockport Harbor, 11X14, on archival drymounted linen, $869 unframed includes shipping in continental US.

But don’t take my word for it:

  • Many studies have shown that expressing gratitude can lead to increased happiness and reduced symptoms of depression. Gratitude helps shift our focus from what we lack to what we have, and that promotes a more positive mindset.
  • Studies have also shown that gratitude improves our physical health. Grateful people have stronger immune systems, lower blood pressure, and a decreased likelihood of developing illnesses.
  • Gratitude strengthens our relationships. We all tend to like people who acknowledge and appreciate our good points, far more than the person who carps at us. Expressing gratitude fosters a sense of closeness and connection.
  • Gratitude leads to increased resilience during challenging times. It allows individuals to reframe difficult situations and find silver linings, promoting a more adaptive response to stress and adversity.
  • Cultivating an attitude of gratitude enhances our emotional well-being. Regularly acknowledging the things we are thankful for can lead to more joy, optimism, and contentment. This, in turn, contributes to our overall sense of well-being and satisfaction.
  • Gratitude prepares your brain to be altruistic. Grateful individuals tend to be more empathetic and generous. As you can imagine, this can create a positive cycle of kindness and giving in one-on-one relationships and collective activities. (This cycle of kindness, by the way, is one of the main things I value in my church.)
  • Gratitude and self-compassion are integrally related to mindfulness. Gratitude involves focusing on our present blessings. This helps reduce the chatter of anxiety, promoting a more balanced state of mind. That quiets the voices that tell us we’re insufficient, unqualified, or just plain bad.

For the rest of November, my Monday and Wednesday posts will focus on thankfulness. Fridays will still be about paintings, to fulfill a promise to my business partner Laura.

My 2024 workshops:

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When automation stops being automatic

Bracken Fern, 12X9, oil on canvasboard, $869 framed.

I get lots of emails asking who hosts my website and how to make a commerce-enabled website. The short answer is, unless you need a custom-designed storefront for things like interactive classes and online registrations along with your painting sales, you’re better off with a plug-and-play website. I addressed this question in depth here.

When automation works, it’s a beautiful thing. Sales ring in the background, customers get their receipts and information, products get sent, and everyone is happy.

American Eagle in Drydock, 12X16, $1159 unframed.

When automation fails, it leaves us in a hole. In the modern world, tech support for broken apps is slim-to-nonexistent. If you doubt me, just try asking Facebook why they’ve suddenly put you under an interdict for violating a policy. There’s no human behind the system, because the system is too large to function on a one-on-one basis.

By and large that’s just fine-it keeps productivity high and costs down. But it’s annoying when you have a problem. About two weeks ago, my website and my checkout software stopped communicating. The link wasn’t broken on our end, and therefore wasn’t fixable from our end. It took nearly a week for their so-called ‘happiness engineers’ to get back to us. (I’m not making that up. That’s really what they call their poor tech support people.)

Skylarking, oil on canvas, 24X36 $3,985.00 framed.

When it rains it pours.

All of this happened when I was on the road teaching, first in Acadia and then in the Berkshires. I’m all-in when I’m doing a workshop. About all I could manage was a brittle smile and a promise to do something soon.

I have an IT department of just 3/5th of a person. My daughter is taking a few years off to be with her toddler and part-time work suits her fine for now. I’m lucky to have this; most artists don’t. And it’s still taken us a long time to fix the problem.

That’s why one of the important points of this post is for working artists to choose your website’s host carefully. Don’t buy more functionality than you need; there’s just more to go wrong.

We sometimes say ‘troubles come in threes,’ but what we really observe is that events sometimes seem to gang up on us. Chance is, by definition, random. We’re potting along under a clear blue sky and then, bam, all our metaphorical tires go flat.

After the Berkshires, I was driving home from a weekend party in the Hudson Valley when I started to develop a wicked headache. It was COVID. And that, my friend, is why we didn’t have a blog post this past Wednesday. I may be tough, but I’m not superhuman.

Which is the second important point of this post: yes, COVID is back again. Unlike prior iterations, this one is said to be mild. That means that it probably won’t kill you; however, it still kicks like a mule.

Persistent clouds along the Upper Wash, 11X14, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 unframed.

All’s well that ends well.

My e-commerce seems to be up and running, so if there was anything you needed from our website, you’re good to go. And since my last go-round with COVID, we have gotten easy access to Paxlovid. I’m already feeling a thousand times better. Thanks for asking!

My 2024 workshops:

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Top ten myths about art

Spring Greens, 8X10, oil on canvasboard, $652 framed includes shipping in continental US.

Some people are “just born with talent”
One of the most pernicious lies about art is that people are either born with innate talent for art, or they’re not. While some people may show early aptitude, art is a skill that requires practice, dedication, and continuous learning. I’ve taught for a few decades now, and some of the people who’ve gone the farthest would surprise you.

The starving artist
The ‘starving artist’ is a fiction of popular culture. As in every entrepreneurial career path, there are people who will be successful and those who won’t. Some will work second jobs to support their families, but I know many people surviving and prospering as artists.

Autumn farm, oil on canvasboard, $1449 framed, includes shipping in continental US.

Artists are loners
Art is communication, and the people who do it have something to say. While some need solitude, many collaborate and work best in social settings. Online groups, workshops, cooperative studios, and classes provide social opportunities and support for solo artists.

Art is not a “real” job
At the end of 2021, the arts and cultural sectors made up 4.4% of the nation’s economy. That was more than a trillion dollars. Between 2020 and 2021 the economic value of the arts grew by 13.7%, a disproportionately large increase when compared to the wider economy.*

Oil paint is toxic
The binder for oil paint is linseed oil, which comes from flax seed. That’s the same stuff I put in my oatmeal every morning. The pigments in paints can be toxic, but it’s easy to choose a non-toxic palette these days.

Autumn Farm, evening blues, oil on canvasboard, $1449 framed includes shipping in continental US.

[Fill in the blank] is the easiest medium
Every medium has some maddeningly difficult technical issues and things that are easier than in other mediums. In the end, they balance each other out pretty evenly. And, anyway, once you get past the question of how to get the paint where it belongs, most of the difficulties of painting are true across all media.

Art is easy
Creating good art demands dedication, practice, and continuous improvement. It’s not merely about inspiration striking; good artists put in years of effort to develop our skills.

There’s an ‘arty personality’
Probably, but that person is probably a poseur. Most working artists are no different from their neighbors. You might actually be living next door to an artist and not even realize it.

Seafoam, 9X12, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 framed includes shipping in continental US.

Figure is the highest expression of painting
Artists used to believe in a hierarchy of genres, but that ship has sailed. Done well, all styles and genres have their value and their challenges. Often the simplest work is, paradoxically, the most difficult.

Art doesn’t require education
There are excellent self-taught artists, but they’ve spent a lot of time studying others’ technique. Artistic practice rests on two millennia of technical skill, carefully passed along from masters to students. You don’t learn that by just thinking about art.

My 2024 workshops:

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You can’t put a price on art, or can you?

My painting for the 2022 Camden on Canvas, called So Many Boats! 24X36, oil on canvas, Private collection.

“I think when we ‘paint for ourselves,’ that’s when growth can happen. Our work just might push to a different level,” Barb Walker commented recently on Facebook.

“The whole burden of making a living selling artwork can have a devastating effect on one’s work,” Eric Jacobsen responded. “It keeps us in repetition mode and causes us to play it safe. Charlie Movalli posed a great question once. He asked, ‘Do you paint to be understood…or do you paint to understand?'”

My 2021 painting for Camden on Canvas, called View from Bald Mountain, 36X24, oil on canvas, private collection.

I’ve had times where I stopped selling entirely to concentrate on improving my skills, and times when I produced very personal work that will never sell in my lifetime. But I’m more cynical than Eric and Barb. I need to eat, and I’m not much good at anything else. I either sell paintings or take a job as a greeter at Walmart.

Somehow our culture has created the myth that artists are above thinking about the business of art. “I’ve never been in it for the money,” said one friend (who nonetheless has a family to support). Nobody expects their doctors or lawyers to be motivated by altruism, and most of my painting buddies have spent at least as much time learning their craft as a professional-school graduate. (The BFA is just the beginning, friends.)

Ever-changing Camden Harbor, 36X24, oil on canvas, $3,188.00 includes shipping in continental US.

It’s counterproductive for artists to buy into this myth. If we don’t set a high value on our artwork, who will?

Above it or afraid?

Sometimes, people refuse to engage in the marketplace because they’re afraid of failure. Painting for public consumption can make us better painters, however, as we strive to connect with an audience.

It doesn’t help that there’s some stupendously awful work out there masquerading as ‘art.’

This week a reader sent me a photo of an object painted by an ‘artist’ as a fundraiser. It was incompetent by every measure of design and execution. “It seems almost like satire. It highlights the unfortunate reality that anyone can call themselves an artist, and far too many do,” my reader commented.

I spend a great deal of time teaching painters the objective criteria for critique. I wish someone would do the same for art fans. “I don’t know art but I know what I like,” is a great starting point. However, it’s not enough. If you want a painting that will continue to speak to you for years to come, it helps to understand what makes a good painting. And that’s not opinion; it rests on a thousand years of tradition and critical thinking.

As with every philosophical endeavor, understanding starts with a common language. When artists carry on about things like lost-and-found line or pictorial depth, they’re not just trying to sound smart and smarmy. These are real factors that affect the staying power of a painting. And they’re as relevant in abstraction as in figurative art.

Camden Harbor, Midsummer, oil on canvas, 24X36 $3,985.00 framed includes shipping in continental US.

Two events this week

Kay Sullivan, Eric Jacobsen, Jill Valliere and Jim Vandernoot will be featured at the Red Barn Gallery‘s Strictly Invitational show this evening from 5-7 PM. That’s located in the heart of scenic Port Clyde village, across the street from the General Store. They’re a powerful lineup that’s worth driving out to see.

Camden on Canvas is next weekend, July 21-23, in the equally picturesque village of Camden, ME. There are too many great artists to list them by name here, but Colin Page, in particular, deserves a shout-out. Each year, he wears two hats, as organizer and participant. He and the library staff have put together a fantastic event in just a few short years. I strongly encourage you to come out and see the art.

My 2024 workshops:

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Gallery representation

Inception, Casey Cheuvront, 24X48, courtesy of the artist.

Arizona artist Casey Cheuvront has no flies on her when it comes to selling her work. She kindly agreed to answer some questions:

How long have you had gallery representation?

If you are counting co-ops or vanity galleries, about 6 years. This has been a game of musical chairs for me, with some being seasonal and some going out of business. Others I left because I did not like the fit. Currently I am in the Sedona Arts Center Fine Art Gallery and Legends of the West, Santa Fe. I hope to be in both for some time to come. I was in a local co-op but the service commitment, the gallery rules, the lack of traffic and other factors made me feel it was not a good fit for me.

Desert Skies, Casey Cheuvront, 18 x 12, courtesy of the artist.

How have you sought gallery representation? Have they approached you? Cold calling on your part? Through an event?

Yes, yes, and yes. One gallery responded to a congratulations I sent by inviting me to submit. Another invited me after a couple of plein air events; they’ve been a strong seller for me since. A third solicited me. I cold-called a fourth on the recommendation of another artist friend showing there; so far, no dice.

What do you think makes for a good gallerist?

A combination of open-mindedness, discretion, strong curation skills, sales skills, marketing skills, professionalism (that is crucial) and knowing her market.

What do you look for in your own paintings when you pitch them?

First, is it a good painting? Would I hang it in my home? Is it my best effort? Could it be better? Is it nicely presented (framing etc.)? Is it priced reasonably? (I don’t mean cheap; I mean, is the pricing in keeping with my other works and what’s currently showing there.) Is it in keeping with the overall style already in the gallery? Does it ‘fit’? e.g. I would not offer seascapes in Sedona or Santa Fe; and I probably wouldn’t try to sell cactus landscapes in Maine!

The Great Escape, Casey Cheuvront, 10X10, courtesy of the artist.

What does your presentation packet look like?

Everything I have is digital. I used to have a folder full of expensively-photographed, 4×6 or 5×7 prints, but that ship has sailed. I have a website which I work hard to keep current, a decent bio, a list of accomplishments (shows, awards, judging, workshops, demos, etc.) and of course I keep a file of recent available works which I can send out or put on a thumb drive quickly. “Go digital or go home” is the thing these days. I also always keep business cards with me (you never know) even when painting in the field.

How do you massage your social-media presence to support your galleries?

I have a strong following on Facebook, a lesser one on Instagram. If I have, say, a featured-artist showing or something I of course promote that through social media. When I send a piece to a gallery, I’ll share that. I keep my gallery list current on the website and send newsletter announcements periodically.

Almost Home, Casey Cheuvront, 6X12, courtesy of the artist.

Do you ever pull the plug on galleries? If so, why?

I have done that four times. In one case it was bad communication on the owners’ part, and being treated as a second-class citizen by her store personnel. In another case a co-op owner simply could not deliver the goods; the gallery was mismanaged from day one, promises were not kept, and though I admired her presentation I found the execution sorely lacking. A local art league had a gallery and while I sold OK there, one artist treated the establishment as her personal gallery. No one else was allowed to work or demo while she was there, which made the mandatory work days a real drag. The last co-op I left because I felt it was just not a good fit; while a couple of artists had pricing like mine, I noticed big, inexpensive, bright/splashy pieces selling (including one I pulled when I left) and thought they would do better with another artist in that space. I’m happy to report they are doing ok, have expanded their space, and have a huge roster of artists there.

Co-op/vanity galleries make rent on selling wall space, so they tend to be really crowded, and often there’s no real oversight on who’s in and who’s not as long as they have a checkbook. Certainly, that’s not true everywhere, and there are some great co-ops around. I have a friend who’s been in one in Northern California for many years and sells a bundle; she’s shared some of the work there and it’s all top notch.

I’d rather be the new kid in a great gallery and hang with people who are really good, than the best in town in a gallery showing moderate-to-mediocre work.

My 2024 workshops: