Tag: professional artist

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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.

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Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters

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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.

Registration is now open for workshops in 2026! Reserve your spot:

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Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters

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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.

Registration is now open for workshops in 2026! Reserve your spot:

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Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters

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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!

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Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters

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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.

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Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters

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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.

Registration is now open for workshops in 2026! Reserve your spot:

Can’t commit to a full workshop? Work online at your own pace:

Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters

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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.

Registration is now open for workshops in 2026! Reserve your spot:

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Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters

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Selling out, or selling art

Coast Guard Inspection, plein air, oil on canvasboard. 6×8, $435 framed.

On Wednesday I wrote that NFTs were the logical descendants of conceptual art. Reader Pam Otis responded by asking, “What kind of return on investment do museums get from owning/showing works like that? How much does having a certain piece drive traffic through their doors or attract benefactors with deep pockets?” It’s a great question, because that’s what makes a pile of candy on the floor worth $7.7 million.

American Eagle in Dry Dock, plein air, 12X16, oil on canvasboard, $1159 unframed.

What is ROI?

Return on Investment (ROI) is the value of an investment versus its cost. Every person makes ROI calculations constantly. “Is it worth my time to put the Christmas decorations away, or should I make some frozen meals for next week?” is an ROI calculation.

ROI is why my friend Ken DeWaard doesn’t paint plein air on cloudy days; those paintings are hard for him to sell. It’s why commercial galleries don’t carry work their clients won’t be interested in, as worthy as that work might be. Museums may think of themselves as educational institutions, but they give us blockbuster shows of Van Goghs, Sargents, and Sorollas to bring in the punters.

Skylarking 2, 18×24, unframed $1855, oil on linen.

Treading a fine line

It’s easy to get too focused on money and only produce work that buyers will love. That’s how artists end up being parodies of themselves, churning out variations of the same tired theme. There’s also the opposite tendency, to make omphalocentric work with a complete disdain for the market.

Vincent Van Gogh is often cited as an example of an artist who produced brilliant work without thinking about selling. That’s not true; his brother (who supported him) was an art dealer. His correspondence shows that he did have an eye to the main chance, and only his early death prevented him from being a commercial success in his own lifetime.

Professional artists must tread a fine line between being true to our inner vision and being comprehensible. “Give me something I can hold on to,” I told a very talented student who resisted that idea. She thought I was asking her to sell out; I wanted her to help me find a way to understand her work.

Skylarking, 24X36, oil on canvas, $3,188 unframed

Selling out

The phrase sell out, meaning to prostitute one’s ideals, dates from 1888. It probably arose with 19th century socialism and utopianism, which presented the idea of markets as evil. That idea of not selling out is sadly pervasive today.

We can think of the marketplace as the other half of a conversation we started by creating art. The market tells us things about our work. Sometimes they’re things we don’t want to hear. If instead of getting mad, we listen, we can learn a lot.

That can be very tough when one’s ego is on the line. Do I really have the emotional courage to look at the work that got in a show when mine was rejected and figure out why?

It sometimes seems that the art market is irrational. For example, jurors and buyers respond emotionally to subject matter. While their response is subjective, that they do it is a fact. Knowing it helps you develop strategies to succeed.

When our work doesn’t sell, it means one of two things:

  • It isn’t different, meaningful, or beautiful enough to engage buyers;
  • It isn’t properly marketed.

It’s up to us to figure out which, and then to do something about it.

Speaking of marketing

On Monday I start teaching a six-week session on Atmospherics. You didn’t hear about it because it was sold out before it was advertised. I’ve got only six workshops scheduled for 2023, and that’s all the live, in-person teaching I’ll be doing this year. (The rest will be by video and Zoom.) If you want to take a live class from me, hie on over to my website and sign up! When they’re gone, they’re gone.

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Monday Morning Art School: the artist’s website

Drying Sails, 9X12, oil on canvasboard, $869 framed.

Do I need a website?

“Do I need a website? I already have a Facebook page and Instagram.” That’s a common inquiry I get from emerging artists.

I’m the last person to dis the Metaverse-I use it daily. But it has its limits, starting with fact that you don’t own it. If you’ve ever run afoul of FB’s esoteric speech algorithms, you’ll understand its power to shut you down. I once earned a 30-day slowdown with a bit of hyperbole. It had a devastating effect on clicks. It took much longer than my period of detention to recover, because it pushed my blog way down in their display algorithm.

Furthermore, the Metaverse is fleeting. The half-life of a social media post is the amount of time it takes for a post to receive half of its total engagement. FB ranks near the bottom, at 60 minutes, only slightly besting Twitter. That’s fine if you’re advertising t-shirts, but fine art requires intellectual engagement.

Instagram is better, with almost a full day of engagement, but it suffers the limitation of no live links. That means people will buy your painting on IG or not at all. Despite my decent track record of online sales, I’ve never sold a painting through IG, so I use it to create background noise, nothing more.

FB and IG don’t come up on Google search nearly as often as items posted on websites. That means people simply can’t find you if that’s all you’re doing.

Ever-changing Camden Harbor, oil on canvas, $3,188.00

A website today functions almost like a Yellow Pages listing did a generation ago-it not only makes you findable, it denotes a level of reliability to users. Its content is also as static or changeable as you want. We all ‘know’ that we’re supposed to constantly change up content to feed the Google maw, but buyers also want to be able to see your catalogue. Importantly, so too do jurors and gallerists.

Sunset Sail, 14X18, oil on linen, $1594 framed.

What’s the best host for my website?

That’s a much more difficult question for me to answer, because it depends on your skill level and your interest in managing your own marketing. FASO Fine Artist Websites and Fine Art America are good ‘plug and play’ marketing tools. My friend Poppy Balser has had a FASO account for years, and she’s a nimble, accomplished on-line marketer.

I was most surprised to realize I have a free Google Site. These are intended for small groups, like soccer clubs and school classrooms, but it may provide all the functionality you need to get started.

My website is built on WordPress. It’s powerful for online commerce, but I sometimes feel like a three-year-old who’s been given a Lamborghini. Ultimately, I had to hire a developer to help me put the bones of on-line commerce in place. And it has relatively high running costs if you’re not making a lot of online sales.

Camden Harbor, Midsummer, oil on canvas, 24X36 $3,985.00 framed

Keep it simple

However you design your website, it will benefit from constant pruning. Viewers want to see your most recent work, examples from your catalogue, your blog (if you have one), your upcoming shows, and your CV. Nobody wants to wade through acres of verbiage and layers of windows.

What website host do you use? If you’re willing to share your experience, please respond in the comments section below.

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Monday Morning Art School: buying frames

This is my painting Stone wall, salt marshes in a Canadian-style frame. They’re almost impossible to get in the US.

I woke up one morning in a surfeit of gold, hating gold plein air frames. This is partly my friend Poppy Balser’s fault. “You Americans love those heavy gold frames, but Canadian buyers think they look cheap,” she said. Well, dang.

Frames are my bête noire. I have a garage full of them, and yet, seemingly, never the right one. If you have a painting in black, the buyer wants gold-or vice-versa. And they ding easily. I’ve lost count of the paintings I’ve gotten back from shows with the protective corners missing.

This is my current favorite frame, a simple chop I buy from Omega, on a painting called Drying Sails.

Last week I wrote a guide to buying art supplies online. “What about framing?” a reader asked. I asked several professional artists to chime in. Here are their suggestions.

Don’t dismiss your local option, like Primrose Framing in Rockland. “I have my local frame shop build me simple frames, simply the four pieces of wood mitered together, from their stock,” said Bobbi Heath. “These are comparable in price to the other sources, and convenient.”

I buy frames and chops (lengths of moulding) from Omega Moulding. The quality is excellent and they have an exhaustive catalog, but they require a business account. They’ve recently limited what they’ll send by freight up to my neck of the woods, so sometimes I have to have things drop-shipped to my daughter in New York. That’s not always handy.

I’ve also purchased unfinished framing stock from Vermont Hardwoods and built my own. That’s the most beautiful option, but I don’t have time these days.

A number of my peers recommended JFM. They require a state resale certificate, as do most wholesale vendors. Chrissy Pahucki likes them “especially for panoramic sizes. I like to save their very sturdy boxes for shipping paintings too.”

They’re Lynn Mehta’s go-to as well. “Their price point isn’t too bad. They have a pretty wide selection of ready-made sizes as well as custom.” Natalia Andreeva and Eric Jacobsen also endorse them.

A traditional gold plein air frame from Florida Frames (photo courtesy Bobbi Heath).

“I also really like King of Frame,” Lynn said. “Some of their frames are really beautiful. I’m always looking for low-profile moulding which isn’t too heavy and preferably closed corners. Both companies have a good selection. Also, the customer service at both of these companies is wonderful.” Eric Jacobsen and Ken DeWaard also like King of Frame. “King of Frames has many of the same styles as Omega,” Jane Chapin noted.

Ken suggested San Diego Frame. They also require a resale certificate, but Ken says they’ve provided a good-quality product. “I used to make my own,” he said, “but I’m not ready to go back down that road yet.”

Bobbi Heath and Jane Chapin recommended Florida Frames, although Jane likes them for chops only. Bobbi also likes varnished wood contemporary frames from Frame Destination. And she points out something that’s true of all frame sellers: “Buying multiples in each size lowers the cost and combines the shipping.” That’s one reason professional plein air artists end up working on standard-sized boards. It’s also how I ended up with a garage full of frames.

Don’t dismiss the big-box art supply retailers. “I also use Dick Blick Simplon black frames with a gold liner for more standard sizes because they ship pretty fast,” said Crissy Pahucki.

“I just ordered some frames from Jerry’s Artarama Museum Collection on another artist’s recommendation,” said Lynn Mehta. “When you go on the site look for museum quality frames and in particular the artist frames, not the plein air. The big bonus he pointed out is that Jerry’s offers free shipping.

“They look pretty good, in my opinion. Solid frames. Came in their own boxes, like Omega Frames, and wrapped in a bubble-wrap envelop.

“Heavy as can be, though. I’m not a fan of heavy frames. Heavy for me to ship and heavy to haul around. I will buy them again if I need a frame in a hurry. But I don’t want to stock up on them.”

Natalia Andreeva buys frames from Jerry’s, too. She also points out that antique and second-hand stores are a great source for frames.