Originally published on 7/4/2023

American Independence Day seems like as good a day as any to write about the confounding reality of trying to make money selling art.

A big motivator in my life has been my desire to be free from the constraints that typically come with a so-called regular job. Part of the reason I’ve always been a mediocre employee is because I always thought I’d make money by making art, although all through art school and beyond, I wasn’t too clear on what that would look like. I think I just thought it would magically happen. As if my art were so wonderful, so desirable, that buyers would be busting down my door to get it.

That has not been my experience, so far. But I’m not dead yet. It could still happen, I suppose. I’m not the boss of the future. However, I’m older now, and less idealistic about becoming a successful artist. I’m not even sure what that means. Some days, the fact that I’m still standing seems like a success.

What is success?

Defining success for an artist requires a tiptoe through a minefield of values and expectations. What does success mean to you? And what are you willing to do, how much are you willing to compromise, to get it?

Will you “adapt” your artistic integrity to get money? How much are you willing to adapt your art to fulfill someone else’s vision?

You can tell I have a chip on my shoulder about this topic by the way I frame my questions. I have long had a reluctance to let other people tell me what to make and how to make it. It’s all or nothing in my world. I’m either making your art or I’m making mine—for me, there is no middle ground.

Some of you either purposefully or accidentally find that lovely intersection between making what you want to make and making what the market wants to buy. It’s a wonderful thing when that happens, like finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I envy you, if you are one of those lucky creators. The middle ground can keep you fed and sheltered for the rest of your life.

In my mentoring, I encounter a few creatives who have found this happy place. I also meet people who are as unwilling to compromise as I am. We commiserate a little, but not for long. They come to me for guidance. It does no good to spend the session complaining about how much we hate to compromise when there’s a stack of paintings in the attic and the artist needs to pay the rent.

First, we need to define success. What does success mean for you? Be specific. Generate enough income to pay the bills? Earn enough to buy an island in the Caribbean? Figure out the dollar amount you want. If you don’t know the goal, it’s impossible to make a plan to get you there. So, figure out your goal.

Commit to one art form

We can’t sell all things to all people and call that an art business. There’s no way to differentiate the business in the marketplace. Choose a niche and focus on it for at least six months. Do all the business-y things you need to do to be legal. Squat on that domain name. Start building a presence in the online market space. Get over your reluctance to be visible.

Committing to one art form doesn’t mean you can’t pursue all those other cool things you do, just don’t declare on your website that you make pottery and crocheted hats when you are trying to develop a business as an illustrator of children’s books.

Choose your pricing model

It doesn’t matter how you choose to set your prices. Just be consistent. You can price by the square inch or the cubic foot. You can add up your costs and tack on extra for overhead and profit margin. You can set your income goal and divide by the number of pieces you can make and sell in a month. It doesn’t matter what model or combination of approaches you use, just strip out the emotion, and be consistent.

Identify your target market

Not everyone cares about art. Not everyone will care about your art. However, I guarantee you, there is a segment of the buying public who would love to buy what you make, if only they knew about it. Can you guess who they might be? Think about demographics (age, gender, income level, geographic location, etc.), but also think about psychographics (what benefits do they seek, what problems do they have that need to be solved?) If you know what motivates them, then you will have a better idea of how to message them.

Reach out to your potential buyers

Reaching out means, yes, you might need an onine presence, including a website and social media accounts. For some of you, though, reaching out can mean literally communicating with your potential buyers where they are.

For example, if you make art that interior designers might like to buy or commission, you know where to find them. They have websites. They have offices in your city. They are on LinkedIn. It’s plain old direct sales, and it’s all about relationships. Consider this: a handful of interior designers calling you a few times a year for commissions could keep you going for the rest of your life.

Don’t fall into the trap of believing that once you launch a website and set up some social media accounts, your work is done. That’s like building your store five miles off the main highway up a dirt road with no signage and expecting customers to somehow find you. It’s not going to happen.

Don’t expect a few social media posts to do your promotion for you. We don’t control what eyeballs see our posts. Where are the members of your target market? You want to be where they are. They might not be on social media at all.

Aim high, begin low, climb slowly, and don’t give up

Consider how much joy chasing money with your art will bring you. You may decide after all this folderol that it’s not worth it. Trying to turn your art into a business might cause your Joy Scale to drop into negative territory.

What is the Joy Scale?

Glad you asked. On a scale of 1 to 10, how much joy does the idea of trying to turn your chosen art form into a moneymaker generate for you? If it’s less than a 5 on the Joy Scale, I encourage you to rethink your path. For some us, me included, having a day job is the lesser of two soul-wrenching, creativity-killing evils.

If you can’t find the happy intersection between art and money, make the art you love, without expectation of return or reward. Don’t quit. Miracles could happen. You might be one of those mythical creatures I’ve heard about.

Originally published on 9/2/2022

An artist I know recently offered a painting for sale on Instagram. The caption said, “For a limited time only, 30% off.”

What do you think when you see an offer like that? Do you think, oh, art on sale! Yay! I was hoping to find a bargain on some art today and here it is. If you do, does that mean you purchase art according to price?

Do you think the more it costs, the higher the quality?

I’ve taught business skills to artists for a few years now. Something is weird between artists and money. Almost all the artists I have met so far don’t know how to price their work. What’s more, a surprising number don’t want to talk about it! They like money, that’s not the problem. They would like to receive money for doing what they love, they are clear on that score. But anything to do with setting prices, asking for compensation, communicating payment policies, writing contracts—all that is scary off-limits don’t-go-there territory.

Artists hold many unhelpful assumptions about art and money.

Artists assume that buyers will buy more if the artist reduces the price of the art. Discounts, coupons, special sales . . . we as consumers are trained to respond to price incentives. It works on cars, clothes, and corn! Why not on art?

What does price even mean when it’s art being offered for sale instead of a can of corn or a vacuum cleaner? As a buyer of discounted art, do you care that the artist is covering the cost of making the art? (I can tell you most artists have only a hazy idea of what went into their most recent work of art). Do you care that the artist is receiving a living wage for their art-making time? (Most artists make pennies per hour.) Do you care that when a painting resells at auction or through a gallery, the (still living) artist in most cases receives nothing, even if the painting sold for $20 million?

Artists assume that as they raise their prices, buyers will buy less. If we’ve trained our buyers to focus on price, this is probably true. Do you really want to serve buyers who purchase your art only because it is cheap? What will you do when they tell all their friends about this great source of cheap art? Wouldn’t you rather serve buyers who appreciate your art because it is wonderful? Not all buyers care about getting good deals, especially not on a unique, emotional product such as artwork.

I try to simplify things so I can understand them. I have an artist’s brain, which means my brain balks at the idea of pricing my own work. To help me out, I simplified the artist’s pricing strategy choices to two main options: we can either sell gravel or we can sell diamonds.

Here are some characteristics of each strategy:

Gravel

• Your art is plentiful and everywhere
• You sell prints, cards, objects
• You focus on sales volume
• You offer sales incentives, coupons, discounts
• You give away things for free to motivate buyer action
• You underprice your competition
• You train the buyer to respond to price

Diamonds

• Your art is rare and exclusive
• You make few pieces
• You set the price high
• You never lower your price
• You focus on reputation
• You focus on exclusivity and quality
• You do not compete on price
• You do not use price as a motivator

I believe it is possible to make art to order without losing one’s mind, although I have not managed to accomplish that feat. I know it is possible to make only the art that makes one happy, whether anyone else wants to buy it or not. That path leads to interesting places, some not so pleasant.

Beyond the end of the continuum, if there is such a place, there lies the attitude that art is simply a product, a thing that people shop for, order, compare with other things, and purchase (or not) much the same way they buy cans of corn and vacuum cleaners. In other words, a commodity. I guess it is possible for canned corn can design to be esthetically pleasing. Likewise, I am sure vacuum cleaner designers put a lot of thought into the line, color, and shape of their machines. Function wins out. A vacuum cleaner that looks fabulous but fails to suck isn’t a vacuum cleaner, is it? It’s more like performance art, or even conceptual art, if you can convince a viewer the machine is there, it just happens to be invisible at the moment.

My brain is shutting down now. I am realizing that my entire argument depends on how we define art, and I cannot wrap my brain around that task, not today, probably not ever. I’ve tried and failed multiple times. Art is what we say it is. If a buyer is willing to pay $18,000 for a certificate of ownership for an artwork that does not exist, then clearly there is way more wiggle room than I can cover in this dinky blogpost.

Originally published on 3/22/2022

Once again, I find myself circling back around to the stumbling block that trips me up and skins my brain bloody raw. I have learned so much about marketing, and yet I am stymied by a basic question. Not all artists face this question, but I suspect many do, which is why I’m writing about it here. I despair when I imagine all the time and energy wasted posting to social media, creating fancy websites, and designing cute business cards. All those skills are great, and I’ve learned to do them all, but they are all useless without knowing the answer to this one question: What the hell am I selling?

You can laugh. If you are one of the lucky artists who grew up dreaming of making fused glass trivets, spent time learning how to make fused glass trivets, and now are happily selling fused glass trivets on Etsy, lucky you, you can afford to laugh. It must seem so clear to you. What else could there be but fused glass trivets?

However, if you are one of those hapless artists who find themselves pulled in many directions, you might know what I’m talking about. You paint and you also crochet. You draw cartoons and you also do graphic design. You make ceramics, you have a whole studio with a kiln and everything, but you’d really like to start your own line of handmade shoes.

It’s great to have many creative interests. That’s the nature of creativity, right? So what is the problem?

The problem for artists with multiple creative interests emerges in the moment they turn toward the idea of earning money with their art. Because that is the moment the art has the potential to become a business. At that moment, the artist must choose a niche.

Business versus art

The world of business is different than the world of art. Some artists find that happy intersection between the art they want to make and the art that buyers want to buy. Lucky them. They found their cozy niche. They make fused glass trivets, the world wants fused glass trivets—with the advent of platforms like Etsy, it’s a match made in heaven.

Some of us don’t find that happy intersection. We wander around the back roads, taking detours that can last years, falling into sinkholes, losing our way, even losing sight of our destination. After years of grinding and tripping and stumbling, we almost forget what we were seeking. Blessed self-induced amnesia. We pretend we never wanted to be a painter, or a writer, or a sculptor in the first place. What were we thinking? The world needs more accountants or marketers, not more artists.

Until something happens. A death, a divorce, a move, some sort of loss or shift leads to an awakening. The dream stirs, and once it awakens, it refuses to go back to sleep. What to do?

My forty-year detour away from art took me into academia, where I learned some skills I was able to apply. Yay me. Like learning how to type so you’ll have something to fall back on when the dream fails, as artistic dreams must surely do. Now I know way too much about marketing. And still know nothing about what I’m selling.

If you don’t know what you are selling, it means you don’t know who you are.

The artists’ business plan

I have four questions for artists to ask themselves. No need to share with anyone else. These questions are not about getting funding from outside investors. These questions are the heart of your roadmap toward the success of your art business.

1. What am I selling?
2. How much am I selling it for?
3. Who am I selling it to?
4. And how am I going to promote it?

If you can’t answer the first question, don’t bother trying to answer the remaining three.

If you only care about making money, go be a stockbroker or something like that. You might be that one in a million who makes $69 million selling an NFT. Most of us are not Beeple. If you want to create a solid business selling something you create, focus on one thing and commit to it for six months or a year. Market the hell out of that one thing. If it fails, you cannot blame your scattered artist brain.

Originally posted on 10/17/2019

A swarm of ideas are itching under my skin. I’ve learned that if I don’t scratch them (that is, if I pretend they aren’t there), these ideas will soon leave me to get under someone else’s skin. However, if I am brave enough or annoyed enough to scratch, these ideas can bloom into something really great. A veritable rash of creativity.

If it were easy to scratch our itches, artists would have nothing to complain about. We’d all be basking in the glow of our gallery shows, Instagram followers, and TED talks, or whatever we say we want. Maybe it is that easy and I just haven’t figured it out yet.

The artists I know seem to have troubles. Lots of kinds of troubles. Trouble with focusing, trouble with choosing, trouble with earning, you name it, we’ve got troubles. Our troubles can spill over into other areas of our lives—for example, relationships, finances, housing, and health. (Wow, write the word trouble enough times and you start to wonder if you are having trouble spelling trouble.)

As part of my interest in the intersection of art and research, I want to explore artists’ troubles and excavate solutions. I’m not sure where to start. My brain is jumping around in my head. Coffee doesn’t help, I suppose.

Lately I’ve been operating under the premise that the solution to my troubles is taking action. In other words, creativity seems to flow more reliably if I focus on staying busy. Even if all I do is clean off my desk, taking some action seems to be more valuable than taking no action. When I focus on squeezing my creativity to cough up money, I suddenly find myself afflicted with a bizarre kind of paralysis.

For sure, we know it’s hard to steer a parked car. Art doesn’t happen by itself.

I know what I get if all I do is wallow and moan about how I can’t seem to get anywhere with my art. The only thing that has produced any results, good or bad, is getting busy. Action really is the magic word.

For those of you who might be wondering, am I still editing academic papers, the answer is yes. I’ve moved all my academic pursuits to loveyourdissertation.com where I’m a veritable blogging fool on topics of little to no interest to artists.

Remember what I said about artists have trouble focusing? Yep.