Question: When you sell a piece of your art/writing/music, do you feel. . .
(a) Elated — Yay! Let’s go grocery shopping
(b) A little sad to see it go, but that’s part of being a professional artist isn’t it?
(c) Racked with guilt and regret and then finding yourself frantically trying to recreate a copy of it for yourself!
The irony here is that we spend all this time trying to make a living from our art only to discover that we’ve become emotionally attached to our work and can’t let it go.
This is the working artist’s paradox that Christine Terpening brought up a little while ago on our Facebook page. In the post, she was asking other artists how they deal with selling a piece of art after they have developed an emotional attachment to it.
What I found most interesting from this discussion, however, was not how artists become attached to their work, but how this sense of loss and regret seemed to affect certain types of artists more than others.
I would have to think that this partly has to do with the physical interaction visual artists (painters, illustrators, potters, sculptors) have with their work. By physically manipulating the clay and the paint day after day, I can understand how a visual artist could become more emotionally attached to the final piece.
Writers, musicians, and even photographers who work increasingly in the digital realm–just don’t seem to have this same level of physical interaction with their work. Our composition happens primarily in our mind (which we get to keep ;) ) and our work is then manipulated electronically into it’s final form. This is partly why a copy of our book, song, or photograph means almost as much to us as the “original”. Unlike a visual artist, we don’t feel the same need to hang on to the original because for us, it’s virtually indistinguishable from copies of the work.
This certainly doesn’t mean that non-visual artists somehow care less about the finished product, we just have the luxury of being able to have our work and sell it too. Visual artists, on the other hand, know that an original work can never truly be replaced, which is why the decision to sell or not sell a particular piece can often be so difficult.
So to my visual artist friends . . .
How do you decide what to sell and what to keep?
When you do a commissioned piece of work, you presumably have little choice but to eventually hand it off to it’s rightful owner (even if you may put it off for a little while) — but when it comes to your non-commissioned work, how do you decide what you are going to sell and what you’re going to keep in your personal collection? Or do you simply let the marketplace decide for you?
So many of the artists I speak with, tell me that it’s the commissioned or promised pieces that are often the hardest to let go of. What is it about these commissioned pieces that makes them more susceptible to this type of emotional attachment. Is it just the lure of the forbidden fruit, or is there something else at work here?
I just did a blog post on some art I made for a 2008 art show. When the time came to part with it, I just couldn’t do it. It was as though part of my soul/personality was tied up in the artwork itself. I priced it at a silly high price, reasoning that if it *did* sell, then it was meant to. . . I think it is possible to part with one’s artwork. It has to be something we, as artists, decide beforehand–before our hands begin to touch the thing we are creating. And sometimes, even though we do this–sometimes the art is so personal that we are not yet ready to let it go. Other times, we are so critical of our own work, we cannot even bear to look at it. It appears ugly to us and beautiful to others. These are the things we can let go of, but sometimes these don’t even make it out of the house/studio. Or, a piece of art may take on a life of it’s own and shock and surprise us at it’s beauty. I think these are the specific ones that are difficult to let go of.
I don’t have a problem with this, for some reason. Once I’ve finished a painting. My attention goes almost immediately to my next one, even if I don’t yet know what it will be. Finished paintings become just paintings, which often allows you to see its strong and weak points more easily.
My husband and I were just laughing about overpricing art hoping it won’t sell. I just did that on my last one. I don’t have a problem selling portraits because they’re not my loved ones so I can take a photo of the finished work & ship it out…it’s my original works that I sometimes can’t bear to part with. They reflect my personality, they look great on my wall & I used my kids for models. Maybe it would help if I used some one elses kids but lets face it…mine are so damn good lookin’! They also work cheap.
Of course I can be swayed by money. If someone offered enough I’d certainly sell…If they are willing to pay high dollar you know that not only will your art hang in a prominent place in the home but obviously the buyer likes you & will tell everyone about you. If you know anyone like that please send them my way.
I do agree that time helps you disconnect with your work. Good wine ages before it sells. I’d like to know more about how Peter moves on so easily…Is it a gender issue? My husband loves what I do but has no problems getting rid of what I create. He looks at it as a sort of ‘pat on the back’ when someone wants to buy my work, as do I.
I have never had a problem with this, and a lot of that comes out of my reasons for making art. Most of my art is very personal in subject matter- pieces based on old family photographs of my grandparents in the 1940’s and 50’s- but I would happily send every one of them out the door for almost any price (yes, I do need to pay the bills, but if someone really wants one of my pieces, I will do whatever it takes for them to get it.)
I have always seen my ability to make art as a gift, not to me alone, but a gift THROUGH me to others. While I get great personal pleasure out of doing my work, they do me no good once they are finished and are sitting around the studio. Yes, I have favorites, but I have great photos of them. Once the work is finished, the purpose of my work is to bring joy to someone else.
I experience this too! Just today I picked up a painting from a Member’s Show that I promised to someone as a gift. I kept wondering how fast I could paint a similar one but keep the special original I got attached to. Part of mine is that it takes me so long to finish something. So maybe if my production gets much higher, I won’t want to keep it all.
Image courtesy of Stepheye
Drew is a writer, teacher, and head custodian of the Skinny Artist creative community. You can also find him online at OutmatchFitness.com where he writes about fitness, nutrition, and his continuing battle with father time.