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Tag: business of art

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How to negotiate when you sell paintings

All Flesh is as Grass, oil on linen, 30X40, $5072 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

The Maine coast gets its share of mega-yachts and the people who inhabit them. A former gallerist of mine once had a visitor who made sure to mention the fabled locations in which his second or third homes were located. He seemed very interested, but didn’t bite on any paintings. The next day, he came by and said, “Let’s see how hungry your artists are this morning.” That man needed a stake driven through his heart.

With the notable exception of Frederic Church, most artists are not noted for business acumen. (If they were primarily motivated by money, they’d do something other than sell paintings.) In 2023, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, the 2023 median wage for a fine artist in the US was $52,910 per year. Those of us who are self-employed (almost all of us) provide our own insurance and retirement savings.

Deadwood, oil on linen, 30X40, $5072.00 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

That makes it easy to pressure an artist for a discount, but the question is whether you should. That’s doubly true if you’re negotiating through a non-profit. You’re also trimming proceeds for the organization.

Negotiation is the key to a happy life

I once did a show with a painter who asked, “Would you ask the telephone company to take 10% off your bill? Your dentist? Your plumber?” Well, actually, we do, all the time. It’s really no different when we sell paintings.

Art buyers, like everyone else, want to think they’re getting their money’s worth. Appearances can be deceiving. They may be driving a nice car but not have much liquid cash. Asking for a discount is perfectly reasonable, but so is saying no.

On either side of this discussion, you can’t invest the process with something it’s not. It’s not a hunt to beat down the price; nor is it any kind of validation of the artist’s work.

Winter lambing, oil on linen, 30X40, $5072 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Listen more than you talk

Some days I wish I’d just shut up. A good life lesson in any situation is to remember that communication is a two-way street. It’s not necessary to answer every objection or comment. If you give people enough time, they’ll probably understand your position on their own.

Is it really worth it to stand your ground?

The last time I was asked to cut a price, I did it but wasn’t thrilled. Then I sat down with my pencil and realized that my net out-of-pocket was $45 (it was a gallery sale). It would have been absurd to walk away from a sale for pin money, but my first response was emotional, not intellectual.

On the other hand, it’s also OK to say no

Some offers are so absurd that you don’t even need to think about them. Some are more difficult to parse, and it helps to do a little seat-of-the-pants math. If nothing else, it buys you time to think. If a person is set on not spending more than X, I may steer them towards something they can afford. But if it becomes clear that there’s no middle ground, I just smile and wish them well.

The Harvest is Plenty, oil on linen, 30X40, $5072 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

A word about payment

I accept Square and Paypal when I sell paintings because we live in a cashless society. Part of the reason for their high fees is that they offer some protection against the many scams targeted at artists. I only accept checks in person or from people I know well. And, yes, I will let people buy paintings on layaway; it is a great option for the sincere collector who has limited resources.

Do you believe in the quality of your work?

Thomas Kinkade once bet a million dollars that his work would be featured in a major museum. That’s not confident; that’s delusional. However, most artists I know—including some absolutely brilliant painters—tend to be hypercritical of their own work. That’s not fair, either.

Yes, we all have bad days, but if you don’t recognize the quality of your work, who will? I don’t think “fake it ‘til you make it” works with self-confidence. If deep down you really think you don’t deserve to sell paintings, you won’t sell paintings.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Sell your work like the luxury good it is

Breaking Storm, oil on linen, 30X48, $5579 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

On Wednesday, I asked, “If an idea is so easily interchangeable that anyone can do it, what is the value of the brand itself?” In response, my friend and student Sandy Sibley sent me this article, in which fashion editor Katharine K. Zarrella calls out luxury fashion for its decline in quality and exclusivity.

She criticizes luxury brands for shifting focus from craftsmanship to profit, fueled by social media-driven consumerism, celebrity endorsements, and ‘buy now, pay later’ schemes. These have made luxury items ubiquitous, less exclusive, and often shoddy.

Zarrella argues that luxury is in a death spiral, with some companies reducing prices, selling through outlets, or racking up losses. She encourages consumers to reject overpriced, low-quality goods in favor of more meaningful purchases.

This may be luxury fashion’s loss, but it’s the artisan’s gain.

Winter lambing, oil on linen, 30X40, $5072 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Are paintings luxury goods?

“I’m not sure I would consider fine art as luxury goods,” mused Bobbi Heath, “but that’s probably because I value paintings way, way more than handbags and shoes and perfume.” Well, me too, but that doesn’t mean fine art doesn’t meet the economic definition of a luxury good:

  • Luxury goods see an increase in demand that is proportionally greater than the increase in income. As people’s incomes rise, the demand for luxury goods increases at a faster rate.
  • Luxury goods are not necessities; they are purchased to enhance one’s standard of living, prestige, or personal satisfaction.
  • Luxury goods are expensive compared to their non-luxury equivalents.
  • Luxury goods are seen as a superior product or status symbol.

Oddly, while the best of fine crafts have always been considered luxury goods, fine art isn’t usually called by that name. Until the modern era, painting served practical purposes as well as aesthetic ones. But try thinking of your fine artwork as a luxury good, and see how that affects your marketing.

Deadwood, oil on linen, 30X40, $5072.00 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Pricing and selling art

My student has made a careful study of what the art market in his rural area will bear. He prices his work accordingly. Prestigious galleries take the opposite approach, choosing swank locations in which to sell extremely expensive paintings. (The current correction in the high-end art market may reflect the same problems that Zarrella pointed out in the fashion industry.) There are, of course, thousands of examples in between these two extremes. Nobody but you can determine exactly where you should fall.

Ralph Waldo Emerson is reputed to have said, “Build a better mousetrap, and the world will beat a path to your door.” That’s never been true. Selling anything, but particularly paintings, is all about brand recognition. Get your name out there by participating in shows, using social media and advertising, and then worry about pricing.

All Flesh is as Grass, oil on linen, 30X40, $5072 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

In every situation, it makes sense to market your work in the slickest way you can, in clean, well-ordered spaces and with on-trend frames.

Luxury goods are not sold by discounting. Instead, focus on creating a compelling brand, providing exceptional customer service, emphasizing exclusivity and quality, targeting the right audience, and offering personalized experiences to cultivate a sense of prestige and value around your work.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Art heist, and this one was personal

The one that got away–Lauren Hammond’s color exercise, 9X12, that walked from our Berkshires workshop.

Last week I taught a delightful workshop in the Berkshires. I had demonstrated optical mixing (or broken color), and Lauren Hammond worked hard to execute the concept. Her finished painting was so lovely that I took a photo of it. She set it on the ground while she started something else. Thinking I knew better, I moved it to a nearby table so she didn’t inadvertently step on it. Our group was spread out over many acres, so most of the time, Lauren was alone at her easel.

“I think someone stole my painting!” she texted me. In decades of teaching, the closest I’ve ever come to that was when Sue Leo’s camera was lifted in Rochester’s Mount Hope Cemetery. But Mount Hope is near a sketchy neighborhood in a crime-ridden city. Lauren was in a place where I wouldn’t think twice about leaving my car unlocked.

“She’s just overlooking it,” I told myself, and I went back to help her find it. Other students helped us look and the venue manager contacted all her employees, all to no avail. It was gone. Lauren was the victim of an art heist.

The end of the evidence trail. I photographed it and then cleaned up the mess.

I’m an inveterate reader of mysteries, so I hunted for clues. Aha, I thought, here’s one—a painting imprint on another nearby table. But that, sadly, was where the trail ended. I’m no Miss Marple.

People have posited various alternative theories to me. Perhaps it was mistaken for garbage and thrown away. Perhaps they thought it was left there for someone else to take (as in the Acts of Kindness movement). Perhaps it blew away. Because I saw the scene of the crime, I can tell you with absolute assurance that none of these things happened.

Art heist losses are hard to estimate but they’re estimated at around $4-6 billion US per year. Money laundering in the art market is an even bigger problem. In comparison, Lauren’s painting is a drop in a very big bucket. But I take it personally.

Let this be a lesson to you.

Even the safest painting sites need just one bad person to cause trouble, and there are many worse outcomes than losing a painting. Be in the zone but be aware of what’s going on around you. If you’re at all in doubt, paint in pairs. I’ve painted all over the world and never had a problem, but then again I’ve never had a student’s painting stolen either.

Why you shouldn’t steal paintings. Really.

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you already know this, but humor me. Stealing art is rotten because:

  1. The artist put time, effort, and years of training into creating that work. It’s no different from any other tangible object with value;
  2. Stealing a painting deprives others of the opportunity to experience the work;
  3. Stealing is a crime that usually affects the little guys. We’ve abolished hanging as the punishment for theft, but I sure do understand why stealing riled up our ancestors;
  4. Paintings are personal, so stealing one is personal, too.

But I would never do that!

Photographers are people too, so the next time you’re tempted to use someone else’s online photo as reference for your painting, consider their property rights. Go outside and shoot your own reference picture. If that’s impossible, check Creative Commons for open-access images.

Lauren’s last painting of the workshop. Nice broken color, more challenging design.

All’s well that ends well

My goal on the last day was to encourage Lauren to paint something even stronger than the one that got away. I think she did so. It’s more complex and adventurous in design, but the color is just as well-executed.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Monday Morning Art School: what is a fine art print?

Early Spring on Beech Hill, oil on canvasboard, Carol L. Douglas, 12X16, $1449 framed includes shipping in continental US.

This past weekend, I sat down with a pencil and a template and signed and numbered 75 prints of Early Spring on Beech Hill for Coastal Mountains Land Trust. I’m happy to do this little thing; I’m on their properties almost daily. If I’m not up Beech Hill, I’m on Ragged or Bald Mountains. If you look at a list of their preserves, you realize how much they shape everyday life here in midcoast Maine.

Back in the day, I sold a lot of prints. They are a great way for people of modest means to start collecting art, and they can introduce young people to your work.

Signing work with a template. If you think you can’t misspell your own name, try writing it over and over again.

What is a fine art print?

A fine art print is a high-quality reproduction of an original artwork. There’s overlap between fine art prints and the art of printmaking. For example, until the turn of the last century, etching was both an artform and a way to reproduce other artwork for publication.

The gap between fine art prints and what you can get from your ink-jet printer has narrowed. Even the cheapest art book published in this century has better illustrations than an old Janson’s History of Art, which was once the preferred text for art history classes.

The goal being to handle the paper as little as possible, I used a paint stirrer to push the pieces in place inside their acrylic sleeve.

Fine art prints are made with an eye to durability, color accuracy, and aesthetic integrity. They are often produced in limited editions and signed and numbered by the artist. The main printing methods for fine art prints include:

  • GiclĂŠe Printing: This is the most common method of making small-run art prints. GiclĂŠe printers have higher resolution than standard inkjet printers, and use a 12-color printing system instead of the standard 4-color CMYK system. They use high-quality inks that can last a lifetime, and the prints are resistant to damage from smudging, sun, and humidity.
  • Commercial Lithography: That’s the traditional printing process used in bookmaking and periodicals, and is done on an offset press. It’s suitable for mass runs, so if you were to buy a print of, say, Constable’s The Hay Wain from the National Gallery it would be made in this manner.
  • Screen printing, where ink is pushed through a mesh screen onto paper or canvas. This is how you’d reproduce your paintings on textiles, pens, coffee mugs, or huge signs, if you were so inclined.
Seventy-five prints signed and ready to rumble.

Limited edition prints

Collectors often seek out limited edition prints due to their rarity and because they might appreciate in value. There is no difference in quality between the limited edition print and its open-run cousin; the value rests in the artist’s signature. For example, I can never make another limited-edition run of Early Spring on Beech Hill, because I’ve already done a set run of 75 copies.

The quality question

My color laser printer does a fine job of printing, and with the proper paper its output would be highly durable, but I wouldn’t use it for high-end prints; it’s too small and there are visible differences in quality. There are many sources online for archival-quality giclée prints at a reasonable price.

Most of the quality of your print rests in the photography, not the printing. In the past, I’ve had my paintings shot by a service, but I now have a high-end camera. If you go that route, however, you need to understand color correction, compression, and other issues that affect output.

Should you sell prints?

That’s a question only you can answer. Prints can increase your market reach and give you a more consistent revenue stream. If your print becomes popular, it can generate revenue over time.

However, there’s still the initial investment of time and money to consider. And you never get away from marketing. Prints are an already-saturated market, although a much larger one than the market for original paintings.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Why I teach

Main Street, Owl’s Head, oil on archival canvasboard, $1623 includes shipping and handling in continental US. This is one of the places we go during our July workshop.

With some trepidation, I handed Monday’s Words and Pictures class over to my student Rebecca Bense. She led us in an impromptu neurographic art exercise. I know, love and trust Becky, but I’ve had enough therapy to be guarded about diving into my subconscious. By the end of the exercise, I thought it was a good way to dig deeper into the meaning of art. And, since I seemed to have drawn a hag-ridden self-portrait (below) I was startled by the result.

My first essay into neurographic art. I know it’s a self-portrait because of the corkscrew curl. Yikes.

Monday’s class is a very small group, and I’m teaching it because the content is important to me. If I used the customary pedagogical method and chased around questioning and critiquing, nobody would have a moment’s peace. Instead, I’m developing ideas with, rather than for, the class. It’s fantastic fun for me, and I think I’ll probably learn something new about teaching.

A teacher is first a learner

I didn’t really have mastery of my craft until I learned to break it down in discrete steps and describe it to others. After all, that is what school is all about: repeating what one has learned. Not every artist is a good teacher; I know some very fine painters who are inarticulate. But when teaching is going well, it’s a two-way street. I’m constantly surprised and amazed by what I learn from my students, as Monday’s class demonstrated.

Early Spring on Beech Hill, oil on canvasboard, Carol L. Douglas, 12X16, $1449 framed includes shipping in continental US. This is a favorite place to teach and paint.

 Why does anyone teach?

The obvious answer is that teaching provides a steadier income than just selling paintings, which can be a ‘canary in a coalmine’ career—great when the market is up, dismal when it’s down. But nobody survives teaching if their motivations don’t run deeper. “Because you like telling people what to do,” my smart-aleck daughter suggested. That’s probably partly true.

Good teaching is akin to preaching. They both require a belief in and passion for the subject. Building on that, you harness communication skills, technical ability, and human connection, but they’re all secondary to that passion.

Blueberry barrens, Clary Hill, oil on canvas, 24X36, $3985 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

True relationships

After a few decades of teaching and writing about painting, I’ve shared a lot about my life. My students have done the same. If a painter takes one of my online classes, they’re signing up for 18 hours of ensemble learning. If they take one of my workshops, it’s a full week. No, we’re not gossiping or chattering idly. We concentrate on painting, but that is a highly personal subject. We can’t help but make connections.

Although I once considered myself a private person, I’m now comfortable with this. For one thing, these days there’s very little anyone can blackmail me with.

Teaching has a long reach

I have students who have gone on to professional art careers. Some now teach, and some, like Cassie Sano, are successful writer-illustrators. Student Mark Gale works in an art program with homeless people in Austin, TX. Some, like architect Kamillah Ramos, will outlive me.

Like most artists, I went into art thinking I would make objects of lasting beauty. What if the actual product turned out to be future artists?

(I realize with a start that we’re within a month of my July workshop here in Rockport. If you’re considering it, you want to register soon, since it’s both close and nearly filled up. My other workshops are listed below.)

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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What is your network?

Hiking, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $435 includes shipping in continental US.

One of the nicest things about being an artist is avoiding the world of business-speak. Still, even artists must network.

Networking is sometimes described in negative terms: cronyism, the old boy network, or nepotism. But we human beings network constantly and naturally; we’re very much pack animals at heart.

The Wreck of the SS Ethie, oil on canvas, 18X24, $2318 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

It’s not what you know, it’s who you know

Like most people, my network starts with my family. Beyond that, I have three circles of friends: my art-world friends, my church buddies, and my trail buddies. Any overlap evolves naturally. I’ll invite all my friends to openings, for example, but I don’t expect any of them to buy from me. However, some of my best opportunities have come from non-artist friends.

Our networks change over time depending on our interests. I no longer run a community garden or live in a neighborhood, so those circles have quietly faded away.

What is your network? Is there overlap between your circles of friends? How much of your social interactions happen in the real world vs. on social media?

Why is networking important for artists?

From a business standpoint, the value of networking is obvious: it exposes you to opportunities like gallery representation, exhibitions, residencies, grants, and sales.

Networking also exposes you to different ideas about art, including feedback and critique on your own work. In addition to helping you make concrete changes, this can give you insights into how your work is perceived by others. I’m always keen to see how my work looks in natural settings rather than the artificial environment of a studio or gallery.

I took classes and workshops for decades. As a young mother, they were my best route to meeting other artists. As I struggled to create a professional practice for myself, those friends provided support and encouragement. (And of course I learned a lot.)

Deadwood, oil on linen, 30X40, $5072.00 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

It can go wrong… or right

I once belonged to a women’s art critique group. In theory it was a safe space where we could discuss ways to overcome the art-world bias against women. In practice, it devolved into a bitch session. Groups like that poison your attitude, so they’re worse than useless.

My most helpful critics are my family. Most of them have some art background, but more importantly, they have no ego in the art world. If they tell me, “That doesn’t look right,” I listen.

Visibility

I’m always enthusiastic about attending openings (or any other public events) until the time comes to put my pants on. Then I feel a sudden, pressing need to stay home. Like many artists, I’m a recluse at heart. But supporting your peers is important. It’s also one of the best ways you can increase your own visibility within the art community.

The Late Bus, oil on archival canvasboard, 6X8, $435.00 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Then there’s social media

There are people I first met through social media who’ve morphed into real world friends. There are other friends with whom I can only stay connected through my computer or phone. Quit kvetching about social media and use it to grow your following, showcase your work, connect with other artists, and engage with the public.

Show your work

Iron sharpens iron. I loathe rejection as much as the next guy, but the process of submitting work to juried shows and events expands our reach and connections… and makes us better painters.

Reach out

Remember when we used to contact each other IRL? It’s so alien to me now that I sometimes forget that walking in to a gallery or studio and engaging with the human being I find there is the first and best way to forge genuine relationships.

I’m in Britain on another lovely, long, blister-inducing hike. I’ve turned my phone off and while I’m gone, Laura will be running the office. Just email me as usual if you have questions or problems registering for a class or workshop. (Who am I kidding? She fixes all that stuff anyway.)

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Monday Morning Art School: How do I get more out of social media?

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

“I’m a 73-year-old artist and I’m having trouble expanding my social media reach. Can you give me any ideas, not just to drive more traffic to my art website, but to make the process less miserable?”

I don’t think consistent social media posting is fun for anyone, but if we predate the internet, we don’t always appreciate the whole parasocial thing. I’m the person who told my kids not to talk to strangers on the internet, and now I do it all the time-and some of those people have become my besties.

Spring Allee, oil on archival canvasboard, 14X18, $1594.00 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

First, the basics:

Post consistently. Regularly share your artwork on platforms like Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, Threads, and Pinterest. Consistency is the number one rule of social media. I blog three times a week for a reason.

Engage Interact with your followers by responding to comments, asking questions, and participating in others’ discussions. Build genuine connections.

Hashtags Relevant, trending hashtags make your posts more discoverable. How do you find them? Ask Google “best hashtags for __”

Share your process People like watching the creative process, so share photos or videos of your studio, work in progress, or what inspires you.

Collaborate Collaboration cross-pollinates lists. A great way to do that is to tag fellow artists at events. Or do something interesting together.

Early Light is 11X14, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 includes shipping and handling in the continental US.

Giveaways Your freebee doesn’t need to be expensive; it could be as simple as a ‘top ten color pathways for 2024’ handout. (Do I do this? Um, no.) The ‘price’? Their email address.

Guest blogs or interviews There is no such thing as bad publicity, so when someone asks you a question for their own blog or article, be sure to answer in an articulate manner. Or write for others. Just make sure the publisher links back to you; that strong network of links makes you attractive to Google.

SEO Ensure that your website is optimized for search engines by using relevant keywords in your content, image descriptions, and meta tags. If this means nothing to you, start here.

Give readers something meaningful. That’s why I write this blog; it’s my version of ‘exclusive content’ and it brings people to my website.

Cross-promote. Promote your social media profiles on your website and vice versa.

Don’t let AI generate your content If you really don’t have anything to say, say nothing at all. Google has tools to weed out the nonsensical fluff, so it’s a waste of time.

That sounds time-consuming, doesn’t it?

Path to the Lake, ~24X36, watercolor on Yupo, framed in museum-grade plexiglass, $2985 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Let’s make it more fun:

Spill Don’t limit your social media presence solely to promoting your artwork. Share your hobbies, interests, and experiences. If you’re a regular reader of this blog and don’t know everything about me, I’m doing something wrong. (Or you’re not paying attention.)

Be funny Share anecdotes or witty commentary related to art or your daily life. Humor humanizes your brand and makes you more relatable.

Host live streams This is a lot of work, which is why I don’t do it often, but I’m happy to do online demos for art groups. It’s a great way to build a sense of community and connection.

Interactive content I don’t do this enough either, but interactive content like polls, quizzes, or challenges makes social media feed more dynamic and encourages engagement.

Showcase your students or the buyers of your work You can also feature artwork or photos shared by your social media followers. This acknowledges and appreciates their support and fosters a sense of community and collaboration.

Tell stories (I can’t seem to help doing this.) Storytelling engages your audience. Share the inspiration behind your artwork, memorable experiences from your artistic journey, or anecdotes from your daily life.

Celebrate yourself Yeah, that sounds a lot like bragging, but if you don’t tell them about your achievements, who will?

Be you Above all, be authentic and genuine in your interactions on social media. (If you’re never funny, I’m so sorry.) Openly share your thoughts, feelings, and experiences, no matter how introverted you are. Social media is all about bridging the barrier of the screen.

Of course I don’t do all those things; no one person can. Focus on a few that work for you.

That’s all I can think of. Fellow artists, can you add any tips? What works for you?

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Forgery, plagiarism, and transformative use: the money machine of art

Early light on Moon Lake, 9X12, oil on archival canvasboard, $696 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Last month I wrote that I was too idiosyncratic to be a forger. It requires sublimating your own creativity to another’s vision. What’s the fun in that? You might as well be an engineer; it pays better.

US copyright law says you can’t copy someone else’s work, except under limited circumstances. One of these is ‘transformative use,’ which has a bit of an “I’ll know it when I see it” definition.

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

Transformative use could mean:

  • Parody: Creating a work that imitates or mocks the style or content of the original copyrighted material for humorous or satirical effect.
  • Commentary or criticism: Using copyrighted material as a basis for commentary, critique, or analysis, where the new work adds new insights or perspectives.
  • Educational or informational purposes: Incorporating copyrighted material into educational or informational content to illustrate a point or convey information.
  • Remixes or mashups: Combining multiple copyrighted works to create a new, original work with a different meaning or expression.

That last one is where the visual artist has some latitude. For example, I might want to put an 18′ Grumman aluminum canoe in a painting and am too lazy to walk out to the back yard and photograph my own. If it’s a detail in an otherwise completely different work, I can reference someone else’s photograph. I cannot, however, copy Dorothea Lange’s dustbowl photographs verbatim and expect to get away with it. Of course, there’s a lot of grey area in between these two examples.

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

Transformative use is judged on a case-by-case basis, which is why famous artists like Jeff Koons keep stealing from less-well-known ones. They can better afford protracted legal cases.

British artist Damien Hirst also has a long rap sheet when it comes to plagiarism, but he may be the first artist in history to be accused of forging his own work.

Among several examples reported by the Guardian is an $8 million, 13-foot tiger shark split into three sections and suspended in formaldehyde at the Palm Hotel and Resort in Las Vegas. It was dated 1999, but was made in 2017.

The works were first shown at a 2017 Hirst solo show called Visual Candy and Natural History, and dated “from the early to mid-1990s.”

“Formaldehyde works are conceptual artworks and the date Damien Hirst assigns to them is the date of the conception of the work,” Hirst’s company said.

The artist’s lawyers added that “the dating of artworks, and particularly conceptual artworks, is not controlled by any industry standard. Artists are perfectly entitled to be (and often are) inconsistent in their dating of works.”

Cold Spring Day, 11X14, $869 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

A more prosaic explanation is that Hirst’s reputation is in decline. More recent works do not sell at the prices he commanded when he was one of the fresh new Bad Boys of British Art. By backdating his catalog, he could hope to make more money.

Formaldehyde slows down but doesn’t stop decay. Some of Hirst’s earlier pieces are rotting, or the original specimens have been replaced. What a revolting job for the conservators, not to mention the gallery assistants who did the work in the first place. Formaldehyde is a highly toxic systemic poison that is a severe respiratory and skin irritant and can cause burns, dizziness or suffocation. If you’re inclined to deface artwork for political or environmental reasons, Hirst’s suspended animals seem a far better target than an irreplaceable oil painting.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Monday Morning Art School: do you have a return policy?

Seafoam, 9X12, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 framed.

“Have you written about original art sales being final?” a reader asked me this weekend. “Do you ever accept returns? If so, why or why not?”

My late friend Gwendolyn used to regularly shop on what she called ‘The American Plan.” Gwendolyn wasn’t an abuser of the system; she didn’t wear clothes and then try to return them. Instead, she’d bring things home from the mall in a variety of sizes and colors, hoping her family would like something she’d selected. The rest would go back.

Main Street, Owl’s Head, oil on archival canvasboard, $1623 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

American retailing encourages this, with most sellers offering very liberal return policies. That makes sense for large corporations in the highly-competitive world of online consumer goods. It makes less sense for custom goods made by small workshops, like jewelers, painters, or seamstresses.

Before you start selling paintings, you should think through your return policy, or you may be asked to do something you’re not willing to accommodate.

Since I have a commerce-enabled website, Google requires that I have a clearly-articulated return policy for both my paintings and my workshops, which you can read here. Without it, Google won’t rank my website, which means nobody would ever see it.

You determine what your policy is, but I think “no returns at any time, for any reason,” would be unreasonable. Art does occasionally arrive with damaged frames. Even though I always ship with insurance, it’s good customer relations to manage the repair or reimbursement myself.

Apple Tree with Swing, 16X20, oil on archival canvasboard, $2029 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

It’s devilishly difficult to photograph paintings. There’s inevitably some difference in color. A person with a very tight color scheme might realize the blue of my ocean doesn’t quite match their couch. I used to worry about this a lot, until I bought some wall paint online during COVID. My husband’s office is beautiful, but it’s not what I saw on my monitor. Nobody can manage color perfectly online because every screen shows color differently. (Then there’s airbrushing and photo enhancement. Although it doesn’t pertain to my paintings, most product photography is enhanced before we ever see it.)

Having said that, I work hard to make accurate photos and I’ve never had a painting returned because it didn’t look like the photo.

The buyer has more responsibility for paintings bought in my gallery or at an event. He or she has thumped the tires and understands the work’s physical presence. There is no reason for the same return policy in a bricks-and-mortar store but whatever it is, it should be posted.

Beautiful Dream, oil on archival canvasboard, $1449 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

I and many other gallerists will send a painting ‘on spec’ if asked. That means the customer pays for it up front (as a surety). If they decide they don’t want it, they pay for its return and insurance. The time limit for this must be clearly specified in advance. Two weeks is more than sufficient to realize a painting just doesn’t work.

No matter what your return policy is, your long-term goal should be to keep your client. Start by asking why they want or need to return the item. Once you determine that, you can offer them a more appropriate product for purchase or exchange. For example, in the example I gave above, I’d show them my entire inventory of ocean paintings. (If they didn’t die of boredom, they’d be bound to find something that’s a better match.) Sometimes people simply can’t visualize size, and buy something that’s too small. If that’s the case, offer them a credit toward a larger one, and don’t be afraid to offer them layaway if the price scares them. A painting is a lifetime investment, and we want to do everything possible to help people able to afford art.

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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.

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