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Tag: business of art

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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.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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How did I do at my first virtual opening?

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

Last Friday I did my first virtual art opening. Later, I was talking to a clothing designer friend about whether that would work for her. After all, clothing was one of the first things we started buying online.

“I’ve always been wary of returns,” she said. “Clothing is such a particular and personal thing.”

She’s right, of course. We are used to buying on what my friend Gwendolyn called the ‘American Plan,’ or taking it all home and returning what we don’t like. That’s built into the cost of doing business for large corporations, but could easily undo a small couturier.

No Northern Lights Tonight, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $348 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

At one time, we didn’t like making significant purchases online, but today people buy $3000 handbags without ever seeing them in person. In 2021, we saw a surge of people buying homes remotely, sight unseen. Roughly half of car buyers buy online; moreover, online buyers tend to be more satisfied with the transactions than those who go to a dealership and haggle. COVID accelerated the trend away from bricks-and-mortar shopping and it doesn’t seem like there’s any going back.

For the artist, there are specific difficulties. Paintings are tricky to photograph. Images look different on different screens. While Toyota has unlimited resources to tweak their digital imaging, artists don’t.

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

Openings are events, not just an opportunity to buy paintings. Going to a gallery on a dark winter evening, drinking a glass of wine, eating stale crackers and chatting with your friends is an experience I can’t replicate on the small screen. We tried to work around that by having me speak about individual paintings and answer questions. We sent out suggested wine pairings as well as a mocktail recipe. Most of the participants said they’d like to do it again, so I’ve tentatively penciled in another for January 19.

One of the advantages of a virtual art opening is the ability to reach a global audience. We had people from around the US and Canada represented. However, I can’t figure out how to include my British collectors. 6 PM in Maine is 11 PM in London, and that seems like an unbridgeable gap.

Many galleries and studios are not handicapped-accessible. Online openings seem perfect for people with mobility issues. As we enter flu season and continue to trudge wearily along with COVID, that’s also true for those with compromised immune systems.

Cypresses and Shadows, 11X14, $869 includes shipping and handling.

Laura created a virtual gallery where people could peruse the paintings at their leisure. How could I make this gallery more accessible, effective or easier to navigate? (While you’re pondering that, remember that you can have 10% off a painting with the discount code THANKYOUPAINTING10. Or if you buy two or more, I’ll frame them for you at no charge. That’s good until the end of the year.)

The hard part of looking at paintings online is not understanding their scale in relation to your own space. I don’t think I’m capable of creating virtual reality or interactive 3D models, but I am looking into visualizer apps.

A big believer in the hive, I invite your ideas and/or comments about how the virtual opening experience can be improved. You can either leave me a comment below or email me here.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Consistent fair pricing vs. Black Friday deals

Brilliant autumn day, 9X12, oil on canvasboard, $696 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

“Black Friday sales usually involve 25-50% off, but you and other artists only offer small discounts on paintings (if any),” a reader noted. “That doesn’t seem like much, so why do you bother?” The answer boils down to margin and markup.

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

Margin

Margin is the difference between the product’s selling price and the costs to make and sell that product. High volume businesses, like your grocery store, can afford to work with low margins, whereas a bespoke tailor needs a higher margin to offset his costs.

The problem for artists and other small businesses is that we cut it fine. We’re often working with both low margin and low sales, which gives us very little room to maneuver on price. “Wait a second,” you say. “All you have invested is some canvas and paint.” Not true. We have all kinds of hidden costs ranging from insurance and transportation to the rent and/or upkeep on our studios.

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

Bloated pricing

Another daughter and I both have the same floor cleaner, for which we each paid about $200 as a regularly discounted price. We were surprised to see the same model in last week’s ads at half off, or $200. Yes, it lists at $399.99, but I doubt many people have paid that in this world of competitive online shopping.

You could buy it for as low as $165 this week, but that’s a far cry from the ‘59% off’ at which it is promoted.

Artists can’t and shouldn’t raise and lower their prices willy-nilly. Part of the tacit bargain we make with collectors is that we strive to make their artwork more valuable over time. Inconsistent pricing undermines that and irritates collectors.

That doesn’t mean we can’t have sales, or have an in-studio bin where we get rid of sketches and old work. But unless we bloat the list price, we can’t offer deep discounts.

Up Ship Creek, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $348 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Technical snafu means a deal for you

I wanted to end this thankfulness series by offering a deal where the buyer got one painting at 10% off, two at 15% off, and three at 20% off. However, when Laura started to develop the software to drive that, she found it was impossible with the tools we currently have.

I felt badly. But since I can’t do that, how about I throw in frames for anyone who buys two or more unframed paintings today or tomorrow? Laura will never know; she doesn’t read this blog and it’s really a better deal than those discounts would have been.

As November draws to a close, the last ‘gratitude’ offering I have for you is a recital of all that I’ve offered so far:

  • 10% off any painting, with the code THANKYOUPAINTING10.
  • 30% off any class in the Seven Protocols for Successful Painters series, with the code THANKYOU30
  • $25 off any workshop except Sedona, with the code, EARLYBIRD
  • Free frames with the purchase of two or more unframed paintings. No need to enter a code, but this absolutely expires on November 30, 2023.

That’s because on Friday, December 1, I’m doing North to Southwest: a plein air perspective which is my first Virtual First Friday art show. As I’ve written copy for each of the paintings in this show, I’ve found myself remembering many lovely happenings along the way. I’m getting excited to tell you about them.

If you haven’t registered, please do. Laura will be sending out the Zoom link shortly.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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Monday Morning Art School: how important are collectors, anyways?

Marshall Point, oil on archival canvasboard, 9X12, $696, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

The first time you sell a painting to a friend, you feel a little guilty, as if it’s a pity sale. (That’s different from pity marketing, which is when artists relate their struggles to generate sales. Manipulating others’ sympathy is exploitative, it makes all artists look bad, and I wish people wouldn’t do it.)

The second or third time that person buys a painting, you start to suspect that, against all odds, they actually like your work. You have a collector. As you get more well-known, you’ll collect more collectors, but those first ones are everything to the fledgling artist.

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

My first serious collectors were Dean and Karolina. We went to church together and were friends. I knew they collected art, so when they bought their first painting from me, I was flattered. Then Dean asked me to paint a portrait of his children as a gift for his wife. He gave me an absolute deadline. That was a great lesson, as I realized that I could finish a painting with the same professionalism that I’d once finished design projects for customers.

Karolina was a great support when I was a mother of young kids without family nearby. Once she helped me pull all the wall-to-wall carpet from a house we’d just bought. As you can imagine, I’d love her if she never bought any art from me, but in fact she bought a painting just last year.

Eric’s Barber Shop (midnight walk), oil on archival canvasboard, 9X12, $869 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

I met Martha when she came to my house at 0:dark:30 to watch William and Kate’s wedding. Our mutual friend Mary brought her, but we’d been corresponding for months. Martha bought her first painting from me at a Black Friday sale shortly thereafter. By the time she got married, we were close enough friends that I was invited to her wedding in Scotland; I brought them a painting as a wedding gift.

Her husband asked me to paint her portrait. It turned out to be as much a portrait of their drawing room as of Martha and her dog. Later, the room was destroyed by a catastrophic flood, which makes the painting that much more meaningful. I’m currently in the early phases of another painting for him.

Dean and Karolina were my friends before they ever bought a painting. Martha and I became close friends over subsequent years. I’ve had the good fortune to sell paintings to my friends, and to become friends with people I’ve sold paintings to.

Birches, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $435 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Your friends are perfectly free to ignore your art career. Most of them will, in fact. You may never meet your collectors if they’re buying through a gallery or online. But anyone who likes your work enough to own it is likely to share common emotional and intellectual ground with you, or the work would never have spoken to him or her in the first place. It’s no surprise that the lines of friendship and art often blur.

No artist can survive without collectors. Beyond that, my life has been immeasurably enriched by so many people who’ve pondered my paintings and drawings, corresponded with me about them, and, yes, occasionally purchased them. Thank you all.

For any of you who want to start collecting, here’s 10% off any painting on my website. Just enter the codeTHANKYOUPAINTING10.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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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.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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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!

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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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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That show you want to get into, and can’t

Schooners in the fog at Camden, 9X12, private collection.

“How do you get into shows like Camden on Canvas?” a reader asked in response to Friday’s post. “It seems like I just keep getting rejected over and over.”

When I was young, I was very naive. I thought I could apply to prestigious shows and I’d automatically get in, because the jurors – of course! – would instantly recognize my genius. It didn’t help that I had some early successes, which were the equivalent of a new golfer hitting a hole-in-one. They didn’t signify anything about my skill, but they made the inevitable rejection that much harder.

Ketch and Schooner, 8X10 in a solid silver leaf frame, $652 includes shipping in the continental US. Lighter fog, 20 years after the above painting, my style has changed but the dock remains the same.

Today I’m no smarter, but I’m far more experienced. I’ve learned the hard way that the competition is fierce. We work our way up to big shows by putting in time and effort at smaller shows. Jurying is subjective, so you might win an award one year, and be rejected another year. (I’ve never had much luck trying to game the system by only applying to shows where I think the jurors will like my work.) Moreover, there are some factors you can’t know, such a gallery’s pressing need to have more of one medium, or artists of a particular demographic, in a show. You can’t take any of it personally.

It’s partly a game of numbers; the more events you apply to, the more you’ll get into. I’m a better painter than I was 25 years ago. I hope to be even better 25 years hence. My success rate is better than it was a quarter-century ago and I expect it will continue to improve.

Drying Sails, 9X12, oil on canvasboard, $869 framed includes shipping in continental US. This is one of my favorite things I’ve painted in Camden in recent years.

Painting in front of an audience

“I hate painting in front of crowds,” a friend kvetched as we scouted locations. In the case of nerves, as I wrote last week, desensitization helps. But for most experienced painters, the problem isn’t nervousness but distraction.

That’s a harder nut to crack. We are supposed to talk to passers-by, engage them in the painting process, and encourage them to attend the auction or sale. However much that helps business, it can have a toxic impact on your work.

Sometimes I do two paintings: one is a serious entry for the auction, and one is theater. But that’s not always possible.

I cope with frequent interruptions by digging deeper into my process. That way, when I’ve lost the thread, I can go back over my mental checklist. And when I’ve gone completely off the rails, I take a break and go bother some other artist.

There are artists who simply can’t deal with the endless chatter. There are solitary perches even in Camden, where they’ll squirrel themselves away to paint. The downside is that they haven’t established a relationship with their audience, and that’s not good for sales.

Camden Harbor, Midsummer, oil on canvas, 24X36 $3,985 framed includes shipping in continental US.

What about the weather?

This has been a very unusual year. Fog is a beautiful part of our climate, but even lifelong Mainers have told me they’ve never seen this much dense fog.

Obviously, I’m not a meteorologist but since we’ve been in a fog pattern for months now, it’s unlikely to change by Friday. What’s a poor artist to do? Shorten the pictorial distance, play up the atmospherics, and, above all, count my blessings. It could be snowing.

Camden on Canvas features “twenty-two notable New England landscape artists [who] will paint, en plein air, at multiple local sites” from this Friday morning to noon on Sunday. Start your tour at the information tent outside the Camden Library’s Atlantic Avenue entrance. There, you’ll find information about us and a map showing where we’re painting. The tent will be open from 9 to 5 Friday and Saturday, and 9 to noon on Sunday.

The reception and auction will be Sunday, July 23, 4 to 6 PM, and features Kaja Veilleux, who’s the most entertaining and professional art auctioneer I’ve ever worked with. Tickets are available here.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

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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.

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Plagiarism

Spruce and pine from Barnum Brook Trail, Carol Douglas, 12X16, private collection. This is a well-known scene painted by many artists. It would be difficult to prove ownership of a reference photo.

A well-known western painter sent me three images: her own reference photo, her watercolor, and a copy made by another artist. The copier had posted it on social media, cheerfully outlining her process with no hint of credit to the original artist. “She even copied my mistakes!” sputtered my correspondent.

Luckily, this resolved without lawyers. When challenged, the infringer agreed to take the work down and never sell it. That’s the only reason I’m not calling her out here.

Lake Tear of the Clouds (Headwaters of the Hudson), 30X40, Carol L. Douglas, private collection. I painted this picture twice.

Is it OK to copy artwork?

My correspondent was right in not asking the infringer to destroy the work. It’s legal to copy other work. It is illegal to sell, publicize or publish that copy without permission from the copyright owner.

Many artists over time have copied others’ work, including Vincent van Gogh in his time in the asylum. This is a way to deeply engage with the original artist’s technique and intentions. Many teachers-including me-set our students to copying masterpieces. But this is a learning exercise only, and the work is never intended to be shown or sold, even when the original is out of copyright.

Young spruce and pines, 6X8, Carol L. Douglas, private collection. I painted this twice because I lost the first iteration.

Pieter Bruegel the Elder churned out several copies of his own Massacre of the Innocents. It must have been very popular because his son made more copies of it. That made perfect sense at a time when the only way to reproduce a painting was to copy it brushstroke by brushstroke.

But that was then, and this is now. Copyright in the US is strict and enforceable. It’s there to protect creators, but, equally, you don’t want to get on the wrong side of it.

What is copyright?

Copyright is an inherent state that occurs at the time the work was created; registering it just provides one form of legal evidence that you created the work. For visual artists, registering every painting or photograph would be absurdly expensive and unnecessary; you would only do it if you needed to sue someone.

That means any photo or illustration you find in books, magazines, newspapers, and even on the internet is automatically protected by copyright law.

Sunset near Clark Island, 8X10, Carol L. Douglas, available through the Red Barn Gallery, Port Clyde. I’ve painted this scene multiple times, but always from life.

Protect yourself

The best way around this is to take your own reference photos. That’s important for more reasons than just copyright, starting with the greatly-expanded understanding we all have of places we’ve been to and people we’ve known.

Sometimes that’s impossible. You’re on the other side of the country or the boat has sunk. If a client sends you their own photo for a painting, you can presume permission. If it’s not their own photo, do some investigating. “He said he got the photo from his cousin,” is no defense.

If you use a third-party’s photo, protect yourself by obtaining written permission from the photographer.

You can use photos that are in the public domain. Copyright expires when the original creator has been dead for more than seventy years. Just google “public domain images” and the word for which you’re searching, like “clouds” or “Grand Canyon.” Creative Commons is an excellent source for public-domain images.

What if someone copies your work?

What if it’s your work being copied without permission? My correspondent contacted the infringer and asked her to withdraw the painting from the marketplace. She could have done this more formally through a cease and desist letter, but it turns out that she’d done all that was necessary.

If the infringer doesn’t agree to take the work down, it’s time to call a lawyer. In the US, copyright holders can sue content infringers for damages. Hopefully, it will never go that far, but it’s nice to know you have that tool at your disposal.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025: