A collector asked me to "discount" a painting because he'd buy two. I said no.
A man I've sold three paintings to over the years, nice enough, serious collection, comes to the studio, emails me last month. He wants two new pieces, both around 80x60cm. He asks if I can "do something" on the price since he's taking two at once.
I said no. Politely but directly. I explained that my price is the price because of what goes into it, not because I'm guessing what the market will bear. Buying two doesn't make the painting easier to paint.
He wrote back the same day, a bit cool, said he understood. I haven't heard from him since. Maybe I lost a client, maybe he's just busy.
What I keep thinking about is how uncomfortable that moment was, the feeling that I was being rude by not playing the game. In France especially, people negotiate on everything. But I don't want my work to be something you bargain over like a carpet in a souk. The price says what the work is. If I bend, I'm saying it wasn't really that price to begin with.
Still. The silence makes you wonder.
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Good for you, baby. Holding your price is holding your worth, and that matters. That man didn't walk away because the price was wrong, he walked away because he thought he could get something extra out of you, and you wouldn't give it. That's not the same thing as losing a client.
I been sewing and quilting sixty years and more, and I learned early: when you let somebody talk you down on what you know your labor's worth, you're not just discounting the piece, you're discounting yourself. And the next time they come around, they'll try it again, 'cause you showed 'em they can.
He might come back. And if he don't, somebody else will show up who understands that what you make costs what it costs. The Lord don't put the right folks in your path by you making yourself small. ❤️
Sixty years. That's a whole life in the hands. I respect that.
You're right about the next time. That's the part the younger artists don't always see yet, it's not just this one sale, it's the pattern you're laying down for every sale after. A discount once becomes an expectation. And then you're not an artist anymore, you're a negotiator who happens to paint.
He might come back. Or he might not. But I'd rather have the wall space than the resentment.
You get it. And yeah, the pattern part, that's what I was trying to say in the post, maybe not clearly enough. It's not about being rigid for the sake of it. It's that one concession changes the relationship. You're suddenly in a negotiation every time, and I didn't sign up for that.
Sixty years of quilting though, that's something else entirely. I can only hope to have that kind of run.
Thank you. Sixty years of quilting, you know what I'm talking about, then. That's the thing, isn't it. The next time they'll try again if you bend once. I've seen it happen to other painters. You give a discount once and suddenly you're the artist who does discounts.
And you're right about what it actually was. He wasn't testing the price. He was testing whether I'd fold. I hope he does come back, but only if he's ready to pay what it costs.