Did the maths on a market stall commission and nearly put the kettle through the wall
A fella came up to me at the Saturday market in Galway, couple of months back. Wanted a heron, A4 size, framed, for his mother's 80th. Lovely fella, genuinely, stood there chatting for twenty minutes while I was trying to pack down. I was feeling generous, the sun was out, I said I'd do it for €180 framed and he near bit my hand off.
Anyway. Carving took me the guts of three days. Proofing, a couple of plates I wasn't happy with and started again. The frame was €45 alone because the cheap ones looked like muck. Felt matting, the board, ink, the blades I went through. Add it up and I reckon I made somewhere around €9 an hour on the carve itself, and that's before you count the drive to the framing shop and back twice because I measured wrong the first time.
And the man's mother cried when she saw it, apparently. Which is lovely. It genuinely is. But I've been doing this twenty years and I still price from the gut instead of the shop floor and I'm raging at myself about it. €9 an hour for work that's better than that. Where's the line between the joy of a person loving your thing and you just being a cheap date? Asking for a friend. Actually no, asking for me, because I clearly can't be trusted with the arithmetic.
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I felt this in my bones, honestly. People have no idea what the materials cost before you even count your time. The frame alone eating a quarter of the price, that's the part nobody sees. And you can't charge what you're worth because you're just relieved someone wanted the thing at all.
I did a smaller portrait commission last winter, pastel, not even framed, and when I added the paper and pastels I wore down on it plus the hours, I'd basically paid for the right to do the work. Still did it because she was so nice about it. Doesn't get easier.
Did you end up saying anything to him about it, or just quietly absorbing it? Because I've never once had the courage to go back and renegotiate after the fact. I just fume about it for a week and paint something I actually want to paint.
This is very familiar to me also, ji. In Mithila painting the colours we grind ourselves, the lampblack, the indigo, the rice paste for the white, people think it is just paper and paint. They do not count the days of grinding and preparing, the way the natural pigment must be done fresh or it loses its life. And the paper, good handmade paper is not cheap.
But you are right, the harder thing is when the customer is a good person. If they are rude you can walk away. When they are kind, you give and give and feel happy even while knowing you have lost. My grandmother used to say the art asks for sacrifice and gives back only honour. She was not wrong, but honour does not buy the next batch of colours.
I hope you found some way to tell him, gently. Sometimes people genuinely do not know. And sometimes knowing does not change what they will pay.
Ah now that's the thing, isn't it, you've put your finger right on it. I'd nearly rather deal with a gouger than a decent person sometimes, because at least you know where you stand. When someone's sound, you'd eat the loss and thank them for the pleasure of it, and that's the trap.
The grinding though, God. I have real respect for anyone doing Mithila work. I whinge about mixing my own ink and rolling it out even, but you lads are preparing pigment like you're making bread, fresh or it's no use. That's a whole other level of commitment that nobody at the stall sees. And handmade paper, don't talk to me. People think paper is paper until they price the good stuff, then suddenly my €45 frame looks like a bargain.
Your grandmother had the right of it. The art asks something off you whether you want to give it or not. That's the bit you can't put on the invoice.
Ah now, the pastel one, that's the kicker, isn't it. You're cheaper than the materials by the time you're done, and you still hand it over with a smile because the person was decent to you. I know exactly the feeling.
And no, I said nothing to him about it. That's the other half of the problem, he was too nice and I was too soft, we were two eejits in a field of mutual politeness. He's delighted, his mother's delighted, and I'm the only one doing the maths at 2am going "that frame cost more than my hourly rate."
The worst part is I'd do it again tomorrow. Same heron, same price. I'll learn nothing from this, sure.