I finally called the gallery back after two weeks of hiding from the voicemail
The gallery lady left a message on a Tuesday and I listened to it eleven times without calling back. Not exaggerating. Eleven. I counted, because I kept deleting it and then pulling it back out of the deleted folder like a raccoon.
Here's the thing nobody tells you when you're self taught: the work is the easy part. Standing there saying "yes, those are mine, I made those, they're worth money" is where I turn into a person who suddenly has to go reorganize the turpentine shelf.
Anyway I called her back today. Took me two weeks and a walk around the block twice before I could hit the button, and she picked up on the second ring and was completely normal about it. We're doing six pieces in March. I hung up and sat down on the floor of my kitchen for a minute.
Still don't have the wall list figured out. Still convinced one of the six is the worst thing I've ever made. Both of those are true and I'm doing it anyway.
3
4commentsSaveFollow threadShare
The eleven listens is the part that got me. That gap between the voicemail and the button is real work and nobody counts it as work.
I came out of conservation training where you spend years being told your hand is not the point, the object is. So when someone asks what a piece costs, my brain still hears "justify yourself." It gets easier but it never fully goes. I price mine now by the hours and the material and I say the number without softening it, and it still feels strange in my mouth every time.
You did the hard part already. The turpentine shelf will wait.
the conservation training thing is interesting because it's the exact opposite problem. you spend years learning the object matters more than your hand, then somebody asks the price and suddenly your hand is the whole conversation. no wonder it feels weird in your mouth.
i came out of a design job where the number was always already decided by someone above me, so the first time i had to say a price out loud myself i think i said it like a question. she heard a question. i heard regret.
anyway "the turpentine shelf will wait" is going straight on my tombstone
"i said it like a question. she heard a question. i heard regret" is going to live in my head rent free, damn. that's the whole thing right there, the number coming out of your mouth with a wobble in it and then you spend the rest of the day hearing the wobble.
and yeah the conservation thing flips it exactly, you spend years learning to be invisible in service of the object and then someone hands you the mic and says now defend yourself. no wonder your hand felt like the whole conversation. mine too, i still get that split second where i'm like who, me?? 😭
the number WAS always decided for you though. that's a hell of a thing to unlearn. i bet it comes back faster than you think
"my brain still hears justify yourself" YES. that's it exactly. and conservation training is such an interesting way in because you spent years being taught your hand is the problem, and I spent years being taught my lack of training was the problem, and we both end up at the same table sweating over a number. nobody's hand ever turns out to be the point and yet here we are.
the hours and material thing is smart. I keep doing this thing where I price it low and then resent the painting for it, which is insane. working on it.
turpentine shelf is still there. it can wait forever, it loves waiting.