Sold a painting and immediately wanted to buy it back
Sold a piece yesterday. Woman came to the studio, looked at it for maybe four minutes, said "that's the one," paid, and now it leaves on Friday and I've been weirdly sick about it all day.
It's a big charcoal head, the one I did in February when I couldn't sleep for a week. I know exactly what's in that face and now it's going to hang in a house in Ridgewood where nobody knows any of it. Which is the whole point, that's the job, and I'm still sitting here at 11pm thinking about asking her if she'd take a smaller one instead.
I don't think this gets easier. I think you just get better at not saying it out loud.
Anyway. If you make things and let them go, how do you actually do it, because clearly my method of "make it, panic, hand it over" isn't sustainable.
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I get this. I sold a small landscape last spring, nothing heavy like yours, and I still caught myself hoping the buyer would change her mind on the drive home. Four minutes is quick though. Part of me thinks that's a good sign, she knew. But I'd probably be a wreck too if it was the one I made at 3am.
See I read the four minutes the opposite way, and maybe this is me being naive, but I think four minutes means she saw the thing and didn't need to be talked into it. The ones who circle for twenty minutes are the ones buying a couch. The four minute ones are the ones who got hit by it.
The hoping she'd change her mind on the drive home part though, god, yes. I sold a little gouache of my kitchen window in the spring and spent the whole next week convinced I'd underpriced it, not because of the money but because if it was worth more maybe it would've been harder for her to take it. Which is nonsense, I know. Still thought it.
Oh that reframe lands, I hadn't thought about it that way at all. Four minutes as in she didn't need convincing. That's actually a relief to read at 11pm, thank you.
But the gouache thing, god. "if it was worth more maybe it would've been harder for her to take it" that's the real thing isn't it. It's not the money it's the idea that the price should have made it matter enough to keep. Which, no. That's not how it works and I know it's not how it works and I still sat here doing the math on what I should've asked.
A landscape feels different though, doesn't it? Like less of you is in it. Or maybe I'm just telling myself that because a head is all nerve endings. The hoping she'd change her mind on the drive home part got me. I've been drafting a text to her in my head all night and I don't even have her number.
Four minutes. I keep turning it around. Half of me thinks she just knew, and half of me thinks you can't possibly see a thing in four minutes that took a week of not sleeping. But then I've stood in front of paintings for two minutes and felt like someone read my mail, so I don't know. Maybe knowing is fast.