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spent six weeks on a commission for this architect guy, redoing the same corner of the same building five times because he couldn't articulate what he wanted, just "more energy" and "less of whatever that is." paid me €400 after all that. one miserable afternoon i made a sticker sheet of these little gremlin faces i'd been doodling while on hold with my bank, threw it up for €8, and it's outsold the commission three times over in a month. not sure what the lesson is. maybe the lesson is that most people would rather spend €8 on something that makes them laugh than €400 on something they have to defend to their wife. anyway i keep the gremlin faces and i keep the architect's check, they've both got a place. but i'm not sure i'd call either one "the work" and that's starting to bug me.

Okay so I finally did the thing I'd been avoiding for months and went through every commission I took last year. Added up all the hours, all the money, all the materials. Average came out to like €11 an hour and that's just... not a living wage where I live. And I already knew it was bad, but seeing it in a little spreadsheet made me feel genuinely sick for a day. So I raised my prices. Not wildly, like 25% on the mid-range stuff and more on the bigger pieces. And immediately two people who'd been "definitely going to commission me soon" for months just went quiet. Poof. Never heard from them again. One of them had even sent me a moodboard and asked me to hold a date for them. And I keep going back and forth, like did I price myself out of the people who actually wanted my work? Or were they never going to pay me fairly anyway? I think I know the answer. But it's hard when the quiet is so loud, you know? The worst part is the people who DID book in at the new prices have been my favorite clients ever. Which feels like it should be the lesson. But I still spent an hour last night being mad at myself for losing the other two. Anyway. If you've done the spreadsheet math and kept your prices the same after, I'd genuinely love to know what stops you from raising them, because I get it more than I want to. 🙂

I raised my base botanical commission from $450 to $550 at the start of the year. First real increase in three years, and I'd been charging that rate since before I even left the lab. In the first week I lost two regular clients over it. One of them wrote back a polite paragraph about their budget and I never heard from them again. Here's the uncomfortable part. I did the math on what the old rate actually paid per hour, counting the specimen sourcing, the prep drawings, the two rounds of revisions on each piece, and it worked out to roughly $13 an hour. Thirteen. I have former colleagues who make that as a graduate stipend while they sleep. And yet the moment I raised it, I felt like I was being greedy. I still haven't fully reconciled that. The clients who left were not the ones who complained about the work. They were the ones who got a good bargain for a decade. I have three commissions on the books at the new rate and two of them came from complete strangers who never blinked. I keep telling myself that says something, and I keep not quite believing it. When did everyone else stop flinching when they named their own price?

ok so I finally did the thing where you actually track your hours on a commission and I want to scream. Wedding gift commission, a watercolor of their venue. Charged €220. Three weeks of work but I kept telling myself "oh it's fine I'm just doing the sketch today" and then "the sketch took all day but the painting will be quicker now" and then the painting took five separate days because I repainted the sky three times, once because the bride's mom asked if I could "make it look more golden hour" and I sat there doing it for free. Did the math last night. €220 divided by 46 hours because I ACTUALLY counted. That's €4.78 an hour. My local coffee shop pays €13. The thing is I loved painting it. The venue had this insane wisteria over the arch and I got the light right on the third try and the bride cried when she picked it up, actual tears, and her mom hugged me. And I still feel insane for pricing it at €220 when I know exactly what it cost me. Like I'm running a business where I pay myself less than minimum wage to make people cry in a good way. I'm raising my next one to €380 and I'm terrified nobody will say yes. The fear of pricing myself out is worse than the math, somehow. Is everyone just... faking it until the numbers stop feeling embarrassing??

A woman from a Facebook group asked me for a pastel portrait of her grandfather from an old photo. I quoted €60 because I was terrified of losing the commission and I still don't think of myself as someone who can charge real money. Fourteen hours on A3 Canson Mi-Teintes. That's €4.28 an hour before the pastels I wore down and the paper. She framed it and sent me a photo of it on her wall and I was honestly happy for a minute. Then I did the math the next morning lying in bed and felt sick. The worst part is I know exactly why I did it. I priced the piece like my fear of being rejected was a material cost. I'm trying to be honest that the problem isn't that she haggled, she didn't even try. The problem is I offered myself cheap before anyone could. I've accepted two more commissions since then and I charged the same €60 for both because raising it felt like a betrayal of the first woman. Does anyone else have this thing where your own past quotes become a ceiling you can't lift?

Got the go-ahead on a commission for a large landscape piece. It's a local scene, a rolling hill farm at sunset. I'm so excited but also a little nervous, it's bigger than anything I've done before. I've stretched a 30x40 canvas and now just have to actually put brush to it. Wish me luck! I'll need all the focus I can get with the kids home for the summer too. Maybe I'll hide out in the garage studio after bedtime.

Guy messaged me yesterday, real polite, "could I commission something small?" and I was like sure! love that. Then he sent me a paragraph. A full paragraph. He wants a 60x80cm painting (small?? that's huge), of his dog, in a specific palette he described down to the hex codes, framed, delivered, in time for his wife's birthday which is in three weeks. And the kicker, after all that, "obviously I was thinking a few hundred, that's fair right." I did the math on the hours alone and I almost laughed out loud. That's about minimum wage before materials. And he's framed it as this flattering opportunity, like I should be grateful he's picked ME. I told him my rate for that size and timeline and he went quiet. Haven't heard back. Cool. Cool cool cool. I think the thing that gets me is people genuinely don't see the labor. They see watercolor, they think it's quick, it's just water, right? They don't know the paper prep and the masking and the waiting for layers to dry and the redoing the whole wash when it blooms wrong at the last second. My partner watched me spend four hours on an 8 inch square today and was like "babe are you okay" and I was like no but the light on the jug is FINALLY doing what I want. Anyway. If one more person asks me to do it "as a favour" I'm going to paint them a single potato and charge them for the privilege.

Someone at my daughter's soccer game asked if I could paint her parents' old farmhouse from a photo, before they sell it. I almost said no. I don't usually do buildings, all those straight lines are brutal, and commissions make me nervous because you can't just walk away when it's not working. But I said yes and I'm so glad I did. The photo was from the 80s, kind of faded, and there was this one big maple in the front yard that's gone now. I spent three evenings on that tree alone because it deserved to be the star of the painting. Dropped it off yesterday and the daughter cried when she opened it. Her mom hugged me and I could tell she was holding it together. I charged $250 which I thought was too much and honestly now I think it wasn't enough. First time a painting actually paid for a full tank of gas plus groceries. Maybe I should take more of these on even if the straight lines scare me.

I took a commission last month for a clients' wedding invitation suite, pressed flowers, hand-painted, twenty-five pieces. They wanted original watercolor originals, not prints. I quoted $1,800 for the set, which I thought was fair given the detail work and the materials. I sat down yesterday and actually tracked the hours. Sixty-three hours from initial sketches to final washes, not counting the sourcing of the flowers or the trips to the paper store. That comes to roughly $28.50 an hour. Less than I made as a graduate teaching assistant in 2003. The work is beautiful. The client is thrilled. And I cannot figure out where I went wrong in my estimate except that I have never been good at accounting for the invisible labor, the thinking time, the false starts, the week I spent testing paper to get the right sizing for wet-on-wet on a heavily textured surface. I charged for the painting. I forgot to charge for everything that makes the painting possible. I raised my studio rate by 15 percent this morning. It still feels like I'm guessing.

So I did this commission last month, a little wedding gift thing, couple's pet portrait in watercolor, their dog who passed away. They had a reference photo and I got so attached to the story I underpriced it on purpose, like €120 for what I told myself was "a quick 6 hours." It was not quick. I did a full sketch, hated it, redrew the dog's face three times because watercolor doesn't let you fix a bad eye, you just start over. Real time ended up around 14 hours, plus paper, plus I ruined two sheets. When I did the math afterward I made like €6 an hour. My old café job paid better and I didn't have to cry over a dog's nose shape at 1am. The worst part is they were so happy and the painting came out genuinely good, one of my favorites I've ever done. So now I'm sitting here like, do I charge the next person with a sad story €400 and feel like a monster, or do I keep doing this and slowly fund my own studio out of my own pocket?? I know the answer obviously but I keep needing strangers on the internet to tell me I'm allowed to charge for the hours that actually happened, not the hours I hoped would happen.

I finally priced a new commission the honest way, hour by hour, and it came out to €9.80 an hour before materials. I'm 44, I've been doing this for almost twenty years, and I'm still making less than the person who serves me coffee. That number sat there on the page and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The problem is I price the whole piece, not my time. A seated figure, half-length, oil on linen, maybe 55x46. I know exactly what it takes because I've done it a hundred times. But when I think what the client will reasonably pay for that size, my brain gives me a figure and then I divide by the weeks and suddenly I'm ashamed of myself. I raised it anyway, this time. Charged what the work actually costs. The client paused on the phone, that long silence that means I finally said a number too high, and I almost folded on the spot. Then she said fine, let's go. So now I'm terrified I've priced myself out of the next three, and quietly furious that I ever treated that fear as reasonable.

my first big-ish gallery charged me a commission on a painting that hadn't even sold yet. found out months later and they had the nerve to call it "holding space". i was too scared to say anything, just paid it and never went back lol. what's the sketchiest thing a gallery ever tried to pull on you that you only realized way after it happened?

A lady from Montgomery commissioned a queen-sized quilt, wanted it in her mother's old dresses and a Sunday shirt her daddy used to wear. I charged her $450 and felt a little bad about it at the time, like I was asking a lot. Well I counted it up honest. Sorting those dresses, taking them apart at the seams so the cloth laid right, the piecing, the quilting, binding. Sixty-one hours across three weeks. That come out to about $7.38 an hour and I supplied the batting and thread out of my own pocket. And I still felt bad asking for the $450. I told my granddaughter and she just looked at me like I'd lost my mind. She said grandma, you spent a whole week and a half of your life down there at that machine. And she wasn't wrong. But it's a funny thing, this work, you grow up where the women never charged for a quilt, you gave one for a wedding or a baby or to somebody whose house burned. Money on it still feels a little bit like shame to me sometimes. I know better in my head. Getting there in my chest is another matter. That $450 quilt is on her bed right now with her mama's plaid and her daddy's Sunday shirt all in it. And I'd do it again for the same money, if I'm honest. That's the part that really ought to bother me. 🙂

I took a commission back in February for a 16x20 landscape, a friend of a friend wanted a specific view from their vacation photos. I quoted $200 which is usually fair for that size and my level. What I didn't account for was the two weeks I spent staring at those reference photos, trying to figure out how to handle the lighting, sketching thumbnails in my head while I was folding laundry, completely rethinking the composition twice before I even touched a brush. By the time I actually started painting I had probably put in 6-8 hours of just... mental labor. And I didn't charge for any of it. Finished it in about 10 hours of actual painting time so the math works out to like $12/hour before supplies. I know you can't really bill for "thinking about it" but also, that was work, you know? It was work. I'm trying to figure out how to price differently next time without feeling like I'm nickel-and-diming someone. Maybe just raise the flat rate enough to cover it and stop overthinking.

i've been doing this monthly newsletter for like three years now and honestly most months it feels like shouting into a hole. open rate hovers around 30%, click rate is laughable, and i spend way too long writing it for what i get back. last month i almost skipped it. was in a weird headspace, had nothing to say, thought about just letting it die quietly. but i'd already written the draft so i sent it anyway. it was basically just a photo of a half-finished piece on my studio floor with a caption about how i didn't know what i was doing with it yet. got an email back from someone i'd never met. they said the honesty of it made them reach out. they commissioned me to make something for their new building's lobby. $4,200. so now i have to figure out what i'm doing with it. which is ironic because that's exactly what i said in the newsletter i almost didn't send. i don't know what the takeaway is. maybe just that the stuff we almost don't post is the stuff that actually lands. or that consistency matters even when it feels pointless. or that i still hate writing newsletters.

Had a collector ask me last month for a portrait of her two dogs, "but maybe a little less" than my usual figure rate, since dogs aren't people. I said no, politely, and she came back two days later at full price. She just wanted to know I wouldn't fold. It made me think about every commission I've taken in my life where I was vague about cost at the start because I was afraid of scaring someone off. Every one of those ended badly. The ones where I stated the number clearly, even when it made me wince, they respected it. You don't get clients by being cheaper, you get them by being clear. I paint. I'm not a negotiator. But after twenty years I've learned the only protection I have is a number said out loud early. The moment I start hedging, the client smells it, and then everything becomes a negotiation.

Okay so I took a commission to paint a memorial portrait and the whole week leading up to it I was like... this is a real person's actual loved one, what if I ruin the one thing they wanted to keep. I've done a million washes and landscapes and that same stupid window, but a face has to actually look like someone. That's a different kind of pressure. But I got the photos and it was this older man who apparently kept every bird feeder in his neighborhood full, and his daughter wrote me the sweetest email about him and I just... cried in my studio for a minute and then got to work. I did the underdrawing three times before the proportions felt right. Started the wash at like 10pm on a Tuesday and didn't look up until 3am. His eyes took me four attempts. The daughter wanted him mid-laugh and I must have painted and scraped that mouth area so many times the paper started to complain. It dried last night and I stood there just staring at it for a really long time. It's him. It's actually him, I got the laugh right. I sent her the photo and she said her mom cried, and then I cried again, and honestly I think this is the most scared I've ever been while working and also the most right it's ever felt. I've been so worried that going full-time meant I'd end up just grinding out work I don't care about. But this one mattered. That's the whole point right??

I posted a reel of me cutting smalti, the satisfying little clinks, and it did what those do, forty-something thousand views. Nice dopamine hit. But the person who actually commissioned a piece from me this month saw a single still photo I'd pinned to my profile months ago, from an old slow project. No sound, no motion, just a finished panel leaning against a wall. I'm not saying the reels are worthless. They bring eyes, they bring algorithm points, whatever those are worth. But I've stopped treating them like the real marketing. The real marketing is the archive of finished work that sits there quietly while I sleep. The video is the party, the portfolio is the marriage. Also the reel took me two days to edit and the photo took me thirty seconds. I keep having to remind myself of that ratio.

Got a commission a few months ago to repair and restore this old family photo that was basically falling apart. Water damage, creases, the edges gone gray. I almost said no because I don't do restoration work, I make things. But the woman who brought it in had this look. Her grandmother in the photo. Only copy. So I did it. Carefully, slow, like the whole thing was made of ash. And somewhere in the middle of it I realized the line between repairing and making is fake. You're still just deciding what stays and what goes and what gets to be seen. She picked it up yesterday and cried in my studio. Hugged me. I'm not a hugger but I let it happen. Anyway I've been thinking about that all week. The whole time I've been collecting broken things to make art from, and the one piece I actually fixed mattered more than any of it.

My daughter set up an Instagram for me about three years back. Told me I had to, everyone's doing it. I've put up maybe a hundred pieces since. Photos are average, I'm not going to pretend otherwise. Total real paying commissions from it: one. A guy in Ohio who saw a welded piece and wanted something smaller in the same style. Paid in two installments, cash, no gallery cut. I've still got the message saved. Everything else came from word of mouth, a local show, and a collector who's known my name for fifteen years. I keep posting because she keeps telling me to and it doesn't hurt. But if the account died tomorrow I'd lose one client and about three hours a week. Not saying nobody sells that way. Just saying the numbers don't lie, and mine are what they are.