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I quoted $3,800 for a public piece last year. Steel and stone, about nine feet, welded on site. The client loved it. Then it went to their committee and they came back offering half, take it or leave it. I took it. I knew better. That's the part that sits wrong. I've been doing this thirty years and I still said yes because I wanted to see the thing built and I told myself the exposure mattered. Exposure doesn't pay for the 200 hours I put in. Worked out to about nine bucks an hour before materials. The piece is still standing in front of their building and it's good work. But I taught that committee that my number has a hundred percent of give in it. They'll never pay full price from me again, and I'll never get that baseline back with them. Holding your price is a skill and I apparently still haven't learned it.

Years ago, before I had a real website or knew what I was doing with pricing, I ran a little workshop out of my studio. Just a few hours, materials included, you go home with a small piece. I charged €35 because I was scared to ask for more and it covered the tile and the wine. A tourist from Australia came, loved it, posted about it. Next thing I know it's on some blog. Fine. But then her friend emails me asking if I can do a private session for four people at the same price. I said yes because I'm an idiot who hadn't learned to say "that was a group rate." Now eight years later I sometimes still get people who found that old blog post and expect the €35 price. I've raised it to €65 and they look at me like I'm trying to sell them a car. I should have changed the name of the workshop or something. Instead I just have to be the bad guy every time someone shows up with a screenshot from 2016.

City called in February about a plaza piece. Steel, about eleven feet, had to hold up to weather and teenagers, had to be done by September. I said yes before I'd even priced the steel properly. First time in a long time I took a job that scared me. Eight months of fighting that thing. The armature fought me in ways I should have seen coming and the first full-size mock-up looked like a dead crane. Scrapped it in June and started over. My daughter kept telling me nobody was timing me but the city absolutely was. Installed two weeks ago. I stood across the street for an hour waiting for something to fall off or lean wrong. Nothing did. A couple of kids were climbing on the base and that's what it's there for. It's still standing and it doesn't look like anything else in town. Don't usually talk about this stuff but it was the first job in a while that made me remember why I started. And I've got the welds to prove it held.

I carved a granite bench a few years back for a public garden. Had to source the stone from a quarry two states away, rented a flatbed to haul it, worked it on and off for two months because there were other jobs in between. Sold it for $1,200. That's maybe a dollar an hour if you count research, travel, the rental, the chisels I dulled, and the sanding pads. I knew it at the time and I still said yes. I told myself it was a "public installation" and that was worth something. But the garden closed three years later and I heard the bench got hauled away with the trash. I don't know what the right number was. Double maybe. But what I do know is I priced the materials and my time separately and left out everything else. The knowledge, the years of figuring out how to carve granite without splitting it, the fact that I knew which quarry to call. That all went for free. I still do it. Not as bad, but I still leave money on the table somewhere. Hard habit to break when you started out thinking you should be grateful anyone paid you at all.

A man on the beach yesterday, watching me pin wet paper to a board in the wind, came over and asked if I could "fix the exposure" on a photo he'd taken of his wife. He had his phone out, already scrolling for it. I said this is not that kind of photography. He looked at the blue print, then at his screen, then back, and said oh, so it's like a filter. I didn't correct him. I just held the paper down and let the sun do its work while he walked off. But I've been turning it over all evening. Everything I do is slow and uncertain and half out of my control, and people keep wanting it to be a shortcut to something else. Nobody asks a painter if they can just crop it. Maybe it's my fault for working in public. The sea makes people think everything is easy.

for years i just bought the same three midtone tubes and called it a day. human skin in the jar, basically. this week i actually sat down and mixed a portrait palette from scratch because i was sick of every face i painted looking like it'd been in the store too long. i was fully expecting toxic sludge for the first hour. but i got it. not perfect, definitely not perfect, but the color was actually alive instead of just... flesh-toned. it's the difference between paint that says "skin" and paint that says "this specific person standing in this light." anyway now i can't stop looking at people's wrists in public. i'm one of those now. 💀

Found a collector's email from April sitting in my spam folder this week. They had asked about one of the cold wax pieces, the big grey one with the red seam through the middle. I never saw it, never answered, and then on Monday they wrote again, in that patient way people write when they assume you're busy and important. Two sentences. Wanted the painting, asked if I'd hold it until their move in September. It sold in three messages. No reel, no process video, no hashtag. I'm not saying social media is worthless. I do it, I have a person who helps me format the videos, and the contact sheet post the other week genuinely brought traffic. But I've been watching the numbers this year and the through-line is uncomfortable: almost every sale that mattered came from a private email, a studio visit, a gallery forwarding my name to someone. The public work keeps the name warm, but the money moves in the quiet places. Naja. I keep posting anyway. But I go through my spam folder now like it's a second studio, and I wish I'd started doing that ten years ago.

I did the math on a commission last week. Big public piece, welded steel, seven months from first sketch to install. After materials, shop rent, the kid I hired to help with the welding, and the cut the fabricator took for the base plates I don't have the equipment to make myself, I came out to $7.50 an hour. I remember when I started out I'd have been thrilled with that. Thrilled. Now I look at it and think what the hell am I doing. The worst part is the client was happy. Paid on time, no complaints. So the price felt fair to them. It's me who underpriced it, because I still think like the guy who's grateful anyone wants the work at all. My wife used to say I had no idea what my own time was worth and she was right. Three years since she passed and I still hear her saying it. Anyone else do the math on a finished job and feel like a damn fool?

I brought in a small oil study yesterday, just a lemon on a blue cloth, to get it framed for a show. The woman behind the counter looked at it and said, very helpfully, "You know you could just take a photo and have the colors matched digitally, it's much more accurate than the human eye." "More accurate." To a painting. Of a lemon. I stood there with paint under my nails from a morning glazing session, holding a canvas where I'd spent two hours getting that particular blue right, the one that sits behind the lemon and makes it feel like you could reach out and take it. And she's telling me a printer would do it better. I said something polite in the end because I'm trying to be less of a bitch in public. But I wanted to say: the whole point is that it's my eye. My eye that spent twenty years learning to see. My eye that decides the lemon is a little more yellow-green on this side, that the cloth has a fold that catches the light a different way. That's not an error to be corrected. That's the entire painting. Anyway the frame is fine. But I'm still annoyed.

Got the call this morning that the city actually poured the concrete for the plaza installation. That piece took me two years and three rejected mockups. The last one came together in a week out of pure spite and I think that's why it worked. What I'm proudest of is not the sculpture. It's that I welded the base myself instead of sending the fab work out. Took four days of grinding in the shop, looked younger than I feel. But I know every pass on that anchor plate, so when it's sitting there in twenty years I'll know what's underneath it and why it won't move. City said they'll send photos once the sidewalks go in. First public piece I've had in a while. Feels different than gallery work. More permanent, somehow. People are going to walk past it and not look at it for decades, and that's fine. That's what it's for.

There's a print I did as a demo at a market two summers back, a little heron standing in a puddle, and I pulled it while a crowd of people stood watching me carve. Hands sweating, chatting away while I was praying I wouldn't slice clean through the lino and ruin it in front of the whole town. I gave the first few pulls away to people who stood there the whole time, the patient ones. Anyway. This week I framed one of the good pulls and it's on the wall in the studio now, and I keep glancing at it and feeling grand about it for the first time. It's not the best print I've ever made, not close. But it's the one where I stopped being terrified of doing it badly in public, and that turned out to be a bigger thing than the print itself. Framed it in a bit of oak scrap I found in the shed, which is very on brand for me. The matting is wonky. I don't care. Anyone else got a piece that matters for the doing of it, not the look of it?