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Sold a queen-size quilt to a lady from Georgia last month for $450. Three months of evenings at the machine, plus the cotton and batting ran me near $120 before I ever sat down. Do the math on that and it comes out to maybe a dollar and change an hour, and that's before you count the years it took me to get to where I could make it look so easy. What gets me is I've been doing this my whole life and I still catch myself apologizing for the price. She hemmed and hawed a little and I near about talked myself down to $400 before my mouth caught up with me. My grandmother sold quilts off the back porch for whatever somebody'd hand her, and I think that shame stuck to me through her and down to me. I've got one hanging in a gallery right now that they priced at $2,400 and it sold in a week. Same hands made both of them. Same patience. I'm too old to keep acting like that first one was the honest price.

I did a screenprint edition last month, 50 copies, three colours, hand-pulled, on nice 300gsm. Cost me about €450 in materials plus probably 30 hours in the studio. Sold 7 so far at €40 each. That's €280. Even if I sell every last one I'm barely breaking even on materials, let alone labour. And I know the advice. Raise the price. Build a mailing list before you print. Test the market with a preorder. All sensible. But there's something about making the edition first, committing to it, that's the whole point for me. The risk is part of the form. If I only printed what I'd already sold, it'd feel like a different practice entirely. I'm not complaining exactly. More trying to figure out where the line is between doing something for the work's sake and just being bad at the business side. Because I think I'm genuinely bad at the business side. But I also think the people who are good at it sometimes make work that's too safe. Any other printmakers here just accepting they'll lose money on editions because the object matters more than the margin? Or am I deluding myself.

I got a call last week from a woman I didn't know. Said she found my name on a label sewed into an old quilt she bought at a church flea market over in Tuscaloosa. Asked if I wanted it back. I knew exactly which one before she even described it. That blue and yellow improv log cabin I made in '93, right after my youngest left for school. I was so lonesome that year I just sewed and sewed. Sold it for $40 at a craft fair at the county annex, first quilt I ever sold to a stranger. I remember watching the woman walk off with it folded over her arm and thinking I might've made a mistake letting it go. Anyway she mailed it to me and I opened the box and there it was. Still sturdy. Still a little crooked in places. I sat and held it in my lap a good long while before I could do anything else. I don't know what I'm gonna do with it now. Might keep it. Might hang it where I can see it. That quilt been out in the world longer than my own children lived in this house. Lord.

Set up at a local fair this past Saturday and made a dumb mistake. I hung my favorite little still life right at the front of the booth, eye level, where everyone turns the corner. It sold before 10am. Great, right? Except the next 31 paintings just sat there for the rest of the day. The piece that would have pulled people deeper into the booth was gone before the crowd even showed up. I did the math on the way home. Sold one $65 piece and maybe 4 greetings cards. Meanwhile the booth next to me, a jewelry maker, had her whole display set up so there was no single focal point, and she was busy all afternoon. I think I keep treating this like a gallery wall when it's really a storefront. People browse the front, something catches them, they step in, they stay. Next fair I'm putting the good stuff in the middle and keeping the doorway bits simple. Anyone else hit this? Or am I overthinking crowds that mostly want a free mint?

so my tiny solo show opened tonight in a gallery that's basically a hallway, which was fine because I expected maybe 12 people total. 14 pieces sold before I even finished my first glass of wine. which is great obviously. except now the gallery wants a second wave of work for the rest of the month and I have nothing left. I'm not saying I'm cursed but I did just spend two hours staring at blank canvas going "I have no ideas" while my one sold-out painting stares back at me from the wall like a smug little bitch. anyway if anyone needs me I'll be in the studio panic-painting fruit. congrats to me I guess lol

sold a little lidded pot at the market last Sunday for €60. handbuilt, caña color glaze that came out almost exactly how i wanted which basically never happens. woman who bought it posted a photo on instagram, three people messaged me that night asking for "something similar." i quoted them all €75 and they all said yes. which is great obviously. but i keep doing the math and after clay, glaze, two firings, the hours of throwing and trimming and the one lid that warped and had to redo... that €60 piece was maybe €9 an hour. and the €75 ones are gonna be worse because now i'm self-conscious about repeating myself and I'll probably take longer. the thing is the €60 piece got me three sales. if i'd priced it €90 would it have done the same? i genuinely don't know and that's the part that keeps me up. cheap prices get you seen, but you can't live on exposure unless someone else pays your rent. my grandmother keeps telling me to charge more and she's 84 and has never sold a thing in her life, yet somehow she's right. anyone else ever had a "cheap" piece accidentally do more work for you than your best priced one? or am i just bad at this.

Sold a 160 x 200 cm painting last week that I painted in 2019. It had been sitting in storage, first at the gallery, then in my studio, then back at the gallery. Five years. The buyer paid €4,800. The gallery takes 50%, so €2,400 to me. Sounds fine until you add up the materials: the Belgian linen, the oil, the cold wax, the pigments, the panels I had built for the stretcher. That's maybe €350 for a painting that size, depending on how many layers I burned through. Then the storage costs, I pay €180 a month for my studio, plus a separate small unit for older work. That painting took up wall space that could have held newer work. Hard to calculate exactly but it's not nothing. So €2,400 minus €350 materials, minus let's say €150 in storage over five years, minus transport to the gallery twice, minus the opening night I stood around drinking bad wine and making conversation. Per hour of actual labour? I don't even want to know. And this is a good outcome. The painting sold. Many don't. I'm not complaining exactly. I knew what I signed up for. But when students ask me about making a living as an artist I don't know what to tell them anymore. The math has never been worse and the rent has never been higher.

The gallery that loved my work but never sold a piece A gallery in my city took me on years ago, warm people, they hung my paintings properly, good light, private views with real collectors in the room. And nothing ever sold. Two years. Not one piece. They kept saying the work was beautiful, serious, exactly what their clients should want. Eventually I asked, gently, who was buying what. It turned out everything that moved was small, abstract, or cheap. My big figurative interiors just sat there looking at everyone. So my question is more of a confession with an ask: when did you figure out that a gallery's taste or enthusiasm has nothing to do with whether they can sell you? And what was the sign you ignored for too long? For me it was the phrase "we love it, give it time." They loved it for two years. My bank account did not.

The gallery that loved my work but never sold a single piece I had two years with a gallery that praised everything I sent them. Beautiful, they said. So refined. Sold nothing. Not one painting. When I finally asked what was wrong, they told me my work was too quiet for their foot traffic. Too quiet. They'd been hanging it in a back room where nobody went. I should have asked where they planned to put the work before I signed. That was mine. Has a gallery ever told you one thing and then quietly shown you it meant another? What's the line you'd never cross again in how a gallery treats your work?

finally worked up the nerve to push my prices up in february. small jump, nothing crazy, a handbuilt mug went from €28 to €34, a medium sculptural piece from €80 to €96. i made a whole spreadsheet about it. felt very professional. then march and april happened and i sold literally nothing through my online shop. not one piece. i started checking my own site like an idiot, refreshing, "is the add to cart button broken??" no, just nobody wanted it at the new number. i almost caved and dropped them back down last week but my friend who's been doing this longer told me to wait. she said the first silence after a raise is just the market recalibrating, or something. sounded like bullshit at the time. may i've sold three pieces. not a landslide. but the weird thing is the people buying now don't haggle. nobody. before, every single sale came with a "any discount for buying two?" or a "could you do €25?" and i'd fold immediately. now they just... pay it. and i'm making more on three sales than i used to make on six. still feels fragile. like the second i relax the silence comes back. but i think she might have been right.

Sold a little vase at the market on Saturday that I thought was one of my worst pieces. The glaze came out cloudy and the lip slumped to one side when I was being lazy with the wire. I almost didn't even put it out. Some woman picked it up, turned it around for like five minutes, and said it was her favorite thing on the table. Paid full price without asking for a discount, which never happens here. And look. I took the money. I smiled and wrapped it up. But I've been thinking about it all week. Either my taste is completely broken or people genuinely see something in the wonk that I write off as failure. Maybe both. Because the pieces I actually love, the ones I photograph and post and get excited about, those sit. It's the accidents that sell. My grandma always said the kiln knows better than the maker. Maybe she's right and I'm just too close to see it. Anyway, tonight I pulled the one I was convince was ruined and I'm leaving it out on the shelf. Not hiding it in the back. We'll see who's wrong.

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?

sold a painting today, first one in like two months, and instead of feeling good i spent the afternoon half convincing myself they made a mistake. like "you really want THIS one? the blue one with the dog?" it's a good painting. i liked it. but the second money changed hands it turned into homework. anyway they're picking it up saturday and i'm already drafting the apology in my head in case the dog looks weird in their living room. being an artist is mostly just a long series of anxieties that i call a career lol

Sold a 16×20 mixed media piece this week for $220. Took me about 11 hours all in. So that's $20/hr before materials, which is par for the course I guess. But here's the part that actually stings: $84 of it went to materials. Not the fancy stuff either. A tube of good titanium white is $18 now. A roll of decent paper. Found photo from a flea market. So I cleared maybe $130 and the buyer will hang it above their couch and someday their grandkid will donate it to a thrift store. And I'll still do it again next week because this is the only thing that doesn't feel like dying by inches. I keep telling myself the math gets better once the work gets known. But I've been telling myself that for four years.

I just finished an edition of 25 screenprints that took me four months from the first drawing to the last pull. Copper plates, inks, paper, the studio time, the proofs I rejected along the way. Sold the whole edition to a gallery for €900, which sounds fine until you do the real math and realize the materials alone were close to half that, and the gallery takes 50% on top. So I made 25 objects by hand and I think I netted something like €6 an hour. The gallery is happy. The collector is happy. I'm the only one who knows the number. The part I keep turning over is that I priced it like a print. Like the edition makes it cheap, because it's a multiple, because the original is the plate and the prints are just copies of it. But each one of those copies took my hands on it. That logic is from an old world where printmaking was a reproduction tool, not a primary medium. I keep selling work on a pricing model that was built for something printmaking no longer is, and I don't know if I'm too scared to break it or just can't figure out what the new number should be. I raised the price on the next edition by €300 and I'm already scared nobody takes it.

A friend from art school, someone whose work I genuinely like, sold a paper piece at a fair in Stockholm for 12,000 SEK. Same size as what I do, similar material, similar time investment. I charge 3,500 for mine. We're at the same stage, we came out of the same program. I know I'm not being ripped off, I set my prices, nobody forced me. But the gap is hard to sit with. Makes me wonder if I'm undervaluing the work or if they're just better at selling. Probably both. I raised my small pieces by 500 SEK this month and it felt like a test I was going to fail.

finally sat down and actually did the math on the series I wrapped in february. 4 months of painting almost daily, probably 300+ hours total between making the work, photographing it, writing statements, the whole grind. sold one painting out of 12 for $900. after materials and the stupidly expensive frames I wanted for the show... $642 net. that's $2.14 an hour. i looked at the number for way too long and then went and did a logo for a startup i hate for $500 in like 3 hours and felt genuinely ill about which one was the better use of my time. idk what the point is other than i keep doing this to myself and i'm gonna do it again which is either stubbornness or a brain problem lol

Sold a run of small prints on the Instagram side in three days. Little 15cm squares, cheap enough that people don't think twice. Then a collector who bought one messaged asking why I don't do a large version of the same piece, one meter wide, because that's what she'd actually hang. Thing is, the big ones don't sell through social. They need to be seen in person, in a gallery, with the light right. I can photograph a cyanotype until the sea turns grey and it still flattens into just another blue rectangle on a feed. So I keep making the small ones because they move, and the collector sits there wanting the big one I haven't printed. There's a version of this economy I don't fully understand yet. The work people say they want and the work people actually buy, they're cousins, not the same person. Anyway I'm prepping the large one this week. I think I'll keep making the smalls too. One feeds the other, even if I can't say exactly how.

A collector bought a piece this spring and when I asked what caught their eye they didn't mention the studio work, the process shots, the exhibition photos the gallery put out. They said it was a story I posted at nine in the morning of my coffee on the bench next to an unfinished canvas, mostly out of frame, half the image out of focus because the phone was still waking up. The painting was two years old by then. It had been in two group shows. Nobody bought it. And the thing that sold it was basically an accident, a photo I took without thinking so my wife would know I was still alive in the studio. I've spent twenty-five years learning how to make the work and maybe five learning how to show it. And the showing still defeats me, daily. But I notice the accidental stuff does more than the deliberate stuff, and I don't know what to do with that information. I can't manufacture accidents on purpose. I tried. It shows.

Listed a piece I nearly didn't photograph because I thought it was too raw. Charcoal smeared where I meant it to stay clean, torn photo edges showing, the whole thing kind of falling apart the way I usually try to hide. Put it up anyway last Tuesday with a caption that was basically "this one fought me." Sold in under 24 hours to someone who sent a message about their own mother's handwriting being the same as the one in the found photo. I didn't even notice the handwriting matched anything. I just pulled the photo because the dress in it looked like one my brother's first girlfriend wore. Every time I try to predict what lands, I'm wrong. The polished landscape pieces I actually thought would go sit there for months. This one, the one that felt like letting someone see the workbench mid-mess, gone like that. Makes me wonder how much of my process is just me tidying things that people would've liked fine as they were.