Search

Last year I traded a big mixed-media piece (about 3x4 feet, took me six weeks) for what I thought was "exposure" at a local gallery event. They were supposed to feature my work in their window for a month, promote it, the whole thing. They hung it in a hallway next to the bathrooms for two weeks. Then it went into storage and I'm pretty sure they lost track of it because I had to ask three times to get it back. Meanwhile I could have sold it for $1800, which I know because I had an offer two months before from someone who actually wanted it. I said no because I thought the trade was smarter. Trades are fine in theory but I think I need a hard rule now, if I wouldn't pay cash for what they're offering, it's not worth my materials let alone my time. What's your dumbest trade story so I feel less alone here?

Friend of a friend asked me to make something for their new apartment. She's a massage therapist so we agreed on a trade, a piece for a few sessions. Seemed fair at the time. Piece took me about 30 hours all in. She's given me two sessions so far, maybe three hours total. Worth maybe $250 if you're being generous. I don't know what my own hourly rate is but I know 30 hours isn't $250. The weird thing is I don't feel mad about it. I think because it wasn't cash it didn't feel real. Like play money. But I literally traded real time and materials for... a back rub. A good back rub, but still. I told myself I'd never do trades again after this. But I'd probably say yes again if someone offered something I actually wanted. Not sure what that says about me.

I took on a private student a few years back, right after the worst of the crisis here. She was young, maybe 24, no money at all but she wanted to learn mosaic so badly. She showed up at my studio with a five-liter tin of her family's olive oil and asked if we could trade. I said yes because I remembered what it was like to be young and broke and hungry for a skill. She came once a week for six months. She was terrible with the hammer and hardie at first, kept shattering the glass instead of cutting it. But she learned. She ended up getting a commission for a hotel lobby last year. When she sent me photos I actually teared up a little. Meanwhile I get DMs every week from people who want to "collaborate", meaning they want my work for exposure, or they want me to teach them for free because "it would be good for my brand." I don't answer those anymore. The olive oil was good, by the way. Her family makes it near Kalamata. I used it for six months and every time I cooked with it I thought, this is what paying attention to someone actually looks like.

I've been doing this thing the last year or so where instead of trying to flog prints to strangers who've never heard of me, I just trade with other artists and makers. Potter gets a hare linocut, I get a mug. Woodworker gets a heron, I get a stool. That sort of carry-on. And what I didn't expect, half the commissions I've had this year came because that potter showed the print to someone who walked into her studio, or that woodworker hung it in his workshop and a customer asked where it came from. It's the slowest funnel in the world but it keeps working. I'm not even trying to sell at that point, I'm just swapping because I want the thing they make. The other thing is it got me out of my own head about pricing for a bit. Nothing resets your sense of value like holding something someone else spent ten hours making and thinking Jesus that's worth more than twenty quid. Makes you price your own work better too. Anyone else doing this or am I just building a very eclectic house one swap at a time?

Eight years doing this and the single thing that got me work was a video of a smalti tile popping out of place and rolling across my studio floor, cat chasing it. My serious process videos, the polished finished shots, the "here's the story behind this piece" posts, nothing. The cat chasing a gold tile got me two commissions and a conservation inquiry from a museum in Vienna. I've stopped trying to figure out the algorithm. It's not a craft, there's no skill to learn, it's just weather. Some days the light hits your post, most days it doesn't. So I make the work, post what I feel like posting, and treat social media the way I treat the weather in Thessaloniki. I don't argue with it, I just dress for it. The people who do well on here spend their whole day on here. I don't have that in me and neither does my back. I'd rather spend four hours on my knees in marble dust than four hours curating my feed. Some weeks that feels like stubbornness and some weeks it feels like the right trade. Mostly it's a wash. But the cat video still got me the Vienna thing, so I'll keep one outtake in every ten posts and call it strategy.

I quoted a client £480 for a study of their garden's camellia. When I broke down the actual time afterward I came out at under £9 an hour, because I only counted the brush hours. The days of sitting with the specimen, turning it in the light, the pencil studies I do before pigment ever touches paper, those never made it into the calculation. Botanical work is slow in a way that doesn't photograph well. A client sees one finished plate. They don't see the morning I spent watching how the petals fold at noon versus at six, or the three studies of a single leaf I discarded because the venation was wrong. I could raise my prices and pretend that accounts for it. I did raise them, modestly, and lost two regulars. The irony is the same people who balk at £480 for a week of my life would happily have paid a plumber that for an afternoon. I haven't decided what that says about me or about the trade I chose. It's on my mind because I just finished the ledger for the quarter and the number is not comfortable.

I used to do this thing where I'd tell people "pay what you can afford" because I genuinely believed in making art accessible and also I hate conflict LOL. But here's what kept happening: Someone who clearly had money would pay me $20 for a charcoal portrait that took me 6 hours. And I'd smile and say thank you because I SAID they could name the price and I didn't want to be a hypocrite. Meanwhile I had a single mom pay me $150 for a small drawing because she said "I know what labor costs and I want you to keep making work." The sliding scale only works if people are honest. And I realized I was letting the people who COULD pay more off the hook because I was scared to just... state my price like a real businessperson. Now I just say what it costs. If someone genuinely can't afford it I'll trade or work something out one on one. But I stopped making my pricing a charity auction where the rich get the discount. Anyone else do the "honor system" thing and regret it?

Sold a large piece last month, 140cm square, oil and cold wax, three weeks of solid days in the studio. €1,400. I did the math after because I couldn't not. Between the good linen, the cold wax, the pigment, the turpentine, and what I'd have paid anyone doing the carpentry on the stretcher frame, materials alone ran close to €380. That's before a single hour of my time. Stack the hours on top and I'm somewhere around €7 an hour for the year of this trade I've been inside since 1992. Then yesterday a woman from the opening asks, very bright, what I'd charge for one of my "quicker, smaller ones." As if the speed is the variable. As if the three weeks is where the cost went. I said the same price per square metre and she laughed like I'd made a joke. She hadn't understood it was the price. I don't know if I'm undercharging or the whole enterprise is just bad math by design. Probably both. I've been afraid to raise prices for four years because the gallery says the market here is what it is, and the market is what it is partly because we all keep saying that to each other.

sold a 12×16 acrylic to a friend of a friend for $75 last month. nine hours on it. do the math, it's brutal, whatever, i've made worse trades. the part that's eating me is not the money. it's that she asked if i could "do something a little more colorful" and i said yes and then went home and repainted the entire thing in the palette i always use. same colors. vibrated my way into the exact same piece i already made. so i undercharged AND i folded on my own taste at the same time. which is the more embarrassing way to lose money? i think it's the second one.

I spent the better part of a year trading emails with a gallery. Sent them my portfolio, did the follow-up dance, had what felt like real conversations about a show. Then radio silence for three months. Eventually I got a "we've decided to go in a different direction" email. No explanation, no nothing. I've got a theory that some galleries just keep a couple artists on the hook in case their first choice falls through. Am I wrong? Anyone else been the backup option?

Someone asked me to paint their family home before the demolition crew moves in. Legacy piece, three generations of their family grew up there. I quoted them a price and only after sending it did I realise I hadn't charged anything for the emotional weight of it. Just paper, paint, and my hours. And honestly? I'd do it again. That house gets torn down next month and the only record of it will be my painting hanging in their new flat. How do you bill for that? You don't. You price what it costs you and quietly accept that the rest is unpaid work you chose. Still, I keep thinking about the architect salary I walked away from. This is the trade I made, na. Some days it feels like a bad one.

Got a call in April about a granite balustrade on a building off Franklin. Turn of the century work. One of the iron posts had rusted through at the base and the whole section was sagging maybe two inches. Building owner wanted it replaced. I told him no. The granite was fine. It was the iron shoe that died. So I cut the old shoe off, forged a new one to match the profile, pinned it through the stone with two stainless rods and set it in epoxy. Took two days. Cost him a third of what a replacement run would have. Went back last week to check it. Still dead level. The building's been there since 1928. That repair should outlast both of us. I keep thinking about how easy it would have been to rip the whole thing out and put something new in. That's what everybody does now. Nobody wants to repair anything anymore. But the granite had another hundred years in it. The pattern on that balustrade is not something you order off a catalog. Repair work doesn't get you shows. Nobody writes an essay about the post you saved. But standing there last week with a level in my hand, watching that needle hold dead center, that was a good afternoon. If you're a young fabricator, learn to fix things. Not just make things. There's a trade in it and it'll keep you honest.

There's a gallery in Lyon that rejected me about eight years ago, politely, the usual "your work isn't quite right for us." I was gutted, honestly. Two years later they closed down. Meanwhile the work they passed on eventually got me a better show somewhere else, the kind of space I actually wanted. So my question: is there a rejection that turned out to be a gift? A gallery that said no and now you think "thank god"? Or the opposite, one you still wish you'd gotten into, that still stings a bit? I'll trade you mine above. Curious if I'm the only one who's spent time being grateful for a no.

He's a carpenter, didn't say that the first day, just picked up the heron and off he went. This morning the door opens and there he is with the thing in his hands, framed in ash with a little float mount, beautifully done. Not for sale, he said, just wanted to show me. Wanted me to see it done right. Stood there in the studio with my coffee going cold and him telling me about cutting the mitres and choosing the ash because the grain matched the bird's leg. I swear to god I nearly had to look out the window for a minute. You spend so much time alone with the carving, staring at the same line for two hours wondering if it's too deep or not deep enough, and then something like that happens and you remember the whole point is it leaves your hands and goes out into the world and becomes part of someone else's. He'd put as much care into the frame as I put into the print. That's a lovely thing. Anyway I told him next one's on me. Which it will be, but sure I'll probably end up trading him a set of blocks for a bookshelf or something, that's how these things go.

I welded a staircase railing for the art building at a community college in 2004. Not a sculpture technically, but they wanted something that looked like one. Paid fifteen thousand, which felt fine at the time for six weeks work. Twenty years later I still get five hundred dollars a year from that college. They call it a maintenance and consultation fee. Theyve never called me once. Its in the contract my old self signed and I keep meaning to tell them to stop. But I dont. That five hundred is the only passive income Ive ever had in this trade. Everything else was show up, get dirty, get paid, do it again. And I know people online talk about recurring revenue like its something you design into your practice from day one. I never did. It just happened because I wrote a stupid clause into a bid for a staircase.

was pullin' a fresh edition of the hare print this morning, you know the one, the big fella lookin' like he's about to headbutt the moon? Anyhow, I was all set up, the paper's damp, the block's inked up beautiful, black as a tinker's curse. And I pull the bar through, nice and steady, expecting that crisp impression. But instead? The ink's just... gone. Not all of it, mind, but patches, like a badger's dug it up and run off with it. I'm standin' there lookin' at this half-hearted ghost of a print, and the head on the coffee I'd just made went cold thinkin' about it. Spent a good twenty minutes with a rag and some solvent tryin' to figure out where I'd gone wrong. Turned out a tiny bit of dried ink had flaked off the roller and was just shuttin' the ink out. Ah sure, the joys of the trade, eh? Had to re-ink and do the whole lot again. At least the second go was perfect. This one's got a sort of gritty charm to it though, I think. Might keep it for myself.

It's so cold in the shop right now the marble feels different under the chisel. Stiff. Holds the cut too long and then lets go all at once. I've worked stone in this kind of cold plenty of times, you just go slower or you bust it. But my hands are 61. They don't warm up like they used to. Twenty minutes in and the fingers are telling me things I don't want to hear. Dragged a propane heater out this morning and it's doing just about nothing against a concrete floor and a tin roof. I keep my good chisels in the house this week like they're houseplants. Nobody warns you that the cold part of the work gets harder than the heavy part. I can still move a two hundred pound block around, but I can't keep my own hands above fifty degrees. That's the trade, I guess. The strength stays longer than the circulation.