A couple Januarys ago, I agreed on a commission to paint a portrait of a well-to-do (and damn good looking) Rochester family. Usually I shy away from commissions. Human beings tend to like what they like and it’s more of a miracle than skill to produce from scratch a visible representation of the thought dreams of others. Some level of disappointment is inevitable, for both parties. I don’t like the way it makes me paint. I second guess myself. I return over and over to “touch up” areas I would have left alone if it was the true Ron painting at the holy easel of joy and sorrow.
But I must abide, as the painting and patron will too, with the final product because a deal has been made. What a fitting word, product, for art that stops somewhere at the beginning, trading off the joy of expression, nurturing of spirit, and even the Zen attitude of “after making art, wash your brushes,” for the critical eye of subjectivity. The very critical eye of a stranger’s subjectivity. In this case, my patron, the grand commissioner, suggests a product to trade for, like gourmet rice cakes or a state of the art blender. She is the holder of money and unwitting debaser of “tit for tat”, because “tit” ain’t money when I’m giving my “tat,” which is always a piece of my heart, however it decides to beat during the process. She will assess its intrinsic value by the universal measure of a decorative product, “Will it look good in my living room?”. My art (heart) is reduced to the glamour and appeal of a throw rug or couch pillow.
I met Ella the patron at a recent solo exhibition. She contacted me later via my website to propose that I paint a portrait of her family. Usually I would have straight off replied “No way. There isn’t a trade you can make with me worth my time for that kind of torture”. I’ve done it before and it never pays equal in cash or in kind. And it’s no one’s fault but my own. Self-degradation has been my most trusted path to sales for a quarter century. Small town doesn’t need for an abundance of luxury. Why would anyone want me in their house anyway, and maybe for the rest of their lives? Those friends and faraway strangers who have bought my art are a miracle to be sure, however, until very recently (2022), I never once charged a fair price for my product heart—I mean, art.
“Art takes time, time is money
Money's scarce and that ain't funny”
The Kinks from Low Budget
In fact, I go so low as to make the trade unbalanced and one-sided if it was made with money. That’s why until recently I accepted silver dollars for paintings since it made the buyer work a little bit (at least symbolically) for what she were getting on the cheap. (Again, to those dear people who get the game, I thank you from the bottom of my art (heart). Without you, this failed business would have ended a long time ago.)
Like I said, I met Ella the Patron at a show titled “How to Price a Painting”. All the paintings were advertised and priced rounding up to the nearest dollar using the following equation (an 11 x 17" poster at the show):
Simple and fair. Basically, a maker of anything, from plastic spoons to plastic arts, ought to receive a fair trade for the effort. I did very well during the exhibition, selling 13 paintings for exactly what I thought they were worth (as products of me). For once I got to punch the art market bubble without the blow bouncing back at my face.
Also, I came very close to acquiring an affordable studio in Rochester, thanks to the proprietor of the exhibition space, Bill, who agreed to lease a room next to the gallery, and charge me a mere $200/month rent. He would cover the rest of the initial investment and working costs, which were significant, and of course, too good to be true. On my birthday he texted me that he got cold feet for the deal (and I got cold feet, literally frostbite, heading out the next day in sub-zero temperatures to collect the paintings I left there to decorate the “new” studio).
So, when Ella the Patron requested the commission, I was preparing for a move to the tight art market of a small city. I felt that I could really use her support, provided she liked my painting enough to tell her world about me. So although it would be painful to paint a commission, I felt it was pain worth having to get my name out to a new location.
Ella was very specific about how she wanted the painting to look. Which would be fine if I was allotted the time (and wage) I needed to complete it. And from my lack of experience, I realize now that I was way off in my estimation of how much long it would take. She wanted to know my conditions and hoped that she could afford my services.
I wrote back:
Dear Ella,
This is great news, and couldn’t come at a more opportune time. Next month I plan to move my studio next door to the gallery where you visited my exhibition, and set up art housekeeping in Rochester. If your request is a sign of good things to come, then I’ll take it:)
(Did you ever hear of the Rochester artist William Sellers? It’s his old studio.) It would be an honor to paint for you and family.
I guess this would be my condition:
I complete the painting on time with my best attempt to follow your direction and channel your intentions. However, when finished, you are under no obligation to buy it. No expectations, no contract. No nada. I would not be offended. I paint for the joy and peace it brings me. It seems that whenever I make art into business, important contentments get compromised. It could just be my personality, I don’t know. I couldn’t bear to accept payment for lackluster work.
You probably have an idea of what I would charge since you came to the exhibition in November. (Thank you). I do not clock in for dreaming and research time. Those most important things are free. And I work quite fast once I start working. Also, you complimented my work enough to make me blush, so I simply must cut off some cost in the end. It’s very hard to price a painting I haven’t even begun. But I can try to keep within a certain working hour range. 15 - 18 hours. I’d ask for the wage of $24/hour + materials + Element “X” fee (30% of wages and materials added). This is the equation you are familiar with. Even if I went past those hours for whatever reason, the cost would not be carried over to you.
If it’s too much money, there’s always the Ron Throop post-installment barter plan. I am also a cook, but not a Cordon Bleu trained chef like you. I wouldn’t pass up the possibility of some choice decadence(s) out of Gastronomique.
I hope this is an acceptable arrangement. What do you think? Here are some food paintings to either whet the appetite, or decide on oatmeal for dinner:)
Thank you!
Ron
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Pretty French Waitress With Drop Dead Gorgeous Roquefort! 2020. Acrylic on paper, 12 x 16"
Currants! 2015. Acrylic on canvas, 11 x 14"
Cornish Game Hens With Cabbage 2016. Acrylic on paper, 15 x 22"
She wrote back:
Yay! But I have NO idea what the cost would be based on your fantastic formula. I was hoping that it would be around $300.
Well I finished the painting after many more hours than predicted. If I used my “fantastic formula”, cutting off painting at the proposed time limit (18 hours), it would have cost her $627.00, and looked like this:
If I wasn’t a self-deprecating wimpface, and told her straight away that the equation is the equation, I still hope we can do business together, then her final cost would be:
$2,296.00.
For the final piece:
My Last Commission That Will Look Like This 2022. Acrylic on canvas, 57 x 44"
Of course then she wouldn’t hire me, and there would be no free advertising for the studio that isn’t going to be anyway. So, for 300 bucks she received a Ron misterpiece, which is what chickenshit artists call their paintings when they can’t even give them away.
300 times bitten, and not even twice shy.
71.5 hours of time invested making good on a commission promise.
It’s me folks. I’m the problem/solution. I worked for $4.20/hour and I don’t care.
I got very close to a family in my imagination. We broke bread together, visited exotic lands on holiday, played board games at the dining room table—I even went on a weekend fishing trip with Mr. Patron. I had no idea that he made his own flies.
In the painting I included all the visual information Ella offered in the initial email, and what I gleaned during the brief chat we had on the day I picked up the stretcher bars at her apartment (she wanted to save on cost so asked me to stop by (a 150 mile roundtrip) to de-staple an unwanted 4 x 5 foot painting).
This morning I received a reply from a stranger to a blog post I made about pricing art :
Interesting writing. Even though I’m not an artist, and I don’t understand painting, I’ve always loved artistic things.
“Artists are people too, and need money to live” is the phrase I hear most often these days. Therefore, most artists today are willing to pawn themselves into wage labor, instead of defending their ideals and values of freedom. Whereas the real price is the spirit of their freedom to express everything without any pressure, including money.
Hallelujah!
We’re getting close to Xanadu. Some stranger on blockchain train offered me his seat to paradise. Just another nobody like me wanting to live the only life he’s gonna get.
A commission for $300 that made me rich.
Ah the creative life. It’s wonderful!
Wasn't that a warning sign?
I make far less than $4.20 an hour blogging, which I also do for love. Now here you are, writing fabulous posts for peanuts. You are a glutton. Happily for me!
I buy art. I've never paid much for it though, the most I ever paid was $1000 for a fabulous piece. Now the artist, Lydia Viscardi, is finally making some real money on her art. Am I bragging? I feel like I'm bragging.
Very nice painting! No, you’re not bragging.
The most I ever spent on a painting was $835, and I did it because I thought I insulted the artist with my writing the week before. Not about his art, rather his academia.
“I make far less than $4.20 an hour blogging, which I also do for love”.
That’s my point! The commission was not a labor of love. It was labor, and I should have charged her at least minimum wage. Spine growing takes some time. I have 20 more years to make it rigid like a titanium stick.
Meanwhile, I also blog for the activity of it. If I’m writing, I hope someone is reading. Nickels and dimes are just added gravy, and also a good source of unclaimed income to reduce expenses in my poverty project:)
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