Things you might not know about being an artist - part 2

As a creative person who works for herself, running her own business, I have the lovely job of painting for a living.  As much as I love this side of things, I have also had to embrace the more businessy side of things, which includes organising my accounts, filing stuff, emailing people, and pricing.

Pricing.  Ah yes, that little chestnut which can cause so much grief and panic for the creative person, bring up all manner of insecurities and fears.

I have been using a basic formula for a few years now which seems to work well for me.  It's jolly simple and includes these elements:

Cost of materials used - such as paint, canvas, framing(including supporting costs and any overheads)
Time - how long it has taken to create the work
Profit - which speaks for itself

Usually, profit is the last thing I figure in, because lets face it and be totally honest - we're in business to make money - its not a hobby, its not a bit of a laugh - we're earning money to pay for our kids swimming classes, new clothes, a bill, to put food on the table so the profit is the essential bit on the top, the amount we get after we've covered our outgoings.
 
Most of us run a creative business because we love it, and if we didn't, we'd combust or something equally awful.  It's not always an easy career choice, it can be antisocial, sales can fluctuate with the seasons and it can be a giant ballache at times when your mojo goes on holiday.

We also want to contribute to the family income, we want to have something to do alongside being a Mum, a partner, a wife and so on (or, not wanting to exclude anyone - Hubster or Dad if you're a chap who happens to be reading this post).  We want something for us, but we ultimately want a bit of financial independence doing something we love.

So, with these three basic elements covered I then check out the competition.  By this I mean that I look at what my contemporaries are producing, and I also see what they are currently charging.

The reason I do this is because I don't want to price myself out of the market, I don't want to undersell myself, and I also don't want to undercut others as this devalues what EVERYONE is doing.  It's not good business etiquette and you're not doing your reputation any favours in the long run if you do this.  Familiarising myself with what other artists are doing helps to keep me on track.

There's a whole heap of other stuff involved in pricing too - such as marketing your work and actually getting the stuff to sell (which I'll save for another post) but for now I've covered the basics.

I'm going to bring up the subject of discounts in this post too, because I feel it's relevant.

Sometimes I offer a percentage off certain ranges of my art.  These have been carefully calculated and are not usually done on a whim.  I have still factored in all of the three elements above, and have decided that yes, I can still cover costs and earn a profit at this particular time - it's also a nice gesture to offer my loyal customers, or gives new ones an incentive to buy something from me.  However, I couldn't afford to run my business like this all of the time, I'd be running at a loss.  So, I sometimes feel a little put out when I get emails from people asking for discount.  In the past, I've agreed to it, but now I don't.  I personally wouldn't wander into a shop and ask for a discount on an item I liked.  I'd see what it cost and accept that that was the price, and if I wanted it badly enough I'd pay it (or save up until I could afford to buy it).

I wonder if the people who ask artists for discount actually understand what goes into creating an original, or a run of limited edition prints?  It's not been mass produced in a factory in China, it's something that has been produced over time with a lot of thought and love.  It's emotive, it creates a connection within the person who sees it.  The need for a piece of art can be impulsive or calculated (based on whether it will match the furnishings in the living room).  When you buy art from an artist, you are essentially buying a little piece of that person - before they created it, it didn't exist.  You're getting a glimpse of the insides of someone's imagination.  What is produced by brush, pen, stitch, clay or any other medium is a rare and unique piece of work.  When you stop to think about it, it's pretty amazing isn't it? 

Some artists I have spoken to in the past have broken down their pricing and discover they are earning way below the minimum wage when calculating their costs on an hourly basis.  They've been shocked by this and it is shocking...you wouldn't expect anyone else to work for less that that, so why would anyone expect an artist to do so? 

I think it would be lovely if there were more support for artists and creatives.  People such as our Education Secretary don't exactly help when they suggest that choosing art is a future of limited career choices- what belittling rubbish!  Imagine a world without art, without colour...imagine a world without the possibility of illustration, photography, paintings, ceramics, greetings cards, wallpaper, textile and pattern design...oh the list is endless!  Lets be honest, it would be a dull old place without it, wouldn't it?






                       

What you might not know about being an artist

I used to think that artists were very glamorous, bohemian sorts who wafted through their days, painting leisurely, then meeting like minded souls for drinks where they would indulge in deep conversation about their work in crowded corners of fashionable coffee bars.

It seemed to me to be a utopia of all things I dreamed of; from the paint splashed artists smock one would naturally wear, to the inspired aura one would naturally exude.  Their lives, to my young imagination, were a carousel of parties, laughter and a constant outpouring of creativity in messy studios...

...lets fast forward to the reality.

Being an artist is a fabulous job, don't doubt if for a minute.  And if you harbour any desire or inclination to be one, and you've got a bit of talent or raw passion from which to start with then I urge you to study hard in your art classes at school and college, draw relentlessly and spend lots of time developing your own sweet style.  To live in a world where you get to paint for a living, to earn an income from what you do (whilst sitting in your pajamas if you fancy) is rewarding on so many levels.  I will never forget the buzz of the first sale, of my first international customer, of people actually liking what I did enough to buy it.  This is stuff dreams are made of, right?

Yes.

And no.

There was a conversation that unfolded yesterday with an artist friend of mine, and it led me to write this post for you today.  I wanted to lay bare the bones of this work, to tell you the hidden truths that we all live with, the difficult bits and what we do to overcome them.

There are times when you sit down, and an idea comes to mind and you sketch bits out and out of nowhere this fantastic feeling suffuses your very bones with delight - yes, this is it, you're onto a sure fire winner, you can feel it, you just know....and then you're off!  Paints are squirted generously onto the pallette, the canvas, board or paper is struck with colour, your vision comes to life and its the best feeling in the world because when art flows, it really flows and there's nothing like it.

Then there are those times where it doesn't.

And you sit and you stare at the blank paper in front of you, and your mind whirrs relentlessly with chores and other mundane stuff you have to do, and there is this massive black hole where your imagination used to be that has seemingly gone on a vacation without telling you.  There's nothing there.  Nothing at all.

You scribble a bit in your sketch book...it looks terrible, its bloody awful.  You start again on another page, no - its not happening.  Then the frustration kicks in; the irritation is followed by anger sometimes and its not unusual at this stage to shove everything in a drawer and eat a packet of Jaffa Cakes instead.
You feel like you will NEVER be able to create another piece of work ever again!  What will you do? How will you earn any money if you have nothing to paint?  This feeling has reduced me to actual tears in the past, and no doubt will do again.  You feel like giving up, you're clearly no good - what's the bloody point?!

Each painting, each piece of work, is a journey.  It is fraught with emotion and feeling.  An artist pours their entire heart and soul into a work, and the finished piece is infused with joy, love and happiness that the artist felt when they created it. 

There are however, those pieces that lie unfinished at the back of a cupboard, something that started off well but suddenly felt like it was going wrong, so you leave it to come back to at a later date.  I have done this before and sometimes this solution works fine.  You come back to it with fresh eyes, see clearly what needs doing to make amends and so continue on the journey and finish your painting.  Sometimes not even time can help, I have pictures half finished from years ago that for some reason I just haven't been able to part with.  I know in my heart I will never finish them yet they are still here as reminders of something that didn't work out.  I sometimes look at them and in all honesty I still don't have all the answers as to why.  It's more of a feeling rather than a clear knowing.

When your mojo leaves town, when you feel like your number is up and its time to put away your artist's smock, I'd like to reassure you that it isn't.  You will notice over time that there are seasons to your art.  You will have fallow times and ripe, juicy times.  There is a time to create and a time to be quiet and percolate ideas.  It is part of the process, there is no forcing of this tender subject, and you will have to learn to roll with it.  You will learn to handle the emotions it brings, you will learn to understand that the quiet parts are just as essential as the furious creative parts.  You will know that it will make you angry at times and euphorically happy.  You will learn that it's not just you, it's all of us.

Switch Off Time

Half term saw us hurling down the M5 towards the lush green hills, valleys and coastline of South Devon for a camping trip with friends.  Before we left, I had pondered the possibility of charging up the ever present phone using the car charger in order to Be Connected, but then I stopped.  Do I really need a phone?  Do I really need to keep in touch with the outside world?  Would it hurt to just NOT for a few days? 

What would it be like to really switch off for five days?  No internet trawling, no Facebook, no Tweets, and absolutely no Instagramming of exciting random stuff?

Lets do this, I thought.  Let's get back to real life for a bit.

So, I switched off and we went to Exeter for a night, to wander around my old home town streets, and to catch up with some sorely missed, and well loved friends.

There was a bit of an itch going on at first, that habitual knee-jerk reaction to check messages, emails, play Scrabble, see what everyone was doing on social media....but it passed pretty quickly to be honest, and by the time we were in the sunny field pitching the tent with our friends, I actually forgot all about it and concentrated on lending a hand, talking and listening to the bird song and chatter of the children running about in the grass.

We took long walks through the dunes.  All the wandering paths create a sense of wonderful anticipation because you know that inevitably they will lead you to the sea.

Ahhhh...and there.  Stopping for a moment to listen to the breeze rushing through the grasses, a soft swishing sound accompanied by the call of oyster catchers over on the estuary to our left, and gulls crying high above the sea to our right.  And nothing else.

A gentle, and steady feeling of peace and tranquility pervaded my bones.  I took photographs on my camera instead of snapping happily away on my phone.

I became much more immersed in my surroundings.  Instead of being constantly diverted by beeps and tweets and the insane urge to document every living moment, I started to tuly live those moments.  There was a luxurious feeling of reality, of living life the way it used to be lived, before we all became gadget bound by technology.

I was a little surprised in a sense, because I had no idea that I had become so trapped by the various phones and pads I had in my life.  I was also amused.  

When you allow yourself to switch off, you slow down.  You really do.  You stop caring what people are having for tea or finding the need to photograph your food.  You don't think about the latest trending hashtag and how many Likes you have on your Facebook Page.  You stop wondering about emails - they can all wait, we're on holiday - and you just start being more present.  Switching off is like a meditation, but better.

I had better conversations without the distractions, I felt happier, I felt more peaceful and more connected with my actual life than I have done in ages.

We went to Dartmouth and spent a delightful few hours on the beach at Blackpool Sands.  The water here is like crystal - we sat by the edge of the sea and listened to the rhythmical shushing sounds as it gently pushed and pulled its waves over the shingle shore.

We drove to Dartmouth town afterwards for ice-cream and a wander around the lovely little shops and streets.  Dartmouth is very, very beautiful and the River Dart is chocablock with sailing boats; the rigging tinkles and snaps in the wind, such a magical sound which I associate with memories of living on the coast. The river mouth eventually opens out to the sea, and either side of this pretty waterway is clustered with pastel coloured cottages and houses among the trees.

There are two ferries too, to take you back and forth across the river, and the Steam Train still runs along its scenic track.

One of the lovely finds in Dartmouth is Baxter's Gallery.  Our visit coincided with their Spring exhibition - it was good to see some work by friends of mine on show, including Andrea Berry, Janet Bell and Kirsty Elson amidst all the other wonderful pieces by talented artists and makers!

After admiring the art work and having a nice chat with the gallery owner, Sarah, we left to have a final wander about the town before returning home to camp.

After five days of fresh air, sleeping under the stars and waking with the dawn chorus and excited children, we reluctantly packed up and set off for home.

Here are a few things I absolutely adore about camping and escaping technology:

It being OK to wander around a field in your pyjamas with strangers and nobody bats an eyelid.

Cooking outside - Rob rustled up some beautiful fresh sea bass on the BBQ which we enjoyed with new potatoes and crunchy salad.  Food tastes immense outdoors on a warm sunny evening!

Keeping it simple.  Paring back on things we use everyday at home and just going with the basics - soap, flannel, toothbrush, pillow, sleeping bag....

Drifting off to sleep listening to a lonely owl hooting in the woods.

Being outside at 11pm and seeing millions of stars in a clear, navy blue sky.

Talking and connecting in real life, with real people.

Feeling relaxed and happy.

Have you ever taken a break from technology?  How did you find it?  Did you like it?  Why not share your experiences here in the comments?  I will definitely do it again, and it's made me more aware of how much time I spend using computers and phones etc.  I plan to figure in more time to switch off at home on a regular basis, just to reconnect and be still again.