My Last Commission That Looks Like This
Back in January 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, how ever 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 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 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 (my last show), 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:
Simple and fair. There is a bit more to it that you can read about here, but 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 (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
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 the painting is nearly finished (a couple hours of touch up to go), and 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 scaredy-cat wimphead, and told her straight away that the equation is the equation, I still hope we can do business together, then her cost would be:
$2,296.00.
For the almost final piece:
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 receives 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. I guess I was a little bit off in my time estimation.
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 include 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 drive) and destaple an unwanted 4 x 5 foot painting).
This morning I received a reply from a stranger to yesterday’s 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. He was just another nobody like me wanting to live the only life he’s gonna get.
Which reminds me… From now on I’ll finish each post with a thank you to my breadwinner. She has freed me to be free. I must make the sacrifice worth her time. No more diddle-dallying, no pussy-footin’—I’ll paint your family for 2 bucks an hour. No, I’ll do it for free, but it won’t look like this and it couldn’t resemble that, because I’ve lost my mind and I’m obscene (derived from “off-scene”, off stage, in ancient Greek theater). There is still time. I have 33 years left to get unpretty. To save art for another generation that will take up the torch. More fools! More idiots! More slaves!
More joy!
The world is changing its mind. After writing the last paragraph, I got up to stretch my legs and saw the following man out my window. Don’t know who he is or where he’s from. But I know he’s here to take me to tomorrow .
“Let’s go Mr. Plank. I am ready. Nice shirt.”
