It only took a week of being a full-time artist to learn one of the abiding truths inherent in this business: Nobody
listens to artists.
Truly, the quickest way to get a door slammed in my face was
to say something like,
“Hello, I’m an artist,
and I’d like you to look at a few of my…” SLAM!
Nothing could shut down a business conversation faster than
uttering the A-word in the first person. Ad executives, gallery owners, architects,
store managers, business administrators, charity directors, teachers – all
dismissed me routinely, usually before I had the chance to show them any of my
artwork.
“Leave a card and
we’ll call you if we need you.” Operative word: Leave.
Friends and relatives often responded similarly, with a
modicum of disappointment and a quick sendoff, occasionally leavened with a
polite, sympathetic smile thrown in to make me feel better, and visible relief
at my (hopefully) hasty departure.
This was a big change from how I was used to being treated,
a completely unexpected consequence of my decision to step out of the hospital
and into the art studio.
Quack
Sure, I understood that ‘art’ was, generally speaking, a hobby, for most people a diversion rather
than a calling. For me though, my career change was just that, and nothing less
than that – a move from one profession to the next. I had the talent and the
drive to succeed as an illustrator and a designer, and I had the work to prove
it. Besides, with degrees in biology and medicine, I had the background to
handle drawing assignments on subjects ranging from wildlife to healthcare to robotic
technology. Why was it so hard getting anyone to pay attention?
As a doctor, I was accustomed to being taken seriously -
often a little too seriously for my liking. That’s one reason I wanted to
explore the arts, to get away from the regimented solemnity and enforced
humorlessness of the hospital.
The trouble was that
artists aren't professionals.
After years of academic and clinical training, I knew how to
conduct myself professionally, to communicate clearly and concisely in a
face-to-face interview. I did my homework, too, staying up late planning
schedules and strategies, following leads, putting together a balanced mix of
appointments and cold calls. I arrived for meetings in plenty of time to review
my presentation, and my appearance: Combed hair, shined shoes, business suit,
tie with matching pocket square, fashionable overcoat.*
Heck, I even carried an expensive leather (leather!)
artist’s portfolio chock full of my work, neatly arranged in an understandable,
logical progression from graphic design to illustration to my own brand of
composite drawings. I showed up with a positive attitude, a firm handshake, and
a winning smile.
“Oh. You’re the artist. Leave a card.” Such reactions were as
baffling as they were consistent.
Lacking experience to the contrary, I assumed people in one
line of work respected the ability of others to perform well in their chosen professions,
at least until they had demonstrated otherwise. The trouble, I came to
understand, was that artists aren't professionals.
Artists are a lot of things. We’re thoughtful, innovative,
hard working, and usually we’re an awful lot of fun. We’re free spirits, too: Quirky.
Eccentric. Weird. In the world of
business, that makes us strange, and suspect. And since our work schedules
seldom fit the usual nine-to-five routine, we’re often considered unreliable
and irresponsible, or worse, lazy, living
off the sweat of others who aren’t afraid to put in a full 40-hour work week.
But we’re not professional. Professionals are people with real
jobs. Professionals work for someone else, every day, for a thing called a
regular paycheck. We free-lance artists work for ourselves, at whatever
assignments we can get, for whatever pay we can negotiate. And once we’ve successfully
completed a project, we’re… what’s the word? Oh, yeah… unemployed.
The working world seems to frown on this business model.
Projects come through or they don’t, feast or famine, with frequent
interruptions in cash flow. For beginning artists especially, these
uncertainties make it difficult to secure adequate housing and studio space, or
to make regular payments on car notes or insurance premiums (assuming loans or insurance
coverage are even available). Even artists with long track records, substantial
client lists and above average business sense are vulnerable to dry spells that
can unravel years of financial success.
So, art is not a real profession, it seems, unless you
happen to be a real professional
artist. We all know a number of these. They’re household names. The ones whose
work we recognize. As a rule, they died a long time ago.
Then there are the few successful artists who live and work
outside of the stereotype. We know their names, too. We recognize their work.
We might even recognize them if we saw them on TV, or hanging out at a
restaurant downtown. We understand that they get paid a lot of money for their
art, and we wish that we had bought one of their pieces years ago when it was
affordable, before they became well known - before the world recognized them as
professionals.
That’s the second enduring
truth of the art business:
As soon as
someone other than you
likes your work, and is willing to tell
someone else about
it, you’ve arrived.
But how do you know when you, as an artist, have crossed
that line? How do you tell when you’ve made it?
That’s just it. You don’t. Someone else tells for you.
That’s the second enduring truth of the art business: As
soon as someone other than you likes your work, and is willing to tell someone
else about it, you’ve arrived.
You can't be that person. Your squeak won't grease your own wheels.
“Hi, I’m an artist,
and my work is awesome!” will get you nowhere.
Fortunately, though, that ‘right person’ can be just about
anyone else:
“Hey, have you seen
this dude’s work? It’s awesome!”
That kind of recommendation will get you recognition, and
sales, and contracts to make more of your art. If you are fortunate enough (and
persistent enough) to string together a number of recommendations like this,
you just might stay in business long enough to build a career in art.
Our business plan at DS Art is built entirely around these
two truths. We want our clients and customers to be happy with our work, and
our work ethic. We understand that every piece of artwork that leaves our
studio is an ambassador for our future success, and that every customer we earn
becomes a potential cheerleader for (or against) our creative ability, our
professionalism, and our future .
Just don't take our word for it.
*In hindsight, this could have been part of the problem. I
can recall but one episode in those early days when I received a bona fide art
commission, entirely on my own. The client was in a bind, facing a tight
deadline. He needed to speak with someone right away, and would meet with me
only if I could get to his office within the hour. That office was more than 50
miles away, which left me no time to shower, shave, or even change clothes. I jumped
in the car and drove to the meeting ‘as-is’. The client took one look at my
scruffy weekend beard, dirty sneakers, worn jeans, and rumpled jacket, and
instantly awarded me the job. Apparently he needed an artist, rather than a professional.
