Your Art Isn’t Worth The Paper It’s Painted On

Creativity Bites 2

Every day – because I’ve decided to do this daily, painful as it is – every day, when I sit down to paint, my insides are in turmoil.

I’m racked with doubt, which is a terrible cliché but pretty close to how I actually feel.

I spend long minutes or more gazing at the results of yesterday’s endeavours and mutter to myself, “What utter crap!”

Bad? I’ll Show You Who’s Bad

As if disdainfully contemplating my pitiful efforts weren’t enough, I make it worse by sadistically running through all the reasons I’m not “a real artist” in my head, and it’s an impressive list:

I’ve never studied art;
I’ve never had an exhibition in a fancy Parisian gallery;
I haven’t mastered a single ‘proper’ painting method;
I couldn’t paint anything realistically to save my life;
Stick men from nursery school are still my go-to human form.
I’m just some little guy from north London crashing around with colours, producing stuff no better than my son at the age of 4.

(That’s not to diss my son, who’s probably the best art teacher I have, but his favourite approch is the mix ‘n’ mix a bit more technique. This generally produces something resembling a uniform puddle of mud (or occasionally vomit) a passing pig would be delighted to discover.)

All that’s what I say to myself when I first start edging towards my painting table. And it doesn’t help much!

Crap For Sale!

And yet, here’s a funny thing: people are starting to buy my pictures.

So, I’m asking myself, if it’s not for all the artistic qualities I lack, as listed above, why would they do that?

I mean, I’m sure that in many cases people do want something on their wall that wouldn’t look out of place in the Louvre – good luck with that, unless it’s a poster – but in my case, what on earth are they seeing?

What’s drawing them to look more closely at my splodges and squiggles and then fork out hard cash to take them home? What do they want?

Suspected Idiocy Confirmed

Turns out, I’m an idiot. I thought people were buying the reputation of the artist so they could impress their friends, and sometimes they are, of course.

Or I thought they were interested in the quality of the raw materials plus an appreciation of the workmanship involved. But I don’t think that’s it.

When people started complimenting and then wanting my stuff, something clicked, because there couldn’t be any other explanation.

When true art lovers (not dealers or investors) adopt a piece, they aren’t reimbursing you for the brushes or covering the cost of the canvas or putting a bit aside for the paint. Why didn’t I see it?

People are paying for a precious slice of your life to make a precious slice of their own life more worth living.

And that’s it. How much is that worth? You’d better ask them.

Ubiquitous or Unique?

I used to think I should paint like a professional – someone who has studied at a big-name art school and knows what they’re doing. Someone whose stuff looks like stuff.

You know, their houses aren’t in imminent danger of collapse, their horses have honourable hind quarters (I do stick animals too, by the way; just add a couple more lines and you’re good…), their skies look sublime and their faces cause heart-races…

The problem with that is, the more you can paint realistically, the more you will end up looking like everyone else who can pull off a reasonable equine recline or a fair figure. And the more it looks like everyone else (and the original item), the less unique it is. Cameras do that well…

The Sky’s The Limit

When something is unique, there’s nothing to compare it with. Which means the only possible way of determining its price is what someone will pay for it. With infinity being the upper limit.

If the artist also happens to be rather original, you could probably raise that to the power two, which would give you Infinity², which, strangely enough, is the collective name of all my painted artwork.

Is that a coincidence? I don’t know. Is my art unique? Actually, I think it is. Am I? We all are, it’s just that many of us don’t realise it.

All Part of the Process

So getting back to the drawing board, or my morning angst, I’ve now incorporated it into my process and I try to feed from it.

My attitude is that if something you are doing scares you or worries you or embarrasses you… that means it’s important, at least to you. When it’s important, you put your heart and guts into it. A surprising number of sensitive souls will see and feel that, and want to be part of it.

The second phase, after the inevitable self-flagellation, is quite simple: start putting some more paint there where I left off yesterday. Almost immediately, something magical happens: the switch flips.

Welcome to the Zone

You forget the awkwardness and slip into the zone of unconscious creativity and before you know it, you’re producing wonders. You may not recognise them as wonders, and that’s perfectly normal. The worst judge of the true worth of a work of art, is the artist himself.

That’s not surprising when you and your work are unique. Only other people know what they are willing to pay for something uniquely creative, and tastes differ from person to person.

When the Heart Speaks…

The French talk about having a coup de coeur for something. It means their heart spoke to them way before their head had a chance to get involved. It’s when you just know you have to have something, and the price is practically irrelevant.

People having coups de coeur over our work is the best thing that can happen to an artist, and I’m not even talking about the money. Our aim is to touch others emotionally. The exchange of money is just a symbol for what’s really taking place: an exchange of love.

Final Bid

So, if your art isn’t worth the paper it’s painted on, or the soapstone it’s sculpted from, or the music or dance or acting or cooking or embroidery lessons it sprang from… what is it worth?

It’s worth doing; that’s what it’s worth. You need to get your gift out there – that’s what being human’s all about. What you actually do isn’t important; what is important is that you create something as opposed to nothing.

When you create nothing, pretty much nothing happens. When you create something, an infinite number of possibilities open up to you. Infinity², even!

GET COACHED BY SAB!

Sab has been exploring the creative human experience in Paris for over 25 years. He writes words, makes pictures and encourages connectedness every day. He thinks that being creative on a regular basis is a wonderful way to lead a worthwhile, enriching and generous life. He’d love to help you make the most of your infinite potential too, creatively and authentically…

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