The Value of Art, Part 2

Disclaimer: This is one of those posts that is more vulnerable than others. I would like to politely ask if, in the comments, you refrain from sharing your own personal judgments, psychoanalysis, or what you think I should be doing instead of feeling like this. I’m sure I’ll figure it all out in my own time. However, I happily accept comments that share your own experiences with this topic and your thoughts about the value of art.

The other week, I wrote an post called The Value of Art. It’s been something drifting around my head ever since.

It’s something that I really struggle with, especially when it comes to my own art. With other people’s art, I usually think they should be charging more. I can see the value there.

But my own work? Ughh. I get really stuck here. Pricing it? Don’t even talk to me about it. Selling it? I run screaming in the opposite direction.

But I had an epiphany this morning

I suddenly understood why I get so antsy about selling my work.

You see, when I had my first solo show, this person, whom we shall call Bob for anonymity’s sake, felt that it was necessary to point out to me that, even though I sold 2 pieces (I was 19, this was a huge freaking deal), people had only bought them because they felt bad for me.

They told me that the only reason people bought my work was because they took pity on me – because of my health issues, because of my financial problems, because everyone knew I was going nowhere in life, so why don’t you buy a bit of the kid’s art, huh?

And because this person was a huge part of my life, and someone I looked up to, I took their word as pretty much law. They said it, so it must be the truth.

I’ve been carrying that with me for almost 2 years now. Every time I sold something, I figured the person must feel bad for me. Every time I had a commission, I thought that they wanted to help the poor sick kid out, so they got a painting of their dog.

I completely discounted the value of my work. I was just a charity case, not a serious artist. No one would actually buy my work just because they loved it.

And that has stopped me from doing so many things

As I’m typing this, I can really see how, in subtle, subconscious ways, this has stopped me from doing so many things. I never noticed before how much I didn’t see myself as a serious artist, someone who was actually going to do this for a living. I accepted this other definition of myself, this definition as the sick kid who everyone pitied. Not someone with real talent or vision.

I’ve never applied for grants, or tried to get into galleries in big cities. I’ve never really promoted my work, or been confident about selling it.

It’s all one big circle really

Part of me can’t even believe I’m back here again. I felt for a long time that I was just “the sick kid who wasn’t going anywhere” and I was determined to break free of that, to really live my life. That was three years ago, and yet here I am, battling the same belief system again.

You’re sick, you’re useless, go home.

While a large part of me did stop believing that about myself, what I never stopped believing was that other people saw me this way. I thought that when people looked at me, that’s all they saw. It never occured to me to change that belief. I thought they were seeing the truth.

It’s why I’ve spent the majority of the last three years fighting a battle to prove myself – to others and to myself. I felt like I had to battle this perception that I was just the useless sick kid and that I’d always have that working against me.

Now I’m starting to see that the perception never existed in the first place. That maybe the people who made me believe that were wrong, and that I’m just me, my work has value and the people who’ve bought it bought it because they loved it.

Maybe I’m not such a charity case after all.

Tags: Art, perceptions, value