That costs HOW MUCH? An Argument for the Wild Inefficiency of Art
Sticker Shock
Have you had these browsing experiences?
1) You look at the price of a painting and think, “Holy sh*t, that much for some random splots on a canvas??”
2) You see the price of a pair of earrings and wonder, “How does that even cover the cost of the materials? The beads alone are worth more than that.”
Yeah, me too. And every reaction in between.
What actually goes into pricing artwork or handmade crafts? I’ll reveal my personal go-to strategy in a minute, while acknowledging that there are no clear answers. After dozens of conversations over the past 17 years with fellow makers trying to puzzle it out, the one thing we agree on is that pricing our stuff is complicated. It drives most of us crazy.
How did they come up with those prices?
I used to read articles about how to charge for one’s artwork. Some advocate formulas, like a set dollar amount per square inch or square foot. Others suggest calculating the cost of materials and factoring in the hours spent making and marketing your thing. Both seem logical, until your trivet costs $235, the same as your oil painting. Who’ll pay that much to hold a hot dish? And what if you’re salvaging all of your materials. Does that make them worth nothing, or worth more than new supplies from Michael’s, since they’re vintage quality and because you’re doing the planet a favor? What about the time you spent scrounging for, cleaning, or altering the bits and parts—does that count?
How do you account for skill and experience? If you’re new at your craft, you’re probably slower at it. Should the scarf that took you twelve hours to knit cost four times as much as the one your aunt finished in three hours? Are you really paying attention to the clock each time you’re knitting, anyway? Then, when you see Target selling scarves for $15 that almost look handmade, do you pay yourself $1.25 an hour and absorb the cost of the yarn in order to compete? (And of course you’re only “paying yourself” when someone actually buys your scarf.)
What’s the psychology in play here? Is it better to charge low prices in order to sell something rather than risk selling nothing, in case shoppers balk at your higher-but-fairer prices? Or do high price tags imply high quality and attract customers with deeper pockets? Related question: Should we focus on marketing only to rich people? Is that who art is ultimately for?
I haven’t even mentioned the time, money, and expertise involved in branding, packaging, and promoting your products online or in your community. Need a website? A graphic designer? A marketing specialist? Who’s going to make your flyers and signs for the craft sale, and how fancy should they be, and where should you post them, and when, and how long will that take? If you hire someone to handle the grunt work so you can focus on making art, will you recover that money, or have a deeper financial hole to dig out of? What about the time it takes to clean the space and set up your displays? Oh, and where do you get those display props, anyway? How much does a card rack or necklace stand cost?
Now let’s talk about free shipping. Anyone who’s boxed up and mailed a package to anyone ever, understands that every part of the process has a cost. First, there’s the packaging materials and the time you spent finding ones that fit, will keep the items safe in transport, and strike the right balance between “I care about how this looks” vs “I can’t spend all day preparing this.” Then there’s the trip to the post office and time waiting in line. Oh, right—then the actual cost of postage. Getting “free shipping” makes us consumers feel lucky, but someone’s definitely paying for it in higher product prices or very low wages.
I told you it was complicated. It’s also beautiful.
The point is that made-by-hand is a lot different than made-by-factory-on-a-massive-scale. Once at the craft fair, you’ve entered the non-linear, feminine realm, and not just because many artists and crafters are women. Masculine values like production efficiency and profit margins have a tense relationship with this artistic, sensory-based world, because streamlining runs counter to the creative process. When our jam is experimenting with materials and getting lost in color, cost-effectiveness is not the top priority, nor should it be.
This is why society needs to step up and value artists: Because the messy, unpredictable, and complex work we do carries the culture forward, yet it doesn’t fit neatly into the capitalist business model. I’d even argue that once art-making becomes efficient, it stops being art. Now you’re a small factory instead.
The upside is coming, I promise.
My fellow makers are either nodding their heads knowingly as they read this, or they’re feeling deflated, realizing it could cost $3,000 and six months’ work to earn $15 from that first scarf sale, which will be lost when they offer “free shipping.” I don’t mean to be a downer. My point is not to squash the dreams of active or aspiring makers, believe me. I’m not embracing the Starving Artist stereotype either, nor am I here to give—or get—business advice. I do want more humans, especially those who’ve never ventured into vendor-hood, to understand and appreciate what’s behind that craft sale price tag. In short it’s this: lots of love and guesswork.
I’m writing this also because I need the pep talk. Every day I swim in the business dilemma of trying to make art and make money, but the pitfalls are even more obvious at holiday craft sale time. Each year I ask myself, “Despite everything stacked against artists in the marketplace, why do I keep choosing to do it? Why keep making and selling my stuff, when the market is flooded with cheaper, also-cool stuff?”
Why I Keep Doing This
Why am I choosing to host the… 14th? 15th consecutive holiday sale in my home next weekend, and add my wares to others’ seasonal sales? And why do I bother offering my artwork online? There are a few reasons:
1) Connection. Here’s an example: Years ago I started making a particular style of greeting card. My process requires a silent workspace while I skim through pages of a yellowed, now-in-many-chunks dictionary until a particular word hooks my imagination. Then a snarky or thoughtful comment surfaces, related to that word, which I’ll henpeck via my manual typewriter onto a card I’ve cut from a discarded file folder. I tear out and glue the dictionary section above the typed phrase, and loosely circle the specific dictionary word in red sharpie. I’ve made several hundred of these cards—they’re my most popular products—and each one captures the mood I was in at a unique moment in time. They’re also visually subtle, requiring the shopper to get curious enough to stop, pull the card out of the rack, read, connect, and respond. Nothing pleases me more than to watch someone (and it’s often the bored husband of the avid craft sale attendee) stand at my card rack, chuckling. Then picking up another one, and sometimes taking out a whole stack to read through, one after another. I find it magical, sharing these private jokes from across the room. Sometimes I chime in with a comment, sometimes I just watch and enjoy.
At $5 each, they’re a cheap thrill. And about the only items still for sale in my Etsy shop.
2) Validation. The artists’ job is tricky. We aim to create something never seen before, even though as they say, “there’s nothing new under the sun.” How, then? By adding a piece of ourselves to the work. We take an idea or some materials, and apply our imagination, our personality, and our aesthetic to it. It’s a brave and vulnerable act when done from the soul, this offering up of oneself. Not everyone can do it, because frankly it’s scary and there are risks involved, and most of us are trained to be safe and practical. People might laugh or sneer or say that what you’ve made is stupid. You might get panned on social media. It’s likely no one will want it anyway, if it’s for sale. Your relatives might say you’re full of yourself, which by the way, has become my goal in life. To become full of myself. Fully myself. And to let that through in my artwork. So when I’ve exposed my imagination in the material realm, and someone responds positively by admiring—even purchasing—what I made, it is deeply validating. I can’t let my self-worth ride on how well my art is being received, however, because that’s a recipe for depression and despair. I’m already valid as a person. But having others appreciate my creative efforts definitely encourages me to continue taking risks. And I love when my bravery inspires other people to be brave.
3) It’s better than letting it pile up in boxes in the garage. I can’t stop myself from making stuff, and I don’t want to stop. So I might as well let my creations, no matter how humble, grand, or ill-advised, breathe in daylight and under the human gaze. Art is meant to be shared, after all.
Yeah, it’s great to earn a little money from it, too, when I can.
My Pricing Strategy
I told you I’d reveal my go-to method for pricing. Not surprisingly, I rely on my gut to answer these two questions:
“What price feels good?”
“What price will I not resent?”
Sure, I have a vague idea how much the materials cost and how much time went into the making. I rarely expect to get that back, because my ways of creating things are time consuming and wildly inefficient. I’m good at drawing straight lines, but not moving in them; my processes are circular and varied and made up as I go along. (Should I charge more for the joy, or the struggle?) When setting prices, I’m trying to determine whether I’ll feel ripped off when someone pays it, or feel that the quality of my work is being rewarded. It’s not a magic formula, which is why I change my mind—and my prices—from time to time. But it’s the best method I’ve found.
Important Reminders at Craft Sale Time
No one’s going to get rich through craft sales, and most vendors won’t even recover their costs. So we have to keep remembering why we do it, and why it’s so dangerous to attach our self-worth to the dollar value of our sales. Here are more motivators, and yes, it’s another pep talk:
You never know who you’re inspiring. A browser might not buy from you, but they’re noticing what you’ve done, and it makes a difference. I love watching people interact with the things I’ve made, and with the environment I’ve set up. It’s good feedback, and because I’m also a person who peruses shops and craft fairs for ideas, I can’t hold this against the non-purchasers.
You never know who you’ll cross paths with. Someone once picked up my business card at a sale (without buying anything from me), then months later hired me for several thousand dollars-worth of service gigs. This new friend then volunteered on multiple mural projects I was leading, became one of my art biz’s biggest cheerleaders and unpaid PR agents, and just today purchased a couple of prints from my online shop. (Thanks again, Carol!) Open yourself up, and serendipity is sure to wander by.
It’s resilience-building practice. Creativity and vulnerability go hand-in-hand, as I’ve mentioned, which means there are no guarantees, no sure bets. The sale might be fantastic and super encouraging, or it might be a bust. Guess what? That’s life. So what are you going to do—not make stuff? Not put your art out into the world because it might not be accepted and admired and earn you fame and fortune? Are you gonna remain in the audience forever, never risking the stage? Stay passive and let other people tell you what you should like and do and be?
I choose bravery.
Being courageous—like offering up what I’ve made to the public eye—never gets easy, exactly, but it keeps me feeling fully alive. It’s a muscle that, when exercised regularly, helps me navigate setbacks and push the limits of what I thought I was capable of. That is worth any price tag.
What about you?
I’m curious: Will you look at craft sale vendors and their wares in a new light this season? Consider throwing your proverbial hat into the ring one day soon? Or maybe you’ve done so already, and have a story to share. I’d love to hear from you in the comments below, or via email.
F.Y.I. Here’s my sale schedule this season:
Mindful Shoppers’ Holiday Pop-Up Sale (here at our NE Portland home)
5120 NE 24th Avenue, in the backyard studio and smack in the middle of the Alberta Arts District
Saturday, Nov. 30th noon - 6:00 pm
Sunday, Dec. 1st noon - 6:00 pm
Saturday, Dec. 7th noon - 6:00 pm
I’ll be joined by my jewelry-making friend Jann, Marina with her textile bags and pouches, my sister/brother-in-laws’ honey, and maybe some other surprises!
Cracked Pots Holiday Shop in North Portland
7410 N Chicago Ave
open Thursdays thru Sundays, 12 - 7 pm
December 5th - 22nd
I’m one of 50 artists whose work will be for sale here, where everything is made of salvaged/repurposed materials! Come be inspired to reimagine your cast-offs.
All Hands Art Online Shop
I recently added some new art prints in my shop! There are mini-books there, too, and more items coming soon. Shipping is not free, but I’ve included it in my prices. ;)