One of the things galleries often tell artists is: follow your creative instincts.
And I believe that. Deeply.
We never want an artist making paintings simply because they think it’s what we want. Part of our job as a gallery is to give artists enough room to chase an idea, take a risk, make something strange, change direction, or occasionally create something that leaves all of us scratching our heads for a minute.
But here’s the other side of that relationship:
It’s also completely okay to ask your gallery what they think.
In fact, I wish more artists knew that.
We’ve represented many of our artists for years—some for decades—and those relationships involve a tremendous amount of texting, emailing, phone calls, photos of half-finished paintings, excitement, second guessing, confidence, panic, and all the wonderful neurosis that comes with making art for a living.
I think the questions I get most often are:
What should I price this one at?
How big do you want the piece to be?
And perhaps my favorite:
Is this a terrible idea?
These are good questions.
Asking them doesn't somehow make an artist less independent or less creative. You can ask for someone’s opinion without surrendering your own. Ideally, a gallery knows your work, knows your collectors, understands your career, and has enough history with you to offer useful perspective.
And sometimes there are things your gallery is thinking that they simply haven’t said out loud.
I’m sure there are gallery owners all over the world quietly thinking, I wish they would make me one of those again, or I could really use a big painting, or Collectors keep asking me about that series.
Meanwhile, the artist is in the studio trying to read tea leaves.
Ask.
If you don’t currently have a line of communication with your gallery that feels authentic, try to cultivate one. It doesn't need to mean calling every Tuesday to ask what you should paint. It simply means creating a relationship where both sides feel comfortable sharing information.
Because the answer also isn't always about what would sell best.
When I give feedback to an artist, I try to consider the circumstances of that particular artist at that particular moment.
If I know shipping a giant painting across the country is going to be a financial strain, I might say, “Give me some medium-sized works right now.”
If I know someone is caring for a loved one or going through a difficult season, the conversation might be completely different. Maybe they need permission to take a break. Or maybe painting is the thing keeping them grounded—and they need to keep selling work because life has suddenly gotten expensive.
Those things matter.
Artists aren't little art-producing factories, and galleries shouldn't treat them that way.
The best gallery relationships, at least in my experience, become partnerships. The artist knows things the gallery doesn't know. The gallery knows things the artist doesn't know. The artist knows what is happening inside the studio; the gallery knows what is happening on the walls, in conversations with collectors, and in the marketplace.
When those two sides actually talk to one another, everyone has better information.
Of course, sometimes an artist sends me an idea and asks, “Is this terrible?” and I say, “No, I think you should absolutely make it.”
Sometimes I might say, “I don't know about this one.”
And occasionally I think the healthiest answer is: “I have absolutely no idea, but you seem excited about it, so go find out.”
Because ultimately, the artist still has to be the artist.
A good gallery isn't there to steer every brushstroke. We're there to advocate, advise, encourage, challenge when appropriate, and hopefully build enough trust that nobody feels like they have to guess what the other person is thinking.
So ask us what size we need.
Ask us what we think about the price.
Send us the weird sketch.
Ask us if the idea is terrible.
Just don't be surprised if we tell you to make it anyway.
