Teresa R. Funke's Blog: Bursts of Brilliance for a Creative Life, page 9

Quit Retelling Old Hardship Stories About Artists

I caught a snippet of Marketplace on NPR yesterday. They were interviewing a professional ballet dancer about her current earnings, and she said when she tells people she’s a dancer they ask, ‘What else do you do?’” She explained to the interviewer she’s in rehearsals from 9-6 every day, and performing and dancing is her full-time job.

I’m reading a powerful book called Steering by Starlight by Martha Beck in which she refers to a concept called “story fondling.” It basically means becoming attached to a hardship story we’ve told ourselves for a long time and experiencing some comfort or pleasure from keeping that story alive.

Are we, as a society, guilty of fondling the story that only a select few people get to be true professional artists and the rest are just dabblers or wannabes? Are we hanging on to the story that producing art is fun and therefore not real work? Are we reluctant to give up our belief that the only good story about artists must follow the rags-to-riches plot line?

When a writer, dancer, visual artist, or musician you’ve never heard of tells you that’s their job, do you question it? Do you wonder if they’re “one of those” who just sings in a bar for tips or sits in a coffee shop pecking a few words into a computer? Do you think of them entertaining themselves more than working?

Does your mind register the countless hours visual artists spend driving long distances to replenish their stock in galleries or the grueling daily workouts a dancer puts in? Do you recognize that a writer “hanging out” in a coffee shop is typing and deleting many, many words for many, many hours until she gets it right? When someone tells you they’re in the arts, do you picture someone working?

Probably not, because it’s not a romantic story, is it, to envision professional artists doing what everyone else does: updating our websites, shipping out orders, producing marketing videos to bring in more work. It’s definitely not a compelling story to picture us building our newsletters, doing our bookkeeping, or cleaning up our supplies. It’s slightly more romantic, but also less “worthy,” to imagine how much time we spend in quiet contemplation or playful imagination – the real tools of our trade. It may look like play, but it’s work.

Once an artist becomes famous enough, though, no one doubts they are “professional.”  No one says to Tom Cruise, “What else do you do?” And once you become famous, no one questions how you spend your time. Everyone now accepts that long, leisurely walks in the woods were part of Mary Oliver’s process. That’s because the story society tells itself is that “real artists” (meaning those of whom we’ve heard) can “play” as much as they want as long as they produce good work.

Let’s be honest, though, we artists are also sometimes guilty of fondling those old hardship stories. Maybe we get a bit of pleasure from “straightening people out” by telling them exactly how hard we toil. Or we’re flattered when someone says, “Oh, you do this full-time, you must be very good.” Maybe, just maybe, we even get a little hooked on the pity we get when we tell people how undervalued we are.

We need to stop that. If we want society to treat us as professionals, if we want them to put true value to the work we do, if we want them to give us a seat at the table when they’re discussing wages, insurance, taxes, workplace safety, legal protection, and all the things that affect us and every other worker in America, we need to act like the professionals we are.

Many of our supporters do want to help society move away from the old harmful stories. “But it’s hard to know,” they tell me, “who is professional and who isn’t.”  Is it though? Okay, here’s a primer.

Just like in any other field or industry:

Hobbyists: tend to lead with their other professions or identities first. They say things like, “I’m a stay-at-home dad and I also do some pottery” or “I work at a bank and I sometimes act at the local theater.”

Emerging/Part-time/Learning Artists: tend to lead with their goals. “I’m getting my MFA in writing while working at the bookstore” or “I’m an admin at a graphic arts firm, but I hope to illustrate picture books someday.”

Professional Artists: simply say it. If you ask, “What do you do for a living?” and someone says, “I’m a painter,” that means they’re a painter. Just like if they said, “I’m a plumber, or I’m a financial advisor, or I’m an accountant.”

Now maybe those people also do something else on the side. I know teachers, for example, who work in retail in the summer, but they’re not expected to mention that unless they want to. And if they do mention it, in your mind that makes them no less a teacher. Let’s have it be the same for artists. If we do happen to do something in addition to our art and we want to tell you about it, we will. But, in your mind, that should make us no less a professional artist.

So, let’s all of us – artists and society at large – agree we’re going to stop fondling the old hardship stories. Yes, we professional artists factor in employment numbers, and contribute to local economies, and buy and sell wares. We offer goods and services you need. We improve the quality of your lives. We teach and inspire. Like any other professional, we’ve put in our time and treasure to learn and grow. We should be judged by our skills, we should be hired for our unique abilities, and we should be fairly compensated for our time, talent, training, and skill.

What do we do for a living? We are artists. End of story.

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Hold On to the Arrogance of Youth

When I was a kid, I talked my little brother into going around the neighborhood with me knocking on doors and offering to sing a Christmas carol for a tip. It could be any song the person wanted to hear as long as we knew it, and I think they could tip in any amount. My brother and I were not exactly excellent singers and our repertoire was limited, to say the least. What on earth made me think anyone would want to stand in the doorway with the brisk December wind curling around their toes and listen to us mess up the lyrics to their favorite holiday song?

When I got a bit older, I took a Red Cross babysitting course and thought I knew everything there was to know about watching little kids. I accepted my first official job at age 11. I took it as a matter of pride to figure things out on my own as often as possible before calling my mother. And most of the time, I improvised just fine.

By the time I reached high school, though, like everyone else, I started to hide some of my talents in an effort to blend in. I was still courageous enough to put myself out there a bit, starring in a play or allowing my teachers to read my writing to the class. But even though outwardly I held back, inside I still believed I might one day do great things. “Someday,” I thought, “I will show them all.”

Eventually, for most of us, life steps in. We start working just to pay the bills. We put our kids first. We convince ourselves we’re too tired or important or respectable to be daring.

What if we could hold on to the arrogance of youth? What if we went through our lives believing what they told us in Sunday School; that we are unique and special. What if we never gave up on our dreams, no matter how silly they seem? What if we risked ridicule once in a while, or tried to get better at something we love, or trusted what was in our bank account was enough? What if we stopped believing big things are not worth doing unless they change the world, and just believed they’re worth doing if they change us.

What if we trusted that a few people would not only hold the door open in the cold and listen to our heartfelt singing, but would clap for us when we finished and put a dollar in our jar? What if just putting a smile on their face and ours was enough to make us brave?

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Is Exposure Really a Fair Trade?

While I’m on a roll, I’m just going to keep going. Last week, I implored artists of all kinds to stop compromising themselves in order to serve others. In other words: stop being afraid to justifiably raise your prices out of a false sense of doing good. Now I’d like to take a look at the other side of the equation and speak to planners and organizers about how they can really benefit artists.

In 31 years of working in the fields of writing, publishing, and speaking, I have rarely met anyone who asked me or my friends to do something for free or low-fee who didn’t wholeheartedly believe that by providing us exposure, they were doing us a favor in return. Or should I say, who didn’t want to wholeheartedly believe they were doing us a favor. These were and are good people often working for very good causes.

Most artists and creatives are approached quite often to donate our wares to silent auctions, speak for gratis at public events, mentor new artists, volunteer our time, or teach for free, etc. Nearly always, the people approaching us work within an organization or industry that serves others, and they truly desire to bring something of value to their customers or clients. It’s most definitely a compliment that they think to come to us, and we appreciate that.

Usually, we’re promised that our donations of time, products, or skills will be highlighted in programs, flyers, brochures, social media, signage, etc., and that the exposure we get from those marketing efforts will surely lead to more paid work. Except, it almost never does. We know that, and unless they’re very new to their job, they probably know it, too, if they’re being honest with themselves.

After many artists have done our fair share of free things believing they will somehow pay off, we often do tell the organizers we saw no noticeable return on our time or talent. In other words, we have provided concrete feedback, many times over, that the system is broken. But somehow, most planners convince themselves their event, program, conference, etc., will be different.

While all of this has been true for a long time, it’s never been truer than it is now, post-pandemic. Many organizations have gone back to holding their conferences and events in much the same way they did before COVID. But the crowds are not coming back. And people are not spending their money in the same ways they once did. Also, budgets and priorities have changed at many of the institutions, organizations, or businesses that used to hire us at full fee.

We artists are guilty of continuing to show up to these types of events knowing full well we no longer get the response we once did. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s too hard to let things go. Maybe it feels too daunting to build new systems. Maybe it’s too difficult to say no when for years you said yes. But organizers are guilty, too, of continuing to convince themselves those old arrangements are reciprocal in any real way.

So, what’s the answer? Should we, as artists, refuse to do anything for free or low-fee? Refuse to give our products, skills, and time to those who can’t pay but would benefit from our offerings? Absolutely not! It’s as simple as saying, “I can do two half-fee performances for nonprofits per year” or “I can donate to three silent auctions” or “I can mentor one student per year.” That kind of thinking helps. But it doesn’t change what isn’t working.

And that’s where our partners come in. How can you honor the artists whose work and skills you seek in a meaningful way? How can you think differently? For example: how much have you really made lately on your silent auction baskets? As much as you did five years ago? Because if no one is even checking out those tables, how much exposure are you actually giving to the artists who donated?

What is the attendance lately at your fundraisers? As much as it was five years ago? Because if it’s lower, are you really providing much exposure to the singer who came for free?

What are the attendees at your teachers’ conference really looking for these days? Are the budgets still there for them to actually hire a writer or artist to come into their classrooms? If not, can you still truly promise those artists that paid school visits are a possibility?

And if your fundraising events are seeing increased attendance, can you look now honestly at whether you can afford to pay your artists?

There will be times, of course, when our partners really do need us to come for free or low-fee –maybe they didn’t get the grant they hoped for or they’re brand new and on a strict budget—and maybe we’ve already met our quota for those events or offerings for the year. Then it’s up to us. But if our partners can’t afford to pay us, and we do want to help, could they provide something with more actual value than the perceived value of exposure?  Maybe a board member can donate a night at their ski condo. Or the nonprofit can use a different budget to buy some of our work to display in their office. Maybe the business hosting the all-day event could offer one of its services for free to us as a trade. Those are just a few examples.

And if you can’t afford to pay, please be honest with us and with yourselves about that. None of us, artists or organizers, are going to be motivated to work toward creative new solutions to this old problem if we continue to convince ourselves that in this ever-louder, ever-more-crowded, ever-busier world, a bit of exposure really moves the needle at all.

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Quit Compromising Yourself to Serve Others

I’m sure you’ve noticed the cost of living has gone up lately. Everyone is talking about it. Take a look at your grocery bill, note the rate increases in utilities and services, just try having lunch in a full-service restaurant for less than $20 (with tip). Governments and businesses are responding by raising their workers’ wages or offering more perks, or going the other direction and cutting back.

Even with all the cost-of-living hikes, though, people are still going on vacation, eating out, and paying exorbitant prices to attend highly publicized concerts or sporting events. They grumble, but still pay for increases in the costs of their streaming service or video games.

Yet here we are, as artists, still charging the same prices we did ten or twenty years ago because we’re afraid if we charge more, people won’t buy. We’re afraid of losing fans or being seen as greedy. That’s a fear mentality.

After all, haven’t our expenses gone up as well? Have you looked at the cost of a print run of books compared to five years ago? Or flinched at the higher price tags on art supplies? Have you noticed the rate increases from the consultants we hire (think graphic designers, website builders, marketing experts, etc.)? What about the simple fact that professional artists need to eat too! We, too, are dealing with basic cost-of-living increases.

We’re told if we raise our prices, we’ll exclude the people on a budget who can barely afford our wares as it is. Art, we’ve long been told, is for the masses. Everyone should have access. And I get that! Truly. I even agree with it. Some arts organizations have addressed that issue by offering “free days” or discounted tickets to students or the elderly. Others offer scholarships or lotteries for free tickets. Others form partnerships with schools, city governments, or local businesses to sponsor lower-income families to attend. Nonprofits buy tickets or items (often at a discounted rate) so their clients can enjoy and experience art.

Can’t individual artists do the same? We don’t always have the systems in place to track larger efforts, but what if people were offered an option when buying a ticket to purchase an extra one for someone in need? Or if when they bought a ticket, we asked them to donate to a “tip jar” to cover the costs of someone who can’t afford to come? What if more visual artists were willing to sell their high-cost items in installments? What if authors (the self-published ones, at least, who have that control) raised their prices but offered discounts if you buy two and donate one?

And what if we, as artists, took a deep breath and said to ourselves, “It’s okay, honey. You can raise your rates. Some people may complain, some people may stop buying, some people may make you feel guilty, but your skills and talent have increased in the past ten years and, therefore, your prices should as well.”

I’m as guilty of grumbling as anyone else when prices go up for the art I consume. But if I really want that book, that concert ticket, or that watercolor, I pay for it. When I was young and really broke, every single investment was weighed against something else. If a friend wanted to get a drink, I arrived early to take advantage of the happy hour prices. If there was a movie I wanted to see, I waited for it to come to the dollar theater. If a food staple was on sale, I bought extra and ate it all week so I could afford to go dancing on Friday night. If there was a pair of earrings I wanted at a local shop, I told a family member so they could buy them as my birthday present.

Most of us have stories of times in our lives when we clipped every coupon, cut every corner, and searched the couch cushions for coins. Some of our fans are still in that situation now. But are we really honoring them by keeping ourselves in starvation mode? Are we really going to give them our best work if we can’t afford to do so? Authors, like me, know and accept that plenty of people will find a way to read our books without paying for them: they check them out of the library, borrow them from a friend, or even download them from some pirated site. But the people who love owning books do buy them. The ones who collect books, or who like signed copies, or who want to support a favorite author still put down their hard-earned cash. So do the ones who typically access our work for free, when it’s a book they really want or need. It’s the buyers who make our work possible.

It’s time to have faith, artist friends, that if we charge what we’re worth, if we ask for more, if we expect it, we will be able to do far more good in this world than we can if we come from a constant state of scarcity. It’s time to trust that when a few more people pay your higher price, you might find you have the flexibility and cushion to just give a piece of art away, if that feels right, to someone who loves it but can’t afford it.

In that way, we all play a part in the distribution of art and the magic that comes with it, and that includes our buyers. They are part of the cycle. They are part of the generosity that ties us humans together through art.

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There is No “Just” in Art

When I was very young, there was a song that played often on the radio called “The Most Beautiful Girl” by Charlie Rich. The narrator had lost the love of his life through his own bad behavior and asked the listener to keep an eye out for her. If we saw her, we were to tell her he was sorry, that he needed her, and that he loved her. That song would come on, and I’d pummel my mother with questions: “What did he say to drive her away? Where did she go? Could that pretty lady over there be the one he’s looking for? Should we tell her?”  My poor mom would say, “Don’t point at people, Teresa. Stop worrying. It’s just a song.”

In my room, my mother had hung prints of the Northern Tissue Girls, close-ups of cherubic darlings in sweet poses and soft lighting. I’d talk to those girls before I went to sleep. I’d named each of them, of course. I’d tell some or all of them my secrets, and they would share theirs. “They’re not alive. They’re just pictures,” my cousin would insist.

I watched a lot of TV with my dad. I’m sure he wished there was a way to pause shows back then, because my questions and outbursts ruined many a scene. When Charlotte died in Charlotte’s Web, I was inconsolable. “It’s okay, Teresa,” my dad would say. “It’s not real. It’s just a movie.”

He was wrong, of course. They all were. There is no “just” when it comes to art, because art is never just the picture on the page or the words in a story, art is us and how we feel, think, and react to what we are seeing, hearing, and experiencing.

Art comes from us and is there for us. It transports and transforms us. We can get lost in it, but also find ourselves there. It can feel familiar and foreign at once. The same work can make us laugh one year and cry the next. Art teaches us how to love, how to dare, how to overcome, what to fear, and how to grieve. Mostly, though, like the examples I mentioned earlier, art teaches us how to long for something, either for ourselves or for others. And that longing ties us to the past and takes us into the future. Art is magic because it is real in the way that only fantasy can be.

It comes to life in us. Any child knows that.

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Why I Don’t Set New Year’s Goals or Resolutions

This year, I forgot to experience my usual New Year’s Eve melancholy that has been with me since I was a teen. For as many years as I can comfortably remember, New Year’s Eve was an occasion for parties and firecrackers and midnight kisses, but also a call to worry about the passage of time, to wonder where my life was going, to revisit the year’s successes and failures, and to plan for and worry about the future.

The last thing a person like me needed at a vulnerable time like that was the pressure to set New Year’s Resolutions or goals. But often I did. Not surprisingly, many of them were punitive or based on “shoulds.” Some were linked to the expectations of others; some were linked to judgments about myself. Some were high-reaching, which seemed hopeful and positive but often just set me up for failure, especially since many of those goals were actually outside of my control. They were wants and wishes, not goals.

Over time, I not only stopped setting resolutions, I rebelled against the concept as too linear, too suffocating, too tied to our national meritocracy, etc. But then when New Year’s Eve would roll around, I’d feel like I hadn’t “done” enough. I had no new achievement number to brag about or checked-off list to display or other device to prove I had moved forward. (Who exactly was I trying to prove myself to, anyway?)

I assume one reason I forgot to experience my habitual melancholy this year was because we were back in Idaho visiting family, and I was preoccupied. Also, thanks to health and personal issues, all of 2022 was a time of reflection, so I had “already done that.”  It also had to do with my husband and I moving in new directions for which we feel excitement.

But I think what also helped was a conversation I’d had with a friend in which I listed all the projects I wanted to start or advance in 2023. Six major ones, and a few minor ones. This is where the linear thinkers step in and say, “That’s too many. Narrow your list down and start breaking each goal into pieces so you can map out your progress.” This is where my non-linear brain says, “Wow, six things that are filling me with energy, passion, and excitement. Lucky me!”

Let’s say I manage to get all six of those undertakings off the ground this year, it stands to reason some will progress further and faster than others. And knowing what I do about creative flow, I’m sure there will be months when one project consumes most of my time, attention, and creativity, and months when it falls to the side. I can also guarantee there will be days when I dabble in all six projects at once (even if it’s only a stray idea or e-mail here or there).

With six projects on my plate, I’m sure some will come into fruition much sooner than I currently expect (they may not even be fully formed when they launch). And others may not get done at all. And none of that concerns me.

Because whether it’s my career or my hobbies or the friendships I want to cultivate or nourish, I know I will make progress because these are things I want to do! They are ideas that give me energy and people who challenge and delight me. Mine is not a list of objectives for the year, it’s a list of pleasures to be explored.

It’s true there is the bottom line. There are upcoming bills to tackle and household chores and repairs that will need addressing and family obligations to fulfill.  There’s my health to maintain and rest that is needed. There will be the occasional to-do list and long hours because several things are due at once. There will sometimes be deadlines and hard numbers I need to stick to. But I don’t have to try to guess at them all now. I definitely don’t need to put them in writing just because it happens to be January. They will make themselves obvious if I just give myself permission to move forward.

So, I guess I do have a resolution this year . . . I resolve to follow my energy, to race when my energy rises and rest when it falls. To adapt as the ideas form and solidify. To make lists in order to help me focus rather than to drive a false sense of productivity. And most of all to trust that as long as we’re following our passion, we’re always moving forward inwardly and outwardly whether it’s fully visible to us or the outside world at all.

If the universal goal for all humans is to grow old and wise, then every one of our successes and failures brings us closer to that ultimate goal. And there’s no list or app or resolution that will not organically change over the course of a year as we change, if we allow ourselves to.

So, here’s to another year of making and breaking resolutions (if you make them at all).

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Ease Up to Grow More

Happy 2023!  As I’m returning from a break to visit extended family, I’m going to let my good friend, Franklin Taggart, lead us into the new year. Franklin and I had many wonderful conversations last year as he helped me work my way through health and personal issues, and the odd and empowering experience that was my yearlong sabbatical. One thing I definitely discovered was the power of letting go, easing up, and taking the pressure off. I stopped worrying the ideas and ambition that had driven my career for 30 years would never return, and decided to be okay if they didn’t.

Lo and behold, they have, and I’m filled with excitement about 2023. But I’m also much more appreciative of the person I am whether I’m producing or not.

Here, I’ll let Franklin explain it on his podcast Your Own Best Company. He does it so well. Read or listen to this very short edition called “Maybe Less Pressure Will Help.”

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How 3.5 Book Clubs Helped Me Grow This Year

For most of my life, I avoided invitations to join book clubs. I had way too many books on my “to read” list already. Not to mention all the reading I was doing as research for my work. Then along came the pandemic, and I accidentally found myself in 3.5 book clubs.

The first started not long after George Floyd’s murder in 2020. One of the founders of our Random Acts of Kindness group suggested we all read the book How to Be an Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi and discuss it. At the time, we were meeting every other month, so we chose to discuss the book on the off-month and discovered we really enjoyed reading together. We decided to keep the book club going. Every other month, the host chooses three books (mostly novels, but sometimes nonfiction) and the rest of us vote in order to arrive at our top choice.

Of the 15 or so books we’ve read, only two were on my personal to-read list. A couple, though, were by authors I’d always meant to try or on topics I’ve been wanting to learn more about. We’ve read some really good books, a few so-so selections, and one clunker.

The other book club has a similar pandemic origin story. Three of my writer friends and I had been getting together every other month to talk shop and just gab. At some point, I recommended a book and suggested we read it together. It was supposed to be a one-time thing. Instead, we started reading a new book every two months or so. Most were about creativity, personal growth, or business (think The Soul-Sourced Entrepreneur by Christine Kane).

The third is a book club of two. A friend recommended a book called It’s Not Your Money by Tosha Silver. I read it and loved it, but I hadn’t read it “properly.” The author suggests diving into one chapter per week and acting on what you’ve read. My friend and I decided to do that in January of this past year, and that experience led to some pretty nice ah-ha moments for both of us. Those realizations, though, came not just from reading, but also from discussing our personal experiences as we acted on the author’s advice.

I’m sure you’re wondering about the .5 in the 3.5 book clubs. That is our local “one book, one city” program, which I’ve followed and supported for nearly all of the 20 years they’ve been in existence. The first citywide read began in Seattle, and now hundreds of towns, including mine, have adopted the idea. Our local committee chooses a book and author for the event and announces the choice months in advance. Individuals and book clubs throughout the city read the selection and show up on a designated day to hear the author speak. In its heyday, our committee brought in some bigwig writers, including James McBride, Rudolfo A. Anaya, Ann Patchett, Erik Larson, Colum McCann, and Geraldine Brooks. They had Alice Hoffman lined up for 2020, and then COVID derailed their plans. Rather than cancelling, they switched to a virtual presentation. Though not as exciting as sitting in a room with 1,000 other book lovers, the online event afforded me a unique benefit; my mother and I always read the year’s selection together, but she lives out of state. This time, we could “attend” the event together.

So why am I bringing all this up? Well, it’s the end of the year, and I’m taking stock. I did reach my goal of reading 30 books this year (31 actually). Only half of those were on my personal to-read list. The rest came about because of these book clubs.

What I discovered was that one of my favorite solitary pastimes was also stimulating to experience with others. The pandemic gave people like me more alone time than we cared for, which is probably why I finally succumbed to those invitations. I needed to feel like I was part of something. I needed a sense of community. I knew I was giving up a bit of control over what I chose to read, but nothing else in that crazy time felt within my control, so why not lean into that in a positive way.

I’ve talked a lot in this blog about how art so often held me together during the pandemic, whether that was watching the Broadway production of Hamilton in my living room with my theater-loving daughter, or sitting socially distanced at a parking lot music concert, or enjoying an outdoor sidewalk art festival filled with images of hope, or bundling up in warm coats and blankets to sit outside and discuss a really good book, art kept me going.

This year brought additional challenges my way besides a global health crisis, and it was art that got me through that, too. Well, that and the kind of self-discovery that comes from having deep, honest, vulnerable conversations with friends and family. So, thank you to all the writers, artists, performers, musicians, and more who gave us an opportunity or excuse to gather and fill each other up. And kudos to me for be willing to let go of a bit of control in order to grow. Here’s to more art, adventure, awareness, ah-has, and awe in the coming year.

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Happiest of Holidays

There are at least 11 major holidays celebrated in December around the world (and several more).

As someone who loves to travel and learn about other cultures, I want to wish everyone peace and happiness this holiday season as you celebrate with your friends and loved ones.

As we move into a new year, may you heal from this past year’s hurts, move toward exciting new adventures, grow in knowledge, give of yourself, receive from others, and find peace and presence and trust in all things. And may your unique creativity lead the way!

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What You Really Deserve This Holiday Season

Several years ago, a friend was staying at my house. She decided to give her little boy a bath but I hadn’t set out enough towels, so she reached into the linen closet and grabbed one. Later, I noticed she had chosen an old ratty towel with holes in it that I keep off to the side.

“Oh no!” I said. “You didn’t need to pick that one. We use it for cleaning.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t want to use one of your nice ones,” she replied.

Why on earth not! For the record, the other towels in the closet were just your basic bath towels. And they were there for guests. They were there for her.

This story reminds me of how some of us artists and entrepreneurs often deny ourselves something we could really use, something we deserve, for all the wrong reasons.

For example:

—  Have you ever gotten by with old tools because you believe you can’t buy what you really want until you “prove” you can make it as an artist?

—  Have you ever tried to figure something out alone rather than paying for advice because you think trying and failing on your own is part of paying your dues?

—  Have you ever turned down an offer for free equipment because you didn’t want to be beholden to anyone?

—  Have you ever reached for the crappiest paintbrush on the table because you thought it was “kind” to leave the good stuff for everyone else?

—  Have you ever refused to apply for a grant because you’ve convinced yourself someone else deserved it more?

—  Are you choosing not to get a studio because you don’t want people thinking if you can afford rent, you’ve “made it,” when you haven’t?

—  Have you ever lowered your price for someone you know because you’re too embarrassed to ask for what you’re worth?

If any of these scenarios sound familiar, then do me a favor this holiday season . . . go out and buy something for yourself you know will raise your artistic spirits. Something that will help your work improve, or increase your knowledge, or enable you to spend more time on your art, or provide you inspiration to get where you want to go. You’ve been shopping for everyone else, and donating to charities, and making cookies and gifts for others. Now please do something for your artist self (whatever “art” means to you).

And this time, don’t reach for the ratty old towel to “be nice.” Believe that the better towels were put there for you, because they absolutely were. That’s why they were purchased. That’s why they’re stacked nicely just waiting to be used. Please believe that those of us who put those tools and people and experiences in your path did so because we want you to be your best and to do your best. And helping you brings out the best in us, too!

Happy shopping!

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