Debra Keirce

I am a contributing author for Fine Art Studios Online, a blog hosted here on the FASO.com platform. I highly recommend this blog, focused on providing quality art marketing and sales information for artists. Click HERE and also HERE to see other articles I have previously. I've been writing them since October 2022. Scroll down to see the latest articles.

 

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October 2026

 

 

Be Worth Your Salt to Customers

 

All of us have to earn our successes. Okay, some get lucky and we are all legally required to be jealous of them. But for the majority of us, accolades don’t just rain down upon us. We have to put in the work. It’s mentally and physically exhausting work, too. It’s a lot harder to be an artist than people realize. I am a painter, and every time I haul work to and from a show, I thank the gods I am not schlepping ceramics or heavy bronzes. After a long day at the easel, my strained eyes grow more cataracts, my back requires ibuprofen and my hands reach for the arthritis cream if I’ve been drawing.

 

So, after all the effort, it’s natural to expect an immediate reward. Unfortunately, that’s not the norm for me. I’ve come to realize that the only way to get ahead in the art world is to think long-term. I play the long game like Amazon. They are not making money on next day delivery. Usually, I don’t even need next day delivery. But I keep buying from them, because I really do enjoy the convenience of their next day delivery.

 

Customer service for collectors AND students is everything. I treat each transaction like it’s my first and my last. I imagine 30 years from now. What would I wish I had done today? Then, I do it. I’ve shared before that I focus on experiences rather than just sales. Because of this, other artists often look at my business practices and tell me they could never do what I do. For instance, there have been times when I’ve taken on a commission, shared my pricing, and told the client they can pay whenever their finances allow, even if it takes months or years. I only do this when I’ve built a genuine relationship of trust with someone facing a tough economic patch. And you know what? Not a single person has ever stiffed me.

 

My point is, excellent customer service has to be tailored to not just the buyer, but also you, the seller. If you do not have the flexibility to offer payment plans or layaway options, then don’t. Find another creative way to make the transaction special and convenient for you both.

 

We all love to say if you build it they will come. Paint and create what you love, not what you think will sell. You’ll attract the audience curated just for you. But if we don’t step up and cater to the needs of that audience, they won’t be around for long. You can be the best artist ever, but if people remember anything annoying about their purchase from you, they are not likely to come back again. Worse yet, they won’t tell their friends about how wonderful you were to work with.

 

All else being equal, I truly believe customer service has to be THE number one thing that separates the top selling artists from the starving ones.

 

As always, please drop your thoughts in the comments, but here are a few practices I’ve developed over the years that earned me glowing testimonials. These apply whether you are selling original art, running a workshop, booking a commission, or interacting with anyone you want to be speaking highly of you (the best advertising out there).

 

1. Communication

It’s so important to explain your process at the start. Provide work in progress updates for commissions. Give buyers estimates for shipping dates. Be upfront with extra costs like framing, taxes and shipping expenses. Thank them for choosing you. Also, answer messages and emails within 24 hours.

 

2. Invoicing

Make payment expectations crystal clear from day one. Provide an invoice for their records, featuring your business name and contact information, as well as available payment methods. This can serve for any insurance issues they encounter, as well as a certificate of authenticity if anyone ever needs to show provenance.

 

3. Packaging

Wrap art securely, so it looks professional. I like to make it look and feel like a gift. I often use melting wax and a metal stamp of my signature to seal the package, and I always add a handwritten thank you note. I usually include an image of a recent painting, and a few coasters with my website printed on them. Everyone can always use another coaster or two.

 

When shipping, pack the art so nothing shifts an inch inside the box. Always confirm the shipping address, ask if a signature-required delivery works for them, use brand-new professional boxes, and send tracking details the second it leaves your hands.

 

4. Satisfaction guarantee

Decide what your business can comfortably promise. I offer a 100% money back guarantee. For this reason, I rarely ask for an initial deposit. I would refund it if they were unhappy. In fact, I rarely accept payment until they see the art in person and confirm they love it.

 

5. Fixing Issues

Fortunately, I haven’t had many issues in these several decades of selling my art. But when things go sideways, I fix them as fast as I can. If a painting is lost in transit, I repaint it. If a frame is not what the client expected, I replace it. Even in instances involving exceptionally demanding or difficult personalities, where it ultimately turned out the mistake was entirely on their end, I kept my tone relentlessly kind and patient, going to great lengths to make them feel special.

 

6. Be Creative

I am always trying to find ways to make transactions more memorable and pleasant. If the buyer is local, I will offer to personally deliver the art. If they can’t be home to sign for the package, I can offer to ship to a post office or FedEx office. If I know a client settled for a smaller size strictly due to budget, occasionally I will surprise them by upgrading to a slightly larger work, or offer a clever discount on an unframed piece. These little touches are what turn a casual buyer into a lifelong collector.

 

7. Include the Story

If I have them, I include a letter detailing the exact inspiration behind the piece, early thumbnail sketches, and photos of the artwork in progress. People love to get a peek behind the scenes on their purchases. 

 

Having said this, I have learned to avoid offering work in progress photos while creating. This has ended in disaster every single time. People will provide input if you do this, and I never end up with as good an artwork when I shift gears mid stride.

 

8. I always include my website link in communications, and customers can choose if they want to sign up for my newsletter or new art alerts. I mention these once in passing during our transactions, but I am careful not to hard sell them.

 

What are your go-to customer service strategies? Let's chat in the comments.

 

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September 2026

 

 

Who Influences You?

 

One of the things I hear myself saying often, is “Be careful who you take advice from.” Many times when I wasted my resources, it was because I didn’t fully vet the source of counsel I was following. Don’t get me wrong. I still learned from those regrets. I just wouldn’t repeat them if I had a redo.

My FASO Way article from last month got a score of 57% on the AI checker software Clint uses to make sure everything on his site is original. Imagine my surprise!

My first thought was - Did I use google AI like I sometimes do, to pick a title for that one? I checked. Nope. It’s the same title I started with in the draft on my phone’s Notes app, before I ever pasted words into Pages on my desktop. Did I use AI to rephrase any parts of it? Not to my recollection. Sure, I've leaned on google searches occasionally when my brain refuses to supply a synonym, and I'm repeating the same word for the fifth time. But if I did that last month, I don’t remember. I'm sure I never asked an AI app to write my article. Why then, did I rate a 57%?

 

There are only two rational explanations. Either I am becoming so deeply influenced by whatever I am reading that I am starting to write like a bot. OR, AI is stealing from ME!!! Who’s assimilating who? I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but the latter seems more comforting to me. I mean, who wants to admit that robot brains are getting so good they are quietly hijacking our internal monologues?

I don’t know what the AI checkers scan for, and I have no idea whether I am suddenly getting better at grammar and punctuation, or sounding less human because I am becoming more nerdy every day. Whatever it is, I am now wondering if I care.

Can we even escape outside influences? Should we try?

Recently, I realized that while I paint a lot from imagination, I definitely have been composing lots more pieces with peeling paint and wallpaper. I am sure it’s because I love the art I am seeing online where things are bursting out of walls and canvases. Those compositions are popping up everywhere, from different artists. I’m guessing they are AI inspired, but I like them.

 

So, if those trends inspire me and I start painting them too, is that a terrible crime? I'm not using AI directly to generate my work, but I am certainly absorbing it on a subconscious level and letting it alter my behavior.

In the past when I have talked about being careful who you take advice from, I meant direct human relationships. But now, I’m wondering how careful we should be about the suggestions that seep into our brains in sneakier ways too.

I live an hour from Washington D.C. so it’s practically impossible for me to remain completely oblivious to politics. Yet, I have a shield up to protect myself from the sheer toxicity of engaging with any of it, because I know it depletes my artistic soul. As more and more of our creative outputs get judged, measured, and run through algorithmic filters, should we all be putting shields up on what we create? Whether it’s writing or drawing or painting, I go back and forth on believing AI and other outside forces to be a net positive or negative. Certainly, I think that the healthy recipes and aerobic exercises that keep popping up in my social media curated feeds and ads are helpful. I go down those rabbit holes regularly.

But what about all the art shows I enter? Will they start rejecting my peeling paint pieces because they bear a passing resemblance to many digital compositions? I have been posting work in progress reels SPECIFICALLY so I have receipts to prove I built every single bit from a blank panel if anyone ever challenges me. Other than that, I’m not even sure how to prove a negative. How do you show you didn't use AI or swipe someone else’s concept? How can I police what happens when I scroll past a thumbnail, file it away in my subconscious, and accidentally regurgitate it in my own style 6 months later? I can’t.

In some ways, it’s a minefield we are living in right now, isn’t it?

For my part, I am choosing to just keep doing what I have always done. I will continue creating from the heart. If a detector slaps a score of 57%, on my work, so be it. Anyone who’s met me walks away knowing there is only one of me. Whatever I absorb from outside, I have to trust that my shields are working, and it’s the good stuff that gets through them!

Have you encountered any situations where you have been compared to an algorithm, or even another artists’ work? If so, how certain were you that there wasn’t somehow a little bit of unavoidable subconscious assimilation going on?

P.S. Unless the person in charge of this video game we call life is messing with me, I better score a zero on this month’s AI check Clint. I made sure Google and all the other tabs were closed while writing it!

 

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August 2026

 

 

Help!

Artists need to stop self-sabotaging. We shouldn’t be afraid to ask for help, and we need to stop treating modern tools like moral hazards.

In today’s creative zeitgeist, we are bombarded with an exhausting amount of artistic dogma. We are told there is a "right" way to create, approved venues to exhibit in, and that using certain tools is somehow "cheating." And naturally, there is always a new panic on the horizon. Consider AI right now, which plenty of people are convinced is about to derail the entire art world.

 

I’m not here to champion every controversial tool under the sun. I just think we occasionally forget to apply common sense to these discussions. Personally, I paint and draw in a deeply traditional way, yet I rely on photography and modern paints and sealants. The truth is, we should all have the freedom to look at everything in the toolbox, decide what is genuinely useful to us as individuals, and create without the dead weight of moral judgment.

 

Way back in the day, sharing your process was considered professional suicide. Old-school artists guarded their techniques like state secrets. We’ll never know the exact alchemy behind some of their effects, but let’s be honest. They weren't working in a vacuum. They were using every hack they could get their hands on:

 

Vermeer’s Camera Obscura: The 17th-century version of a projector.

Workshop Apprentices: The original multi-tasking assistants.

Indentured Servants: Let’s just say labor laws have improved considerably since then.

Questionable Pigments: I’m looking straight at you, Mummy Brown.

Grids, Plumb-lines, and Nails: The analog ancestor of the perspective tool on your photo editing software.

Graphite Offsets: A brilliant little hack made by pressing damp paper over a raw graphite drawing, to make prints.

Photography: Long before our digital age, daguerreotypes replaced some portrait paintings and assisted artists in executing others.

If a master artist from 1650 walked into your studio today, they wouldn't be offended by a projector or an AI app. They’d just be annoyed that they didn't have one.

 

However, pearls were made to be clutched. Think of the things today’s artists love to panic over:

 

AI Apps: The new digital frontier. Could you use one to brainstorm compelling titles or punchy descriptions for your art without breaking any ethical codes? Absolutely.

Assistants: The modern evolution of the workshop apprentice. Would it change your life to hire an intern to handle your social media campaigns so you can actually stay in the studio?

"Vanity" and Co-op Galleries: The alternative to high-end gallery gatekeepers. Can we reframe these not as desperate measures, but as joining a team of ambitious peers to make things happen?

Social Media Alliances: Digital barn-raisings. Why not coordinate with peers to lift each other up and achieve some marketing goals?

Photo References: Because squinting at a subject for fifty-six hours is hard on both the artist and the model. I am personally so tired of the old trope that painting from photos is somehow inferior to painting from life. It’s a choice, not a moral failing.

Paid Ads and Features: Everything is monetized today, which means marketing always comes with a spin. Some complain about the cost of being seen, but if paid reach fits your budget and actually connects you with your target audience, it’s just a smart business expense.

 

Instead of digging our heels in and resisting change, what if we used our natural creativity to integrate these tools in ways that actually enhance our art journeys?

 

And while we’re at it, can we finally put the myth of the Lone Wolf artist to rest? Why are we so allergic to asking each other for help?

We are living in a golden age of information. You’d be hard-pressed to find a single proprietary art technique left. Yet, many of us still act like we’re guarding the location of the Holy Grail.

 

Why not change the script?

 

Form an alliance with a peer to curate your own indie show.

Swap honest intel on which art societies and show experiences actually worked for you.

Admit that you don’t know how to edit a reel and ask a younger (or just more caffeinated) friend for a tutorial.

 

So often, it seems we are quicker to give up, or play the victim, than to explore the simple assistance right in front of us. If there’s one area where you need to be tenacious, it’s this. The artists who never give up on finding what moves them forward are the ones who find the success they’re looking for.

 

My parents’ generation often viewed asking for help as a sign of deep-seated weakness. But as I’ve aged, I’ve realized the opposite is true. The further you go, the more help you need. It’s simple survival. You observe what works for your peers, you steal their best ideas legally, you avoid their lethal mistakes, and you keep your brushes moving.

 

Collaboration has been the secret sauce of my own career. Organizing traveling shows, appearing on podcast interviews, saying yes to helping others, actually asking for help in return… This behavior has enriched me far more than any solo endeavor ever could.

It turns out art isn't just about what you produce. It’s often about the people and resources you meet while you're producing it.

 

I want to hear from you in the comments: What is one "controversial" tool you use and love, or one time you reached out for help and it actually saved your sanity? Tell us your stories. It makes the whole community better.

 

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July 2026

 

 

Step Back, Focus Your Lens, and Claim Your Niche

 

What do you do that makes you a little different from all the other artists?

 

In my own quest to focus my art career and use my limited resources efficiently, I decided to do something a little counterintuitive. I went smaller when the world started feeling bigger.

 

Instead of trying to be everything to everyone, I zeroed in on the sharpest aspects of my skill set. I create oil paintings and charcoal drawings, I work in tightly rendered realism, and here is the kicker. I specialize in miniature and small works.

 

Now, maybe miniatures aren't your thing. Perhaps your focus is western art, abstracts, portraiture, scapes. Maybe you’re the undisputed king or queen of a very particular medium. At a photo shoot once, I spent several days with Robert Hagan, a fun and amazing artist who paints larger than life multi figure pieces. He spent much of the time talking about all the virtues of painting large works. Whatever your passion is, there is a proven marketing fact we all have to face. The fewer specialties you promote, the easier it is to build a brand people actually remember.

 

We all have areas of expertise that pull us in. For me, it’s a deeply rooted, borderline obsessive love for miniature fine art. And before you think this is just a modern gimmick, it actually has a rich, beautiful history. We’re talking about the medieval scribes who pulled all-nighters illuminating manuscripts by candlelight during the Dark Ages, and the European masters who rendered intricate, pocket-sized portraits.

 

Today’s miniatures are a bit more modern, spanning almost any 2D or 3D medium. If you want to play in this sandbox, the general rules of thumb are:

 

Paintings & Drawings: 25 square inches or less.

Sculptures: 8 inches or less in any direction.

Subject Matter: 1/6 life-size or smaller.

 

Outside of those boundaries, the sky is the limit. Both representational and abstract art are welcome, and the community is fiercely international.

 

If you've never considered going small, let me shamelessly attempt to convert you. Here is why I put so much love, energy and resources into painting in little:

 

Incredible Sell-Through Rates: Generally, at least 1 in 3 pieces sell in any given show. In the art world, those are beautiful odds. My larger works are in up to 10 show venues before they sell, in most cases.

Low Overhead: You can ship an entire exhibition’s worth of inventory in a single box. Framing, shipping, and supply costs are delightfully minimal.

Space-Saving: The studio space required to create them is wonderfully tiny. You don't need a warehouse. A well lit table from Costco will do.

An Amazing Community: Miniature artists are a tight-knit, incredibly supportive group. You see the same friendly faces at exhibitions, making it easy to develop deep, lifelong friendships.

The Ultimate Skill Builder: In my experience, wrestling with edge control and precision on a two-inch surface drastically improves the brushwork and technique I use on larger scale works. It’s precision training for your eyes and hands.

 

I spend so much of my life in this magical corner of the art world that I am overtly trying to recruit you into it. But even if minis aren't your jam, use this as a metaphor.

 

How can you highlight a specific area of your own art experience? Once you identify that thing that is unique in your practice, start brainstorming how to market it. Often, the best ideas have been staring us right in the face. We just didn't notice them until we looked through a highly focused lens.

 

For example, have you noticed the "Free Little Art Galleries" popping up all over the country? They look like the tiny libraries people put on stilts in their front yards, but they’re packed with palm sized art. The rule is simple. Take a piece, leave a piece. What a brilliant, low stakes way to advertise, clear out those little alla prima studies you consider giveaways, and get your name and art into the world. I follow several of these on Instagram, and the creativity is infectious.

 

You just never know where brainstorming a specific genre might lead you.

 

With that said, if I have managed to spark your curiosity about the miniature fine art world, I highly recommend these three fantastic international exhibitions:

 

1. The Miniature Art Society of Florida (MASF) International Exhibition

This is the largest miniature exhibition in the world. I had the absolute honor of judging the show in 2025, and we saw over 600 stunning entries competing for 64 awards. Visit their website to see the sheer caliber of work and check out what sold or won.

 

The Logistics: Keep an eye out for the entries to open in August, with a late September deadline for receiving shipped work. You can enter up to 6 works from anywhere in the world. The prospectus is online now.

 

Website: miniatureartsocietyofflorida.com

 

Bonus: Follow them on Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook for announcements. I happen to run their social media, so come say hi!

 

2. The DC Miniatures (MPSGS) International Exhibition

Located in southern Maryland, this is the oldest international miniature exhibition in America, and it is a truly prestigious, beautifully run show. You can enter up to 3 pieces each year. Their website is a goldmine of inspiration where you can see exactly which works took home prizes or red dots last year. The entry form and prospectus are available right now, with an early September deadline for shipped work.

 

Website: mpsgs.org

 

3. Seaside Art Gallery International Miniature Show

Since I am unapologetically plugging the wonderful shows I am closely affiliated with, I have to mention this gem held every May in the Outer Banks. Full disclosure - I served as the judge here a few years back! This show is unique because it is judged, but not juried. This means every single piece that meets the prospectus criteria will actually hang on the gallery wall. It’s a welcoming, incredible opportunity to get your work into a physical gallery. There are 17 awards up for grabs, and the deadline for shipped work hits in mid-April.

 

Website: seasideart.com

 

Whether you want to try your hand at the miniature art, or you are busy carving out a completely different niche for yourself, I want to hear about it. What is the specific space you are claiming as your own? Let’s talk about it in the comments below and inspire each other!

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June 2026

 

 

Creative Detours - Is Getting Lost EVER the Goal?

 

Do you ever look at your business plan and wonder how far you’ve drifted from your original intentions? Are you still on track with the goals you set for your art career?

 

I do this check-in regularly, and I’m often surprised by how much I’ve wandered. 

 

Last year, while working on a fine art curriculum remotely, I spent three months (30 hours a week) on a series of sphere drawings. At the end of the exercise, my instructors noted that the spheres were far too dark. I had to redo the assignment.

 

What happened? The fall daylight savings time change happened. I continued drawing at the same time each day, but it was now darker outside for those sessions. The instruction called for three-quarters of the sphere brightly lit, yet I was faithfully drawing what I saw in front of me. The setup looked the same, but ambient light was different and I simply forgot to adjust. 

 

The same thing happens in our art businesses. Our core goals and intentions stay constant, but circumstances shift. We get absorbed in daily tasks, client work, or new ideas, and suddenly we’re executing something quite different from the plan.

 

The lesson for me is to regularly circle back to the goals and reassess.

 

But here’s the surprising part. Some of the richest growth I’ve had comes precisely when I have strayed.

 

Several years ago, I started a new Trompe L’Oeil series inspired by an exhibition of early 20th-century postcards, Valentines, and ephemera at a Tampa museum. Storytelling has always been central to my work, and this format let me combine narrative with the hyper-realistic illusion I love.

 

Over time, I realized the complex stories I was telling weren’t resonating with viewers the way I’d hoped. The narratives were too layered to land quickly. 

 

I found myself surrounded by fellow artists - many of whom are thriving wonderfully outside social norms themselves - and I still felt like the odd one out. Why weren’t people relating to me? Was I displaying complete nerdom or genius? I was pretty sure it wasn’t genius.

 

After months of reflection, I asked myself  - 

 

What if where I am going, I don’t need rules? 

 

What if I stopped being a slave to my reference material? What if I painted more from memory and imagination, without photo or life references that are typically required to achieve realism? Could I keep my goal of narrative-driven Trompe L’Oeil while breaking the traditional rules I had been taught? 

 

This evolution led to the new series of drawings and paintings I’m working on now. It feels fresh, more accessible, and truer to my voice. None of it would have happened if I had rigidly stuck to my original goals and timeline.

 

What I learned may be of use to fellow artists. Do the planning. Set clear goals for marketing, exhibitions, studio practice, and sales. But leave wriggle room. Chase some of those tangents and unexpected detours. For creatives, a wrong turn might just be an opportunity waiting to manifest.

 

What do you think? Have you ever gone off-plan in your art journey and discovered unexpected success? 

 

I’d love to hear your stories in the comments. Your experiences might be exactly what someone else needs to hear, as inspiration to try the scenic route!

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May 2026

 

Some Marketing Strategy Ideas Worth Stealing

 

We’ve all had to choose how to promote our art. Even choosing not to market it is a decision. Are you like me? Have you listened to more sales gurus than you can count, paid for a few of them, and yet, to this day, find yourself endlessly curious about what actually works?

At this stage in my career, it’s hard to settle on just one system. Instead, I’ve spent years shamelessly stealing bits and pieces from various sources. The strategies I keep are the ones that actually move my needle, knowing that success looks different for everyone.

Let’s be honest. Mastering the business of art is on par with earning a PhD. It takes most of us at least a decade to reach any level of proficiency. We are constantly pelted with questions. Is a magazine ad worth the splurge? Should I sponsor an award? How much time should I spend researching a new market versus actually creating art for it?

 

It’s overwhelming. In fact, it’s so overwhelming that I never run out of content for these monthly articles. But today, I want to share my personal approaches that have survived the trial by fire since 2010. That was the year I ordered Vista Print cards and officially began calling myself a professional artist.

 

None of us are discovering or doing anything new here. I don’t remember who I stole these from, but I’m glad I did. If you’re new to the game, feel free to lift these for your own toolkit. If you’re a veteran, please add your own stolen goods in the comments. Collaboration is always more beautiful than competition.

 

The Stolen Strategy List:

 

Identify Your Why and Stick to the Script 

I make sure every promo, post, and pitch aligns with my core purpose. My why is simple. I want to wake up tomorrow and be the best realist painter and draughtsman I am capable of being for the day. If a marketing opportunity doesn't serve that growth, it's a distraction.

Network Up - and Also Out 

I surround myself with people who challenge me. If I’m the most skilled person in the room, I’m in the wrong room for growth. If I’m in a group that isn't interested in my genre, I recognize I’m there for the social hour, not the career boost. Both are fine, I just don’t confuse them.

Adapt to the Six-Second Attention Span 

I don’t enjoy making videos, and I am definitely not known for being succinct. However, the world currently demands short reels and concise mailings. If I send out five page daily manifestos and ignore social media algorithms, I’m shouting into a very empty void.

Leave Room for the Unscripted 

I used to think I needed a rigid, 12-month list of actionable marketing tasks. I’ve since learned that if I focus on getting my work in front of as many eyeballs as possible, unsolicited opportunities appear. Most of the highlights on my resume weren't part of an aggressive plan. They were the result of being visible when luck stopped by.

Stay the Student, Not the Sage 

My observation - Being curious and self-deprecating is almost always more effective than acting like the ultimate expert. The best artists I know never stop learning, and their following grows because people love the journey. Overconfident creators tend to end up with very small circles, because people take what they need and then leave.

Focus on the Essentials 

Most metrics are decoys. High follower counts and likes rarely translate directly to my biggest commissions or sales. Even major awards, while wonderful for the ego, don't always swing doors open. My technical skills are vital, but marketing success only happens when my strategy aligns with that "why" from point number one.

Try as Much as You Can 

I have found that there are no universal answers. The only way to know for sure what works for me? Try it! Then, streamline down to only what works best.

 

So, what are you going to add to your “must steal" list this month? Or, perhaps more importantly, what are you finally going to stop doing?

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April 2026

 

 

Big Steps, Little Steps

 

It sounds like the title of a Dr. Seuss book, doesn’t it? One Step, Two Step, Big Step, Blue Step.

 

What are you doing to build momentum enough to realize your objectives by the end of the year? Are you chugging caffeine and attacking the big steps? Or, have you been entering the little steps into a color coded spreadsheet you will never look at again? Some seasons I do both.

 

But which do you think are more important to invest in?

 

One day at a time is a phrase we have all heard. But we also know that go for broke, risking everything in a breakout effort to succeed, is a strategy. I have been frustrated with them all. Usually I get impatient waiting for the payout on the one day at a time to happen. But, my bank account and energy stores can’t handle much of the go for broke attempts.

 

Whether it is a large or small act, it is depleting our resources, and we are looking for a return on that investment. But in this art business, the ROI is rarely obvious. It can take years of hard work to get a single sale.

 

So what can we do? I often get sick of hearing that as long as I am moving forward, I shouldn’t worry if I only do a small bit of the task. That’s always when I encounter a mud puddle I know I am going to have to jump over.

 

I was thinking about this recently when I spoke with a friend of mine. Thomas Nash is an amazing, and very successful, portrait artist who built his career through word of mouth, one referral at a time. Half a century ago, he began by doing what he knew he was good at. The first ten years of his career were spent on the streets of Gatlinburg and other tourist towns doing pastel portraits from life. Then he “moved up” to sketching portraits in shopping malls where he could work indoors. Today, he is in his own studio, turning away five figure commissions that don’t feel like a good fit for him. 

 

That is the kind of artistic swagger we all dream of.

 

Tom’s secret sauce? He identified from the start, what his interests were. He liked people and he liked painting faces. For over 50 years now, he has been working hard to be less bad at these two things, every single day. He didn’t worry about whether he was taking big or little steps toward his goals. He just focused on creating the best relationships with his clients and on becoming a more skilled artist. As a result, his collectors typically came back like loyal boomerangs, and improved skills allowed him to raise his prices. That was Tom’s strategy - be better at what you are already good at. It worked for him.

 

Then there’s my story, I crashed the party a little late. When I began my career in earnest, I did the math. I knew that realistically, I only had 40 to 50 years at most to live, and then only if I ate more kale and adopted a “blue zone” lifestyle. I knew that at best, I could probably only count on about 30 of those years being productive, before my hands decide they are done creating. 

 

Naturally, I panicked. I had to try all the media, all the subjects, all the marketing ploys, in order to figure out which ones worked for me. I felt like a human pinball in a gallery-shaped machine.

 

After a decade of frantic situations for building a skillset, teaching, creating, advertising, and selling, I finally got to where my friend Thomas started, I think. I am taking it one day at a time. The “sprint” phase of website and social media and resume building is mostly over. Now, I am zeroing in on what I actually love. Compared to my early pace, I am taking baby steps. I just need the stamina to keep walking at a steady pace, without tripping over my own ambition.

 

Where are you on this chaotic continuum? Are you taking superhero sized leaps, or are you in a more eloquent high heeled part of the journey? Or are you in a weird combination of both, like wearing the high heels but walking on cobblestones?

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March 2026

 

 

Is it Inspiration or Espionage?

 

How much have you "borrowed" lately? Have you ever engaged in full-blown artistic espionage?

I’m talking about the high-stakes stuff. 

•  Entering a gallery opening with the calculated intent of grilling a successful artist on their studio logistics
•  Visiting a free demonstration, not to see the artist create, but to have them give you critiques and advice that will catapult your career
•  Attending a workshop not to learn, but to collect recipes and formulas you can implement
• Purchasing an artwork with the sole intention of reverse-engineering it

Have you pulled off any of these heists?

 

Of course you have. We’re all looking for the shortcut, the skeleton key, the hidden map. We’re often taught that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and the fastest way to a successful career. But is that true? Is it more lucrative to be a student or a spy?

 

I am not a 17th Century Master

In the 1600’s, artists often borrowed from each other. Look and you will see they painted dresses and curtains with the exact same fold patterns. From their subject matter, it appears they all owned the same chandelier, and the same dog. 

 

I personally love the work of Gerrit Dou. The man was a master of moody, low-key interiors and whispering hues. Me? I lean into a bold explosion of color that screams for attention on my easel.

 

I recently spent weeks forcing myself into Mr. Dou’s world, trying to compose a painting he would approve of. I learned a lot, but I also nearly lost my mind before admitting the truth. I am not a Dou. I adore his work, but trying to inhabit his creative soul was like wearing shoes three sizes too big. You cannot "steal" a style and make it work if it isn't aligned with who you are. 

 

We aren’t photocopiers. We are unique, chaotic, animated paint splatters. Rarely, in my experience, is a work of art I admire aligned with who I am as an artist. I can learn from those works, and I can copy those works, but I cannot honestly create pieces exactly like the artists themselves would.

 

When the Spy Becomes the Target

I’ve been on both sides of the canvas. I’ve watched students launch entire series based on a single idea I shared. I’ve had "friends" approach my collectors, gallery owners and curators behind my back, with works they obviously created using mine as inspiration.

 

But the strangest part? The resentment. I’ve actually angered people by refusing to hand over the secret sauce for free. 

 

I’m happy to answer simple questions, but I won’t give a private workshop outside a teaching venue. Not only is it unfair to my paying students, but I can’t answer complex questions without hours of context. And half the time, I’m still experimenting! If I haven’t worked the bugs out of a technique, I’m not going to hand you a faulty map.

 

Apparently, “no answer" is an offensive answer. Some people assume I’m sitting on a secret stash of gold and refusing to share. They get snarky. It’s a little creepy, honestly. And in the end, I don't think it is as valuable to them as they wish.

 

The Truth About the "Secret Sauce”

 

Here is my reality. Stealing wholesale rarely works. It’s like copying answers off the person sitting next to you during a driver’s test, only to discover that you are both taking different tests. (No, I never actually did that... Thought about it though!)

 

Sure, borrow a sales tactic or a composition trick, but if it doesn’t resonate with your soul, it won’t impress your audience. At the end of the day, espionage might give you a quick thrill, but true successes comes from owning your unique journey. Laugh at the flops, celebrate the wins, and remember that the best “secrets” are the ones you discover yourself. 

 

Continue practicing with intention. Work through the torturous learning periods. Keep at it until it feels invigorating and oddly addictive.

 

What about you? Spill your funniest art spy story in the comments. Let’s turn this into a confessional!

 

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February 2026

 

 

The 75/25 Rule of Pain

 

The art business sometimes feels chaotic. As artists, we often find ourselves screaming from the safe haven of our studios, into the wild west, hoping it screams back with a purchase confirmation or a gallery invite.

 

The problem is that we are spending so much time, trying to control the uncontrollable. In marketing and sales, we attempt to influence external events. It’s uncomfortable and largely unpredictable.

 

On top of that, most of us are introspective by nature. Even if we have acquired the public speaking skills, we’d much rather be alone with a paintbrush than pitching our souls to a room full of strangers.

 

We often lose sleep thinking and rethinking external factors and how we might bend them to our will. 

- Increased sales that miraculously are enough to pay the rent

- Gallery representation, so we get an invite to the cool kids’ table

- Awards and juried shows that earn us stickers that say “I am validated”

- Sold out workshop registrations that keep us on edge for weeks, but inevitably come together only at the very last minute

 

We hope these things happen as a byproduct of our work, but obsessing over them is like trying to make it rain by staring intensely at a cloud. It’s exhausting and usually ends in a neck cramp.

 

What if we stopped trying to be amateur meteorologists and started focusing on the climate inside our own studios? There is a profound power in optimizing what we actually control - the work, the process, and the schedule.

 

However, there’s a catch. If we only stay in our comfort zones, we don’t grow. We just become very technically proficient at being stagnant. We all know those artists who have been perfecting their color mixing charts for decades.

 

I started calling my compromise the “Rule of Pain.” I’ve found that a specific 75/25 ratio of comfort to cringe works best for me:

75% Studio Zen - I spend the vast majority of my time doing what I love and know. This is where the magic happens.

25% Productive Pain - I spend the rest of my time doing the things that make me want to hide under my desk. This is the growth phase. If I’m not at least slightly uncomfortable during this time, I’m probably not growing.

 

It wasn’t always this way, and depending on where you are in your career, your ratio may be different. There was a time at the start when I spent only about 40% arting, and  60% of my time trying new marketing strategies. But, 75/25 is where I landed.

 

The irony is that successes started accumulating for me only when I stopped checking the scoreboard every five minutes. When I decided to love the journey, and stop stressing over the immediate Return on Investment (ROI) for every hour spent, the world actually started paying attention. Letting go of the ROI is not possible for everyone. I was able to make it work, but it is one of the hardest things I have done.

 

The big question remains. Should you spend your energy hunting for new "hacks" to reach your goals? Or should you double down on the internal mechanics of your craft? How much time should you devote to each endeavor? Will a change in the percentages move you forward in your art business?

 

You are the only one who can answer this, but it is an important thing to consider. 

 

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January 2026

 

How I Tamed the Exhibition Monster

Awhile back, even after letting go of some shows I’ve outgrown, I was feeling like the proverbial hamster on a wheel again. So, I bravely dedicated an entire day to listing every art show I felt obligated to enter each year. The grand total was over 50 opportunities. Since most of them encourage 2 to 3 entries, that translated to me chasing 100 to 150 submissions annually.

I can’t paint 100 great works each year. Something had to give. So here's how I tamed the beast, protected my precious time, guarded my quality, and reclaimed my sanity, all while still strutting my best stuff. If you've got a different strategy, spill it in the comments. I'm all ears!

 

Step 1: Figure Out Your Personal Criteria

I quit asking, “Is this a prestigious show?” “How great would a signature status in this society be?” and started grilling myself. “Self,” I said, “Why the heck does this one actually matter to me?”

 

Here's the thing. My work ranges from tiny palm sized miniatures, to four foot tall pieces. Even in my larger work, I often paint areas in the spirit of miniature. Images just NEVER do justice to original art, and that is even more true for miniature fine art. The reality is that in person shows serve me best.

 

Also, these days, my big “why” is simple. I’m here for the joy of the journey. When I'm loving the process, the sales and invites magically follow. At least that's what I tell myself on tough days.

 

Those are my big priorities. Your criteria will be different. But for me, the shows that make my heart sing are:

1. Real-life, brick-and-mortar venues with excellent lighting and patrons who see the way shadows cast from impasto add to the sense of reality in my work.

2. Run by respected folks who know their stuff

3. Support a mission that doesn't make me roll my eyes

4. Places where I'm genuinely vested, sales or no sales, because loyalty shouldn't depend on a red dot.

 

Step 2: Do the Math (Spoiler - It Hurts)

I tallied up all my dream shows and galleries, then crunched the numbers against my actual output. Ouch. 

The cold, hard truths:

- I only create around 15 new, top-tier non-commissioned paintings per year, and only if the muse cooperates

- About 50% of my work will sell in a year (depending the art market roulette)

- Most shows demand work no older than 2–3 years, so no dusting off ancient relics

 

Bottom line: I can sustainably feed 25 exhibitions max if I enter just one new or nearly new piece each. I have always tried to enter all 3 or 4 allowed with the entry fee, but this encourages putting the lesser works out there. Of course, as my inventory grows or shrinks, there are times when I can enter the allowed maximum quantity of works. But with 25 shows annually as my limit, this is just two shows per month, not the four I was juggling. No wonder I was making myself crazy.

 

Step 3: Create a Tiered Priority List Because Not All Shows Are Created Equal

I split my monster list into two sane categories:

Tier 1 The VIPs

These are my 8 to 10 ride-or-dies. I actually plan and paint new pieces for them months ahead.

Tier 2 Everyone Else

These get entered only if I've got perfect, ready-to-go inventory that fits the theme, size, and age rules. No forcing it.

 

Step 4: Put It All on Autopilot in Your Calendar

For Tier 1: I set reminders two months out. This allows plenty of time to start (or finish) that dedicated masterpiece.

For Tier 2: A reminder 2 weeks before deadline. Quick inventory scan: Yay or nay? Done.

This single tweak banished the midnight panic attacks and that nagging guilt over missed deadlines.

 

Step 5: Be Ruthless and Let Go (It's Like Breaking Up, But With Art Societies)

The toughest bit? Ghosting long-time societies and galleries I've loyally supported for years. It feels like betrayal! I see my peers winning awards and selling in those shows, and I still yearn to be hanging next to them. But, the sweet relief is slowly kicking in. Fewer dues are draining my wallet, I’m less frantic about entries, and I feel zero pressure to churn out work under unrealistic deadlines.

 

The jury is still out, but…

My studio is now a zen zone instead of a war room.  

I'm producing fewer pieces, but they're all art I’m proud to share.

Sales? Holding steady or even sneaking upward - turns out maybe quality over quantity actually works!  

Bonus - more energy for actual painting, teaching, and hanging with family, instead of working till 2 a.m. to meet a deadline.

 

Your Quick Purge Checklist - If You Want it, Steal It!

1. List every show/gallery/society you're currently chasing.  

2. Nail down your personal “yes” criteria.  

3. Crunch your real annual output numbers.  

4. Sort into Tier 1 (paint fresh for these) and Tier 2 (inventory only).  

5. Calendar-ize deadlines: Long lead for Tier 1, Quick inventory check for Tier 2.  

6. Grant yourself permission to ditch anything you create or any society you are in that feels like a bad blind date.

 

If you're drowning in calls for entry, give this a whirl. It's not about making less art. It’s about making the right art, for the right places, without turning into a burnt out zombie. If I can practice what I preach and stick with this strategy, my future self will thank me!

 

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December 2025

 

 

10 Surprisingly Civilized Tips for Artists Who’d Prefer Not to Go Full Savage

 

If we still lived like our prehistoric ancestors, getting what we want would be simple…See roasted antelope leg, club the owner, take home dinner.

 

Effective? Sure. Socially acceptable? Not so much.

 

Thankfully, in modern society we’ve mostly agreed to stop hitting each other with clubs. Yet the wanting is still very much alive. This is especially true in the art world, where many of us don’t even know what we want until we see another artist basking in it. Only then do we gasp, clutch our pearls, and whisper: “I want that too!”

 

Naturally, we rush to reverse-engineer their success.

“What paintbrush did they use?”
“What classes did they take?”
“Did they make some sort of pact with an art mentor?”

 

But here’s the twist. Following another artist’s exact steps rarely works. Why? Because that artist is not you. You have your own personality, style, quirks, demographic, sense of humor, tragic backstory, and possibly a completely different caffeine tolerance. All of these influence your path.

 

Plenty of artists have imitated their heroes down to the same brand of oil painting medium. They still didn’t get the same acclaim. Honestly, most never will. It’s not because they’re lacking resources, but because they’re on an entirely different journey.

 

So does this mean the future for all of us yearning creatives is bleak? Nope. It’s fantastic news. It means there is no real competition. There’s no scarcity of success. There’s no need to reenact ancient battles over the last berry bush. Sure, exhibitions hand out prizes to a select few, but the number of paths to meaningful achievement is infinite, and uniquely tailored to each of us.

 

After rummaging through years of Bold Brush articles I have written for you all, from my opinions and experiences, here are ten recurring themes that describe the artists I have known who eventually get exactly what they want.

 

1. Stop holding yourself back.

Be the weird, glorious, authentic version of you. You know - the one you keep editing out because you think it’s too much and nobody else is doing it.

 

2. Stop competing with others. Compete with you.

If you treat art like the Olympics, you’ll miss the growth. And besides, gold medals are heavy anyway.

 

3. Show up.

Go to events. Meet humans. Shake hands. Nod thoughtfully. Doors open this way, mysteriously and often.

 

4. Network wherever and whenever.

People are opportunities wrapped in skin. Be kind, collaborate, and skip the part where you treat them like stepping stones.

 

5. Break rules.

Don’t break the big rules. (Please keep your clothes on.)
But bend and twist when you can, without breaking laws. Push boundaries and offer something new.

 

6. Watch for opportunities.

Don’t be so focused on one goal, that you miss someone waving a golden ticket to another, which might be better. Don’t be like the artist who I witnessed ignoring an eager painting buyer because she was pitching registrations for her art class. (Yes, that actually happened.)

 

7. Celebrate failures.

They’re just research that guide you away from the paths that are wrong for you.

8. Be ready to pivot.

In art and in life, stay flexible. Change is inevitable, and we rarely grow without it.

 

9. Be the person you’d ask for advice.

You know more than you think. You’ve survived things. You’ve learned things. Someone out there wants to be where you already are.

 

10. Have fun.

If you’re miserable, success becomes irrelevant. Joy is a creative superpower. Use it generously.

 

Thank you for reading. Can you think of more things to add to this list? Comment below! We all want to hear.

 

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