Inventory: The Gift That Keeps Giving

Most less-than-successful (financially) artists probably understand the bittersweet nature of show openings: It's exciting to see your work in a great space; it' the culmination of months of work, planning and anticipation; you might even get a good turnout and great responses...but sales can be hard to come by. Even as an artist that has had dozens of shows and tens of thousands in sales, there's a hit to your soul when you get little or nothing concrete to show for your time. I used to let this get to me (still does to a degree), and it even resulted in avoiding shows for the year or two leading up to the pandemic (funny how that worked out...) but while it's still a source of anxiety, I have begun "embracing" the inventory.

Now, don't get me wrong, If someone wants to buy something at a fair price, it's getting sold, but I've worked on reframing how I look at inventory as someone who makes literal tons of artwork; It's not "work that failed to sell" it's an opportunity to preserve, enjoy, and reflect on my life creating art. Perhaps some of that is simply delusional self-preservation out of necessity...but there's truth to it as well. I used to enter my storage unit with a sense of dread; it was a physical representation of my failures, even though I still liked the actual art. Now I see my own private treasure-trove, offering a glimpse into forgotten times and lost conversations, and providing ​physical evidence of accomplishment and potential.

While a couple hundred bucks would be nice, nothing quite beats rediscovering a painting with which you once put your time, energy and attention toward for days if not weeks. A sale may have injected a momentary boost, but shuffling through a hundred of your own paintings is an experience every artist should get to enjoy at some point. I'm sure It would be different if I was struggling to put food on the table, but knowing that cash would have just been another internet payment or a weekly deposit or wasted on a night out, I prefer the company of tens of thousands of hours of hard work. Again, I wouldn't turn down a sale, even for my all-time favorites, but I now enter the storage unit with a sense of excitement and accomplishment; What will I rediscover this week? What unappreciated detail will stand out ten years later? What painting has been forgotten and deserves the light of day? Look at all this stuff I made that, at least to me, still stands strong and is worth being proud of!? Seeing that laid out in front of you is undeniably cool.

From a source of disappointment to one of pride and encouragement, I used to look at storage and a large inventory as proof of failure. Now I see accomplishment, evidence of constant improvement and the potential for the next canvas. As much as it's a place to store artwork, it's also preserving and managing my own "legacy"...and perhaps keeping the work together for some greater end than just funding my next few months of (insert generic subscription) is an accomplishment in its own right.

Let's not get carried away...I know selling art is kind of the point of being an exhibiting artist and I'd be lying if I said I was refusing sales to "preserve control over my ouevre" or anything like that, but I have managed to find enjoyment in having all this art on hand. I'd also be lying if I said I never regretted a sale or don't miss the artwork that has found a new home. While welcome, every sale does take something away, and while money is good, art can be great and provide comfort in ways a couple hundred bucks doesn't, at least in my current situation.

I've heard many artists lament the loss of work or regret a sale in retrospect. I've never heard anyone say they wish they made less or let more drift away over the years. I've coming to realize that, while sales are good, inventory can be a gift that keeps on giving in a way money can't match.