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In 2014 I learned a fun fact when I was putting together a workshop called “Marketing Your Art (Without Selling Your Soul”). Since 2012, I’d apparently been earning amounts in the 99^th percentile of all artists in Michigan. (This included graphic designers who were employed in the auto industry and other corporations.)

At the time, I was pleased but surprised. As a plein air painter I was making paintings popular with tourists and summer residents who loved taking home a piece of scenic “Pure Michigan.” While people would often tell me that I was a “good marketer,” I assumed other northern Michigan artists must be doing as well or better than I was. However, since realizing my marketing approach was perhaps making a difference, I decided to create the workshop; if I could share my methods with other outdoor painters, they too might make better sales and feel better about making them.

Fast forward to 2020. At the end of last year, I revisited my sales stats and discovered my gross income had tripled since 2012. Even adjusted for inflation, and considering we were in the midst of a global pandemic, I have continued to sell well. Those who follow me know I no longer make representational art—I’ve not made a plein air painting for at least 5 years—I now create mostly abstract paintings. How could my sales have nevertheless continued?

If I put myself back in that early art marketing workshop, I would hear myself telling the group (talking to myself!) that success in art making doesn’t come from trying to make a product that people will buy. Because I was making popular art at the time, I wasn’t completely sure about this.  Now I am that I’m doing what’s considered “less accessible” painting; however, I have more clarity about the validity of this teaching: Value in art comes from the integrity of the process—not the product—of the art making.

Sticking with this principle has clearly been good for my numbers over the years, but that’s never been my primary motivation. I’ve always been more interested in meaning than money. Heart and soul in the process translates into a product with value because it’s valuable and fulfilling for me to make art in this way! I often quote Martin Luther who, when his life was on the line for allegedly heretical words, said, “Here I stand; I can do no other.” I don’t know how to make art for other people to buy; I make art because expressing my heart and soul with paint (and occasionally words) is what I’ve been called to do. I must! I can do no other!

Over the past year, a plethora of art biz coaches and online web hosts have encouraged artists to up their marketing game.  My own beloved FASO marketing platform has now swamped its bandwidth with all sorts of marketing tips, email marketing blasts, and webinars galore. Seeing these makes me feel afraid every time I don’t look at them! I wonder if this year my art will go unnoticed because I don’t have a savvy social media “presence” and have gone wimpy on my marketing. I think of van Gogh, selling only one painting in his lifetime. What a failed marketer he turned out to be!  (And, yet …. )

It’s tricky, especially when the zeitgeist is filled with fear, to stick with my somewhat stodgy but intuitive approach. I wonder, should I dust off my plein air paintbox and find a barn to paint? (Please, don’t say yes!)

In spite of doubts—and when has life ever been 100% certain?—I will continue to strive to make the art that’s mine to make, even when I don’t quite understand it. And, while I still believe it’s important to share my work, I’m still not willing to sell my soul to do it, even if it means missing out on a sale here or there.

It happened a few weeks ago that someone offered to buy a recently completed piece. I’ve never been one to sell a lot of wet paintings so I was flattered by the attention and affirmation. After sleeping on it, however, the offer didn’t match the meaning this soulful work had for me. Because the painting seemed to keep talking to me, I declined to send it away, even to a collector who I know would love and appreciate it.

How did it feel to mark it NFS on my website? Weird, but good! Deciding to—temporarily, at least—keep the painting off the market, means I can enjoy it as my own for as long as necessary, and then, in the fullness of time, release it to the right and perfect hands. (The Universe provides a steady stream of eclectic collectors!)

This radical (for me) act of not-selling confirms a long-held intuitive belief that a painting can and should be, first and foremost, for its own sake. Then, for the sake of the artist who birthed it. And, ultimately, in the best ways possible, a valued painting should serve a public who will treasure the painting as the Work of Art it has proved itself to be.

There, in it’s own good time, may it find a home in the Marketplace of the Ages (commonly known as a Museum).

The co-founder of Unity, Charles Fillmore, at age 93, wrote the following affirmation:

"I fairly sizzle with zeal and enthusiasm and spring forth with a mighty faith to do the things that ought to be done by me!"

Imagine waking up at age 93 to pen such a sentiment, much less intend to fulfill it--it's fairly unbelievable! Yet, I find repeating this statement can inspire me, mightily!

But sometimes, instead of stoking a fire in the belly, an affirmation like this one can evoke a mighty groan of protest. Sure, Mr. Fillmore, that's easy to for you to say. You're not living through a global pandemic. You've not been cooped up inside for months on end, isolated from friends and family, and masking. You didn't live to see Groundhog Day come round yet again!

Fillmore, however, born in 1854, had apparently lived through quite a lot. The Civil War, World Wars 1 and 2, the Spanish Fly epidemic, the Great Depression, not to mention personal challenges, both physical and financial. Still, in the year he died, at age 93, he was able to muster this powerful and purposeful intention.

How did he do it? Was that generation simply made of sterner stuff than we are?

When I was in seminary at Unity Village, I wrote and gave a clever talk to my Licensing & Ordination committee called "The Groundhog's Dilemma." (I knew it was clever when one of the committee members asked if she could have a copy of my notes so she could use it the following Sunday!) Nevertheless ....

As legend tells it, if the groundhog sees his shadow on February 2, he scares himself back into his hole for 6 more weeks of winter; if the day is overcast, however, he's able to stay above ground and, in theory, spring won't have to wait. In practice, Spring tends to spring at just about the same time every year, so the lesson to be learned is not about trying to change the weather, but making the necessary adjustments to his reactions so he doesn't have to scurry below every time the sun comes out.

The gist of my talk was that we humans face a similar challenge: What do we do when we see our psychological Shadow?

It's pretty clear to me that for at least the past 4 years and, especially, in 2020, we’ve been collectively going nose-to-nose with all sorts of shadowy critters. No amount of self-satisfied finger pointing seems to make these nasty critters go away. Elections notwithstanding, each morning we may wake to find that grumpy groundhog, not just in the headlines, but looking back at us in the mirror. If we're honest we'll admit, “We have met the enemy and he is us,” to quote Pogo (and date myself terribly).

So, now what? It’s the Day After Groundhog Day. We’ve laughed it off (or not) and like Phil Connors in the movie, pray that by some fluke we’ll never hear that damn Sonny & Cher song ever again. Well, as we learn in the movie, there seems to be a connection between that awful wake-up call and how we've played each day until now.

We can do all manner of things, apparently. Play the part of a grumpy, grumbling groundhog? A suicidal maniac? A conniver and people pleaser? Or, as Phil eventually realized, he could become his own version of a sprightly Mr. Fillmore, one sizzling with zeal and enthusiasm to spring forth with a mighty faith to do what he could do each day.

Apparently, the choice—once we realize it—is ours! The point of power doesn't actually lie in the past, but in today, in this present moment.

May we learn the lessons that are ours to learn today! Or, I should say, let me learn what I need to learn today.And paint accordingly!

With warmest wishes on this sunny day in northern Michigan,

Ellie

P.S. Thanks for reading this ramble .... How was Groundhog Day for you this year?