a sold artist

When I was little I wanted to be an artist.  I was pretty good, I even had the drive necessary to make that career happen.

I had no vision for what my life as an artist should look like.  I had no vision of myself or how I would live or act.  I didn’t imagine myself living in New York attending my latest art opening wearing a beret and a black turtle neck.  I knew only that my love for making art was pure and that I was happy while doing it.

In elementary school I was always the best artist in class and I milked my role as such, acting humble sometime rejecting compliments with “No, I’m not that good.”  When I got to high school I began to notice that in terms of artistic growth my peers were surpassing me.

I’d become lazy and impatient with the process.  I knew the basics, that everything in its most pure form is just simple geometric shapes, how to place light and create proper shadows, and how to use perspective to create depth.  I knew how to implement these concepts I just didn’t have the patience to take the necessary steps.  It was apparent that if I could make those essentials work for me I could be good, without them my work was off.  Out of embarrassment I stopped making art.

I replaced my desire for visual art with the desire  to be a rock star.  I could fully envision 

what my life as a hard edged tortured rock star would look like; ripped jeans, flannel shirts, a sweaty audience begging me to play my hit song before I smash my guitar into a thousand splinters expressing my anguish.  Eventually this died too as again I grew impatient with the guitar and refused to practice chords or scales.

After my dream of being a rock star faded I put my efforts into being an actor.  Again I fully envisioned my life on stage; speaking the words of Shakespeare, Chekov, Pinter, and Albee.  I eventually went to college to continue to pursue this ambition only to realize as a junior that I was too lazy to practice my skills necessary to grow.  Not only that but the day to day life of an actor seemed severely disappointing.  After turning down a role to hold a spear in a production of Hamlet I officially retired.

I have always loved writing but before college I had never thought of it as a legitimate career choice.  After I stopped acting I put all my efforts into writing.  For the first time I found that I enjoyed the process just as much as I reveled in the product.

Like my visual art aspirations, I had no idea what my life as a writer should look like.  I knew only that I was happy while doing it from start to finish.  I found that no matter how great the struggles, no matter how disappointing the rejection I still wanted to write.  

This was why I found what happened last October to be rather ironic.

My senior year of college I copied a picture of Audrey Hepburn that I’d seen at IKEA for Jaime.  This awakened a desire in me to begin painting again, not for a living but just for fun.  In the next few years I amassed more paintings than I could fit on my limited wall space so quite canvases a few ended up in the back of a closet. 

Last October as we prepared to move from Los Angeles to Seattle we held a yard sale.  It was more like a Fire Sale, as we were selling off just about everything but the essentials.  This included four paintings I’d done that I was ready to get rid of rather then haul back north.  My expectations were that someone looking for a cheap canvas to paint over would buy them.

When one woman picked up a black and white painting and asked how much, I was about to say $2 when Jaime grabbed my arm and spoke up.  “$5!” She said, the girl looked enthused and bought it.  Later I watched as a car made a sudden stop in the middle of the road, reversed and then a woman got out of the car to buy a specific pastel drawing.  Once again I sold this one for just $5 and she was thrilled with the new canvas she had to hang in her home.

By the end of the day I’d sold all but one painting.  Drunk with success I insisted the last canvas go for $5 and no less, the little Mexican man offered me $2 but I turned him down.  I can’t go around selling Brian Snider originals for $2, it would destroy the market.

It was then that I realized that I had done it.  My childhood goal was complete, I’d become a sold artist.  There were three of my paintings hanging in three separate southern LA homes.  I imagined that they would invite guests over for dinner and while sitting on the couch they would ask their hosts, “I love that painting.  Where did you get it?”  With pride they would reply “Oh, thats just a little thing I picked up at a garage sale in Los Feliz.”

this painting is unfinished

I did some mental math and taking in the cost of the canvas and supplies I figured that I’d made a negative $60 profit.  Not much but it was a start.  Now if only I could get someone to pay me, even if just $5, for my writing.

posted by: brian snider