A few years ago I was preparing to announce work that was completely new to my practice. I knew I had an original idea that was unlike anything I had seen before. I couldn't wait to show the world, but until I was ready I was guarding this new work in my studio cave like it was My Precious.
I had a concern about an artist I know who tends to follow a little too closely in others' footsteps. Friends had warned me that this person was bound to copy my innovative work, so I blocked them on social media so they wouldn't have eyes on what I was doing. I launched my new work out to the public on my website, on Instagram and with a studio party all on the same day.
Sure enough, about 6 months later I found out that this artist was copying my idea, the process, the scale, and the appearance of my new work. I have screenshots of their work and mine side by side and when I think maybe I am remembering it wrong, I just look at the similarities and can't deny it.
There is nothing I can do about it; it wasn't a direct copy, certainly not plagiarism, but it felt terrible. I had put something I was really proud of out into the world, and someone snatched it up as if it were theirs. I gave it away for free.
Our current reality makes attempting to retain control over something you put out into the world nearly impossible. Instagram has normalized the sharing of other people's images, information and ideas. AI has many concerning possibilities for mimicking artist's styles and people's voices. Can you ever enforce that anything is actually yours after it is public?
Artists are particularly adept at absorbing images and ideas at no cost. We find hacks and workarounds for all kinds of things. I have gotten access to things I need for a bargain price, and have watched others make magic out of sawdust.
This has always been a skill born out of necessity for me and I am proud of my resourcefulness. However, I have had some memorable moments when my thriftiness impacted someone else's fair pay. When this was brought to my attention, I overcame my initial knee-jerk reaction of thinking that a good person would be willing to do something for free or at a low wage and figured out how to pay them properly. I am so grateful for the kindness of people who gently taught me about fair compensation for artistic labor. Just because an artist is passionate about what they do does not mean it should be done for free or unfair compensation.
Volunteering has always been a part of my life; I have always given away a portion of my time to people and causes that don't pay me a wage. Volunteering has given me experience when I was young, leadership opportunities when employers wouldn't, and connections to people I wouldn't have met otherwise. Yes, I give some of my labor away, but I am always aware of what I get back.
Tonight I am wondering if my free labor has contributed to a misunderstanding about the value of labor in general. Do people think that my work shouldn't be compensated if I choose to do some things for free?
Recently I've been made aware of a few unrelated instances that the information I disseminate through my two subscriptions—the annual Grant Deadlines Subscription ($24 for 2024) and the monthly Artist Deadlines Subscription ($35/month)—is getting shared with artist membership groups and to clients by artist consultants.
I am all about resource sharing, but the subscriptions I offer are not only resource sharing (the info is out there if you take the time to look), but the value is in the time-saving I offer to artists. I also include a lot of information with every email and share things from my personal database of research that aren't widely known unless you do a lot of research, as I've done. The subscriptions are ultimately a way to save artists a lot of time, which they pay for.
I am saddened that people are passing along the results of my work to others who aren't paying me. This has made me feel like people don't realize the amount of work I put into these services, or maybe just don't value it.
I keep my prices very low because these services are explicitly for artists—many of whom have to keep expenses minimal—so it stings even more. I have raised the Grant Deadlines Subscription $1 each year, and I have raised the Monthly Deadlines Subscription once in five years.
These subscriptions are the bulk of The Artist's Office and come from 20 years of not only gathering opportunities, but applying to them, receiving them, being rejected, talking to others who have received them, talking with jurors, gathering data, vetting organizations and opportunities vs "opportunities", and ongoing research to create databases of contacts and venues that will consider artist submissions. This all takes time—a lot of my time that ultimately saves artists their time by creating systems so they don't have to duplicate this work.
This email makes me incredibly uncomfortable to write. It is so much easier to advocate for someone else, and much harder to do for myself. But if I don't say something, I worry that artistic labor in general will not be valued by the very people steering the ship. If we don't value each other's labor, how can we ask for anyone to value our own? I hope I can be like others who have modeled fairness and even generosity for me and who have shown me how to be a fair person in my industry.
So I think it needs to be said: 1 subscription = 1 artist. One payment is for one subscriber. If a subscriber values the work that I do to save them time, I hope they consider sharing my business with their artist connections rather than the time-saving information that they paid for.
I hope you can join me in finding ways to advocate for yourself and your colleagues so that we can build a better art world from the bottom up.
Here’s to fair compensation for our artistic labor,
Virginia
What is the value of artistic labor?