How I Abandoned My “Perfect” Plan to Find My Real Career
by Deb Keirce
Image: Debra Keirce, Snow Mountain Sunrise (Detail), 10 x 10”, oil
Is it just me? Or is this art journey in a world of constant flux? It always seems less like a straight line and more like a drunken stroll through a labyrinth. We are all subjected to the “norms” of the art world zeitgeist, and it is exhausting. You know the script:
Must teach workshops
Must have gallery representation
Must sell prints
Must curate a social media presence that makes people weep with envy
But here is the uncomfortable truth I have had to face, and I believe I speak for most of us. My personal journey doesn’t line up with what we are often told is required. In other words, I lack the personality and the burning desire to chase someone else’s version of success.
I love teaching – a few times each year.
I love being in galleries – but just a few.
I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE doing commissions.
Prints and social media – I have some unladylike adjectives I routinely use for those.
If the thought of teaching daily makes you cringe, you cannot imagine viewing a gallery as part of your sales strategy, and commissioned work is a chore, you don’t need to adjust your mindset. Rather, you might need to just stop signing up to teach, stop courting galleries, and stop taking commissions. My goals are not your goals.
Often in our art journeys, anything goes. We can align with what other artists are doing… or not. We can set our own impossible goals and then tweak them until they’re attainable. Whatever we do, we need to face the reality that our definition of success will look completely different further along in our journey than it does now. I am a good example.
The Reckoning
I am a cautionary tale. Depending on whether you value a pension or a paint-stained studio floor, you will love or hate what I’ve done. As a teen, I thought I could make a career out of art. In the 1970s, a high school counselor explained that this was extremely unlikely. He wasn’t wrong. No matter how good my skills were, there just were no opportunities for me to make as much money as I needed for the life I was envisioning.
So…
Pivot 1: The Corporate Experience. I pursued a career in biochemical engineering when biotechnology was a burgeoning science. I poured all my creativity into project management, leading design teams to build manufacturing facilities for pharmaceutical companies. I made enough money to pursue my art journey full time. It was high stress, high reward, and exactly what I needed to fund my real life. I didn’t sell out. I bought in.
When I launched my full-time career as a professional fine artist in 2010, I had a plan. I had a website (cutting-edge!), local art fairs, annual price hikes, a robust commission schedule, and local teaching gigs. I was destined to be Northern Virginia’s most talked-about artist. Needless to say, reality had other plans.
Pivot 2: The “Cough Medicine” Epiphany. I was selling paintings of liquor bottles. These were a nod to my grandfather’s bar when I was growing up in Detroit. We met there as a family, after church every Sunday. As a Polish kid, I loved sipping my boomba glass of ginger ale in the sunlight and watching how colors bounced off the glass onto the walls.
But then, people started asking me about vintage wines and whiskey profiles. I don’t drink. I think most spirits taste like medicinal syrup. I felt like a fraud. I stopped painting them exclusively. I didn’t want to be the next accomplished painter of wine bottles in Tuscan landscapes. Life is too short to become an accidental expert on things you don’t even like.
Pivot 3: The Pricing Shock. When I was offered gallery representation, I committed to sell at the prices they set. My collectors who had been buying my work for $100 since the 1980’s looked at a $400 palm-sized piece and vanished into the ether. I learned quickly that you cannot keep everyone happy. You can only keep the people who value your growth.
Pivot 4: Geography and Identity. I envisioned a growing art presence here in my county. I developed relationships with art centers and museums throughout the region. Then, the D.C. metro art scene shifted.
Opportunities for artists outside marginalized groups dried up, so I stopped knocking on locked doors. I pivoted to international exhibitions, where “realism” is a common language, regardless of who is painting it.
Pivot 5: The “Zoom In” Strategy. I spent years trying to find the subjects, societies, and venues that would go viral for me. Eventually, it became more and more obvious that many of the ones I was pursuing leaned into different nuances of what I created.
Some favor larger works. Some favor loosely painted work. Some are just more expensive to participate in than what I want to invest. When I looked at these details, I realized I was past the phase of my journey where I should keep trying everything and see what sticks. I was now in the phase where I needed to zoom in and focus my resources on what was working best for me. I stopped entering several high-profile exhibitions, even ones where I’ve achieved signature status. They no longer serve me.
Pivot 6: Redefining “Success.” The loudest art advice out there screams that success equals a robust salary. I decided that success for me equals experience.
Painting for the U.S. Coast Guard art collection, securing residencies at sea, or being asked to paint the official portrait of a fallen hero…These things don’t line my pockets the way a huge sale might, but they satisfy my soul in a way money never will.
Pivot 7: Flexibility Over Strategy. I had a rigid business plan. I tore it up. Because I said yes to the unplanned, I ended up with 11 paintings in the luxury Langham Hotel in Boston and also a portfolio of Western art, even though I’ve never even owned a cowboy hat. Being ready to pivot is more valuable to me than being ready to execute a restrictive plan.
I am looking forward to a marine art photo-reference gathering trip to a Caribbean island with a group of amazing plein air painters this winter. I don’t even plan to plein air paint! When unexpected opportunities that align with my skills and desires arise, I am ready to go with the flow!
Pivot 8: Knowing When the Party is Over. Nothing lasts forever. Galleries close. Collectors move on. Students become teachers. I arranged and executed traveling art shows at museums and art centers, with two different groups of artists for 13 years. It was glorious. But we got older, shipping costs defied gravity, and our energy reserves dwindled. We didn’t fail. We finished. As I write this, our last exhibition is at a museum in eastern Montana, right where it all started for us.
Sometimes, the most successful thing you can do is recognize when a chapter has reached its natural conclusion. In my youth, I expected every project I did well to grow and outlive me. I have learned that is not the norm.
Pivot 9: The Ring That Rules Them All. This is the big one. My goal in my 40s was to be an artist. My goal in my 60s is to be the best realist artist I can be before I leave planet Earth. Everything else – sales, awards, features – is just a door opener. If it helps me grow, I’m in. If it’s just noise, I’m out.
A Note to the Weary
This is what my lived experience has taught me. Change is not just inevitable. It is the engine of our development. The goal isn’t to reach the end of the journey and find a static pile of gold. The goal is to evolve until our art journey, in its entirety, reflects the truth of who we’ve become.
I am an artist who has worked in labs, construction sites, big pharmaceutical corporate headquarters, and in galleries. I have no idea what my 100-year-old self will be painting, but I know she’ll be doing it with the same stubborn determination to get better.
Build your own path. Anything goes. Whatever doesn’t feel amazing – those are the paths the muggles follow. The good and unexpected news is, the more I chase experiences, the happier my bank account is.
And for heaven’s sake, don’t paint anything just because it sells, unless you actually enjoy the taste of the cough medicine.
Debra Keirce
Join my art journey at DebKArt.com.
