I have a lot of friends who are running crowd-funding campaigns. One is staging a performance in another state, another has a residency in Europe in 2015, the third is going on a “research trip” in preparation for a solo show, the fourth wants to self-publish a catalog of her work. Part of me wants to contribute because these people are my friends, but personally I would never think to ask other people to fund my art practice. Isn’t that why we all have day jobs? So on the one hand, I want to be supportive. On the other, it feels like chutzpah to ask me to pay for their projects, and I don’t like feeling pressured by my friends. Should I give to all or some of these campaigns, or should I pretend I never saw the emails? Should I run one myself the next time I need to travel or buy a new laptop? 

John Baldessari. Money (With Space Between), 1991; lithograph and screen print on Arches.

Should, should, should. It’s my least-favorite word, and it doesn’t really apply to your situation. The answer to this dilemma (I’m not counting your facetious final question) depends on your altruism and the size of your wallet. It sounds like you’re already leaning toward no, and that’s a perfectly acceptable reply. Of course, if you’re concerned that these ambitious pals of yours will snub you in the future, you could always give the minimum—it’s usually under ten dollars—and for the price of a drink you’ll have kept the peace.

Some crowd-funded projects carry more weight than others. Personally, I tend to give money to organizations (an art space, a ’zine shop’s forced relocation, a free program to make e-books) rather than individuals, because there’s more potential to do good. If I’m going to be part of a capital-raising crew, I want the benefits to extend to more than just one person. That said, I have supported some projects by my friends because they were truly in danger of not being able to take advantage of some great opportunities—but these have been in the minority.

I reached out to some other artists that I know—ones who actively participate in their communities in a variety of ways—and asked them to weigh in on flock financing. Not only did they generally echo my sentiments, they also offer tips for deciding which projects to fund, and (inadvertently) provide some dos and don’ts on how to run an honorable crowd-funding campaign:

“As an artist, I have a lot of mixed feelings about crowd-funding options. I’m glad they exist, particularly given the woeful state of arts funding in the U.S., and I think they can help fill the gap; at the same time, I’m wary of the extent to which they’re now being used for everything under the sun. I myself used Kickstarter on one occasion to produce a DVD compilation of past work—the campaign essentially functioned as a way to pre-sell the compilation in order to be able to produce it. In these sorts of instances, I don’t really see any problem with crowdfunding, especially since I wouldn’t have been able to pay for the production out of my own pocket. So I think it’s a viable way for people to fund larger projects that their regular income isn’t going to cover.

“I’ve also donated to Kickstarter campaigns at various points as well. Most of these were projects by friends or close acquaintances. I’d like to say I have some thoughtful set of metrics I use to decide what campaigns I contribute to, but the truth is a lot of it depends on a highly fluid and inconsistent set of variables—it really depends on my mood and degree of decision fatigue at that particular moment. Generally, if it’s someone I know and respect, and if the project seems like one I know they couldn’t fund on their own, I’m willing to throw down a few bucks. Sometimes the rewards are actually something I’d enjoy having—a print, a book, an album, etc.—though this is usually not the deciding factor.

“I do understand how one can feel overwhelmed by constant requests to contribute. I guess a good set of questions when one is evaluating whether to contribute or not might be: Do I like and support the work of the person running the campaign? Am I genuinely interested in their project? Would I like to see it realized? Is the project of a scope or scale that the person running the campaign would be unlikely to be able to produce it solely out of their own pocket? Are any of the rewards something I might actually like to have? Can I afford making a contribution? If the answer to most questions is yes, then I would be likely to contribute, if even only a small amount.”

*     *     *

“Over the past two years, I’ve funded four artist projects. As a general rule I will not give to any art-related crowd-funding campaigns if the person could feasibly pay for the project on their own. This typically covers any ‘normal’ part of a studio practice such as making a book, doing a residency, taking a road trip to make photographs, doing extensive framing for artwork, traveling an existing solo exhibition to multiple venues, or generating basic research for an upcoming project. These are all things for which I’ve been asked to contribute funds recently.

“With this said, I will happily consider funding a project that seems more ambitious than one person can possibly pay for on their own. This would include producing a feature-length film, going to Antarctica for three months to gather data in the dark for a multi-year project, producing a year-long education program for under-served urban youth, or building a massive public sculpture in the middle of the desert … all of which I have funded or considered funding over the past few years.

“The only exception to this rule comes when an artist is offering a really great gift for funding his or her project. There have been a few instances when I funded a project reluctantly just to get some amazing thing that was offered. With that said, if I don’t receive the gift (and somewhat on schedule), I will not fund future projects by that person, regardless of the goal or project. I have a ‘one strike and you’re out’ policy. It may sound harsh, but I’ve funded four projects over the past two years, and only one person has issued their promised gift to me.”

*     *     *

“I have only contributed to a handful of projects over the years. Kickstarter showed promise as an arts-funding model in the beginning but quickly devolved into a haven for half-baked ideas and vanity projects for those with social capital. That being said, the few campaigns I’ve contributed money toward have one of the following qualities:

—An arts organization or alternative venue with a track record of presenting thoughtful programming and supporting artists.
—An individual artist who wants to finance the production of a book, album, or DVD, and uses Kickstarter as a preordering system for fans. If I’m into your work, I’m happy to pay for a piece of it up front.
—An individual artist who presents a clear idea that in some way justifies the need for a large amount of money, for example, digitizing archival material for a film. This third example is very rare and my guidelines for supporting one of these projects are as stringent as any granting organization. I want to see that the artist understands the scope of her project and has made a good-faith effort to seek other funding sources.

“Here are some qualities I despise in a campaign:

—Artists begging their poor friends for money. Perhaps they also have rich patrons, or more than likely family members, who are also contributing to the campaign, but too often their emails come off like a high-school student bumming change in the lunch line.
—Asking me to support your research trip, residency costs, or other travel. Learn to write a proper grant, it’s not hard to find travel money if you put in the legwork.
—Underdeveloped proposals that would never make it past the first stage of a grants process.
—Attempting to make me feel obligated to your vanity project by using words like ‘community’ and ‘social.’”

*     *     *

“I love crowdfunding. I think this type of exchange has provided creatives of all types with the opportunity to get their ideas off the ground, and has provided me with the satisfaction of contributing to projects that I find interesting and useful. However, I view crowdfunding more as a transaction than a favor to a friend. It’s an agreement.

“When I spend money on a product or a service, I get something in return. Even when I donate money to a nonprofit, I am paying for a service—that money is being used to make a difference for a cause that I care about, but that I cannot accomplish myself. When I am asked to contribute to someone’s crowdfunded project, I analyze the request like I would any other purchase. I typically refuse to fund projects that are, in my opinion, typical studio expenses or just someone’s basic cost of living.

“In my mind, there is no such a thing as a starving artist; I expect artists to be resourceful for the way that they fund their work, just like I am expected to be resourceful. But that doesn’t mean just sticking my hand out to my friends and family whenever I need something. I don’t fund projects because someone is my friend or because I get some kind of satisfaction from ‘donating’ money to an artist’s work—don’t come to me with a bleeding-heart story about why you can’t fund something yourself. Come to me with a real idea and give me something useful and interesting in return for supporting it.

“The projects that I find to be the most rewarding to fund are based on delivering some kind of product. I have supported friends who used Kickstarter to get their new accessory idea off the ground and, in return, I have received great products and other schwag. They sent regular updates of them building prototypes, selecting materials, and in the factory. I have funded a film project and have received a photograph from a small edition in return. I am often disappointed by projects that I have funded that don’t send thoughtful updates or don’t deliver the thing I purchased. When this happens, I will not fund that person’s projects again—just like I would do with any other bad customer-service experience.”

*     *     *

In the end, it’s pretty easy to get out of contributing to a campaign that you can’t or don’t want to support. Yes, you can just ignore the emails, but if that seems awkward, why not meet the subject head-on: “I saw your Kickstarter/Indiegogo/GoFundMe campaign, and I am saving for my own residency/have no extra money right now/have a policy of only supporting institutions—but I hope it works well for you!” Said with genuine goodwill, this may be all that’s necessary to preserve both your friendships and your bank balance. Good luck!

This week’s column is illustrated with collages by Irina and Silviu Szekely.

Your financial counselor, hard at work.

My question is: how does an artist decide how much a certain piece is worth, monetarily?

One of the most difficult things to do is put a dollar value on your work. In the absence of a gallerist’s guiding hand and prior knowledge, you have to ask yourself all kinds of ancillary questions: where am I at in my career, is this object well-made, is it unique, what have I sold in the past? etc. Pricing your work means it’s time to be brutally honest about where you stand in your career vis à vis what the market will bear. It can be a tough call. Who—at least of the unrepresented among us—hasn’t sold a piece and then wished they had asked for more? Or wondered if unsold work might have had a buyer if it was offered for less?

This is just one more situation in which artists need to do their research. Start with the local galleries and art fairs and look at the prices of work that is similar to yours to get a range of values. This will help you create a basic list of prices, but don’t stop there because numbers aren’t the only part of the equation. Take a look at the resumes of the artists, too, as accomplishments make a difference in setting a price. If the paintings of an established mid-career artist with work in private and public collections sell for $30,000, and you’re fresh out of a BFA program, then your work is not going to sell for the same amount even if the size, medium, and style are comparable.

Irina and Silviu Szekely, ( framing, deframing and reframing of semi-accidental linkages ), 18 x 22. Image courtesy of the artists.

You’ll also need to consider what it takes to make your work and what kind of work you’re making. For example, take the economics of production into account. What do you spend on your materials? Likewise, if you’re selling framed work you need to account for the costs of matting and framing. The type of work you’re making also has a particular value. If the work is part of an edition, it’s valued less than an original. A print from an edition of three hundred is less expensive than one from an edition of five.

When you’ve accounted for as many variables as possible, give yourself a small range of prices that you think are acceptable and run them by an artist friend who understands the art market. If you have access to a sympathetic teacher or dealer, you could ask those folks, too. I find that bouncing a number off a neutral party can help me make a final decision. I also take into account the words of a former professor, who told me that his sales strategy was to price things on the lower end of the scale. “I’d rather have a slightly smaller check than store [my paintings] indefinitely,” he said, and this is yet another thing to consider when you’re trying to put a dollar value on your work.

Irina and Silviu Szekely, ( the amputated experience of Sir Coincidence Sobject ), 27 x 23 cm. Image courtesy of the artists.

I am a performance artist. I have had many invitations lately to show my work, but I am worried I won’t have enough money to pay for all of the travel and materials. Is there a way to get an ‘art loan’? What would you do? I’m right on the cusp of something. It is so much about freeness, but also, it’s crazy to be running on hot air.

The first thing I want to say is that if you’re receiving invitations to perform, you should be getting at least some financial support from the institutions and venues themselves. Have you written any emails along the lines of, “Thank you for your interest in my work. Here are the costs associated with my performance, including airfare to your city. Please let me know how you are going to fund this performance.”? Though I suspect that this is not a magical solution to your problem, I would love for your work to be supported by the venues that ask you to perform for them. That’s not going to happen if you don’t ask directly, and at least it gives you a place to start.

As always, there are some larger issues at work here. We all know of some great institutions that operate on a shoestring budget. What happens when one of those worthy venues sends you an invitation? Do you turn them down if they can’t fully fund your work, thereby maintaining your financial integrity but losing an opportunity? Or do you suck it up, go into debt, and hope that this performance leads to one that will be fully financed? In a broader sense, how much do we artists have to give away before our work has (real cash) value? Can any of us afford to turn down an opportunity on principle? It’s frustrating to feel manipulated by a system that asks the very producers of culture to give it away for free. Considered on a global scale, someone somewhere is making money on our collective work, and it’s no good if you’re contributing meaningful effort and not getting your slice.

Irina and Silviu Szekely, ( unrefined manners of repossessing devaluated objects ), 18 x 18 cm. Image courtesy of the artists.

Would I get an art loan? Only if absolutely necessary and with a clear and realistic repayment strategy in place. Debt has a way of spiraling out of control, and it might be a while before you can get out from under the lead thumb of interest rates and minimum monthly payments. After all, this isn’t just about cold hard cash; it’s about your mental and emotional health, too. If the debt from today’s performance crushes your soul, how in the world are you going to get out of bed to make tomorrow’s? You need to consider the long-term implications of debt so that you can have a satisfying career instead of money-related burnout.

After you try to get some funding directly from your venues, the next step is to look into grants and awards. Grant Space at the Foundation Center has a comprehensive list of grant-making institutions. The online guide is by subscription (about $19/mo), but you can search their site for a bricks-and-mortar location near you where you can look through the guide for free. Grants are great. Not only do you get some money toward a project, you also get a line-item on your resume; even if the grant is small it has more than a financial benefit. One of the related perks of getting a grant is that it provides you with a grant history, which makes it easier to receive grants in the future (in general, granting institutions want to give their money to artists who have a proven record of being able to manage their funding properly). Start small and work your way up—a $200 grant today might not cover many of your expenses but it boosts your chance of getting a $2000 grant next year.

Irina and Silviu Szekely, ( temps de rêver au temps de vie, s’écrire et s’en douter ), 30 x 41 cm. Image courtesy of the artists.

Local funding can be crucial. Is there an institution in your area that provides small grants and awards? Try googling the name of your city and “art grant” to see what comes up. The great thing about funding on a local level is that is gives you the chance to form relationships beyond mere dollars. One artist I know received two grants from this regional institution and then was asked to sit on a grant-judging panel a few years later. The money came at the right time, to be sure; but additionally he got a wonderful “grant education” from being a judge and helping evaluate the applications. That’s the kind of knowledge that will help him get larger grants in the future.

Some of my friends have had substantial success with Kickstarter and similar crowd-sourced funding. One friend raised enough money to go off to a two-month residency across the country, and another’s campaign was so effective that he raised almost $4000 more than he requested. However, a good Kickstarter campaign takes time and energy to put together. If you’re going to try it, I suggest you spend a lot of time researching the site’s prior funded projects to determine what elements contributed to their success.

Irina and Silviu Szekely, ( simulacrum of an aesthetic mistrust prepared on the back of a postcard after periods of ontological fissures ), 56 x 82 cm. Image courtesy of the artists.

One thing to note about all of these sources is that they don’t provide money overnight, so it’s a good idea to think as far ahead as possible. Kickstarter may be among the fastest to pay out, but for any of these options it can take weeks to put together a strong application, and the checks from granting institutions come months after the application process ends. Where will you be in a year, and what will you be making? If you can start planning well in advance of production you’ll have a better chance of finding financial help. Art is so much about freeness: to experiment, create and perform. The trick is to find financial backing so that you can continue to develop your work without the weight of pecuniary shackles.