I long ago lost count of how many artists spend way too much time brooding, fretting, agonizing, seething, ranting, and otherwise confounding their cosmic destinies over money, particularly how much money other people make who sell their art-- people like gallery owners, resale dealers, private parties, and auction houses. In retaliation, these artists may try to micromanage their selling prices, insert themselves into business transactions where they don't belong, go draconian about who what when where or how they'll sell, and in the end, mess up all kinds of deals and opportunities just to snag a few extra bucks they believe they deserve. The most contentious meddlers become so difficult to deal with, they completely collapse the markets for their art. And that, of course, is never very good.

What's amazing about many of these artists is that they're often really talented, their art sells, demand is healthy, and their prices hold steady or even increase over time. Their art appeals to such broad buyer bases that it's capable of generating sales in a variety of venues, sales that a variety of people can profit from and do. Is that bad? I don't think so. The artists carp and moan when in truth, they should be eternally ecstatically thankful. All artists should have such problems. You see, the more money more people make transacting in your art, the better it is for you-- always-- regardless of whether or not you directly profit from each and every transaction.

Here's how this works...

One of the main reasons people buy art is they believe, right or wrong, that it might one day be worth more than they pay for it. They buy it because they like it, of course, but in the backs of their minds, they hope and pray that the future bodes big bucks for their new acquisitions. In reality, the overwhelming majority of buyers never see profits over cost. But a small percentage do, a far smaller percentage turn colossal profits, we read about those profits in the news, those rare returns on "investment" buff the overall health of the art market, veteran buyers keep buying, new buyers jump in-- and that, dear artsters, is very very good.

But wait. There's more. Artists and people who buy art share a mutual interest in that they both want their art to ultimately sell for as much money as possible. The partnership is so perfect that without each other, neither would have anything. Buyers would have no art; artists would have no money. Peace and love prevails. But dark clouds loom on the horizon and thunder rumbles in the distance. Why? Because artists and art buyers share an additional interest in that the more money art sells for, the more of that more money everybody wants. That's the snag, so as soon as prices take off, we get all greedy and start fighting.

Buyers who buy low early and sell high later claim they take risks and have the foresight to patronize and support artists when they're young and struggling. Buyers believe they deserve every penny of profit they make when they sell their art. Artists claim they do all the work; early buyers do nothing to advance their art careers other than shell out pocket change and then sit on the goods. Artists want in on the action-- percentages of third party sales. (Incidentally, some states have laws entitling artists to profits on third party sales.) Then comes the trouble. Resentful artists get difficult to buy from, hike their prices way up, dealers can't make any money showing or selling the art, buyers stop buying it, markets for the art begin to evaporate, occasional squabbles break out, the most combative contestants go legal and end up in court, and nobody lives happily ever after.

For artists, the paradox of this consolidated plunge to nowhere is that the more money their art sells for, no matter who sells it, no matter who profits how much (or how little) from those sales, the more money every work of art those artists have ever produced and-- here's the best part-- have yet to produce, is worth. So listen up. Regardless of how irritating it is for you to see big money change hands on your dime, on art you no longer own or on art someone else sells for you at a hefty commission-- you win. You see, the buyer only gets one piece of art; the seller only gets one profit or commission. You, on the other hand, are a monopoly-- the only factory and sole initial owner of every work of art you create. Each successive benchmark sale of your art, wherever it happens or whoever it's between, entitles you to successively higher selling prices and greater profits on every piece of art you sell anywhere under any circumstances for the rest of your life. YOU, dear artist, are the undisputed principal beneficiary. Congratulations!!

But wait. There's more. Imagine one day in the not too distant future, a piece of your art sells for four or five or six or maybe seven figures at a major international auction house-- a piece of art that you sold new for $500-- and you don't get a single dime of the take. Should you be blissed or pissed?

Right. Blissed. Bigtime. This means your art has acquired what's called "secondary market" or "resale" value where it's capable of selling on the block at public sales with no fanfare, no politics, no barkers, no finagling-- high bidder takes all. Bidders fight over your art with money, and it sells for one reason only-- because it's by you. This is every artist's dream, the most difficult financial obstacle in the art world to overcome (few artists do); their name is branded to the point where their art ascends to the status of a publicly traded commodity with cash value, similar to securities, regardless of where it sells. You get this far and you'll never have to show again (even though by that point you'll likely have more opportunities to show than you can begin to handle). What does it all mean? Let sales happen. The bigger they are, the better. Stand back; be happy. It's all good.

As for those fortunate early buyers, the ones who bought cheap, the ones who clean up big at the box office later, the ones whose faith in you and your art allowed you to endure the tough times-- these are the people you should be the most grateful for. They're the ones who loved what you did first, the ones who recognized your talent and brilliance ahead of everybody else. They're the brave pioneers who expressed their respect and appreciation for your art not with lip service but with money, money that allowed you to survive and ultimately to triumph as an artist.

Those modest first sales are the most critical in any artist's career. They allow you to keep making art, to follow your dreams. Think of how many artists fall flat because they can't make enough money to survive when they're just starting out. Their options are limited-- either stop making art, take a job to support making art, or turn art into a hobby and make it in your spare time. Early sales keep you "in business" and ultimately solidify the foundation of any successful art career.