We have a new section in our Etsy shop – original art. And I feel very mixed up about it.
I’ve never sold my art before. A few pieces live with relatives, but the bulk of it is in piles in my dad’s attic. Chronologically arranged from preschool through college.
Turns out I am possesive about my artwork. It’s mine. It’s fine to send prints and copies out into the world, but the original has all those little marks and fidgets that I made. The dent in the paper where I erased a line, the oils from my fingers, the fleck of paint where the brush jumped around. Besides being terribly personal these are all imperfections. And who in their right mind would want imperfect artwork on their walls?
Well, me. I love the uniqueness of sketches and trials and, well, originals. What a rush to know that the picture on your wall is the only one of its kind. That the artist touched it and manipulated it to just that moment. The colors are more vibrant, the marks more precise than you could hope for from any print. What you have is not simply a picture it is a tangible record of someone’s actions.
So, original art is really awesome. Except when its mine. Hence the mixed up feeling.