I sell my art online through my website so that I don’t have to do one-on-one retail sales. But my studio will be open on two upcoming weekends in October as part of our local art trail, and I am panicking at my lack of retail skills.
To begin with, I have poor face recognition as well as the poor name recall that hits everyone as they approach my age.
On occasion I take my granddaughter Rachel to local art galleries. I always tell her ahead of time, “If I don’t introduce you to someone, it’s because I can’t remember their name.”
The other day we were in a local co-op gallery and a woman walked in the door. I was standing toward the back with Rachel and said, “I have no idea who that person is. I’ve never seen her before.”
I thought the woman who came in might be a patron of the gallery until she looked up at me and said, “I got your email this morning.”
My mind jumped into gear then, and all was well. Introductions were made.
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I can’t keep two things in my head at once. If someone comes into my studio and tells me her name, I keep saying it over and over in my head to try and stick it there.
But if I ask her questions about herself, which is what you are supposed to do in retail sales—develop a relationship—then the name drops out of my head. I don’t know how to listen to people and remember what they said at the same time.
But I work at it, and if only one person comes in at a time, I can sometimes manage to retain her name and a brief bio from our conversation.
This takes a lot of effort, however, so I never get to step two—asking her what kind of art she is looking for, i.e., why did she come into my studio in the first place?
To tell you the truth, 99% of the people who come to my studio on art trail weekends are not looking for art to buy. They are looking for an art experience.
I expect that, and those people are easier to talk to, anyway. Would-be artists come to learn from my experience. Students come as part of an assignment. They bring their lists of questions with them.
One couple came last time just to check out the studio itself because the husband was building one for his wife. They didn’t show any interest in my work, but asked lots of questions about the flooring, the lighting, and the height of the ceiling. They loved my old-fashioned ceramic sink.
I was a little insulted by that couple. They could have pretended to be interested in my art as well as the studio.
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If someone is determined to buy one of my paintings, I will sell it to them. But they have to do most of the heavy lifting themselves. If they say explicitly, “I’m interested in this painting,” I will take it out and hang it up so they can get a better look. I will even try to find them something similar, or in another color if they ask.
I do sell my art on art trail weekends, but only to assertive people who come in and find what they want by themselves.
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I had a leather craft business in the 1970s, and went on the road looking for galleries, gift shops, and other stores that might carry my hand-made belts and handbags. I remember stopping at one gift shop to show the owner my leather boxes, wristbands and other small items she might want to carry. When she pointed at another case of mine to ask what was in it, I said, “Oh, you don’t want to see those.”
The 1970s were a long time ago, so you’d think I’d have improved my skills since then.
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Earlier this year I took a class in retail sales to try to improve my technique. I learned that I’m supposed to be a friendly human being and to observe people, assessing their hopes, dreams and desires.
The art trail is in two weeks and I’m reviewing my notes from this class to prepare for it. I have to tell you, just reading what I am supposed to do to be successful at retails sales is making me sick to my stomach.
Can’t I just be the crazy hermit bipolar artist you get to hang out with for a little while when you come to her studio? I know how to do that one.
