The joys (and terrors) of a commission.
Preparing to draw my first commission.
You wake up, and there it is; the notification you’ve been looking for.
Someone has commissioned you to make something for them!
Your smile can’t contain the jolt of joy running through your very being. It’s a special kind of thrill when you see that little banner there, among all the apocalyptic news headlines and stressful work reminders.
That glow carries you throughout the day: “Oh, yay! They believe in me!”
But after you get out your crisp and smooth Bristol paper, woody sketching pencils, black inking pens, and bright rainbow of markers, you look down at that blank white page and a rush of cold water falls upon you.
“Oh, no. They believe in me!”
It’s one thing to create something for yourself.
When you do things on your own, you can take risks and make mistakes. You have no one to disappoint but yourself.
Creating something for someone else is an entirely different experience.
Suddenly there are layers of pressure to every pencil mark and color choice. “Is this curve too curved? Is that highlight correct? Have i added one too many veins; not enough pubes?”
It’s stressful, to be sure. But it’s also a kind of stress that pushes you to be better: You are more conscious of what you’re doing, and you have time constraints to satisfy.
Second commission work-in-progress.
Commissions have been the backbone of art history. Artists of all kinds have relied on patronage to fund their creative training and pursuits: churches and religious leaders, civic and community authorities, private citizens and kinksters alike.
Art is woven into every part of the human story, and though it seems taken for granted as a profession in this day and age, artistic endeavors drive innovation forward. (And commissioning patrons like you — yes, YOU! — are an important piece of that. Some might argue THE most important part.)
So forward you go, pushing through decisions and details, correcting a little here, embellishing a little there. And with the last marker stroke, a sort of calm settles around you — like looking out on a still, calm lake in the evening just after a short thunderstorm has passed.
You smile again and sign the finished piece.
Your joy swells even more as you gather the envelopes and packaging, as you log this latest artwork into your catalogue raisonné, as you print out and sign the certificate of authenticity.
First commission work-in-progress.
You’re still glowing as you hand the envelope off to the postal lady. She smiles when she reads “Artwork! Please don’t bend!” written several times across the package.
You return home feeling like a new person: like a person who has seen and done things.
And you think about that parcel on its way to its new home.
First commission completed and ready to be shipped!
To your client.
To your paying customer.
Who has expectations and anticipations of their own.
Suddenly the questions begin to bubble up: What if they don’t like it? What if they’re disappointed when they open that envelope? What if you’re actually a shit artist and all of this has been a delusional dream?
And so begins “the fog.” You spend days anxiously checking the tracking status updates, nervously anticipating the “packaged delivered” message.
Time somehow slows down and speeds up at the same time.
Finally the piece reaches its destination, and even though you’re attending a once-in-a-lifetime concert that night, your mind is with your artwork, vibrating in a state of constant panic and suspense.
Your brain is a wide concert hall, held on edge by a suspended high-note played on a singular violin, echoing and filling the expansive air with tension and anticipation.
That’s when it comes in.
THE “Ding!”
THE message you’ve been waiting for.
THE moment of truth.
Second commission completed with its proud owner!
“I FUCKING LOVE IT.”
The four most important words you can read. Your cup is filled and overflowing. All the doubts and anxiety melt away, warm sunshine and excitement flood your veins.
Artists bring people joy.
You brought someone joy.
You are an artist.
And as this cycle closes, you take that glow with you as you look forward to more cycles to come.
