I don’t know much about fine art. But a few years ago, I got a startling lesson – and it turned out to be a life lesson as well.
My wife and I had moved to Southern California from Phoenix, so we’d often visit the beach – something we didn’t get to do in Arizona. (Well, we had plenty of beach there . . . just no ocean.)
This particular afternoon, we made a 20-minute drive to one of the wealthy beach communities in the area. It’s where the houses were generally bigger than ours, and the mortgages had at least one or two extra zeros. We parked just off Pacific Coast Highway where hundreds of quaint little shops lined the street, then strolled back there to go exploring.
There were boutique clothing stores, real estate offices, restaurants, and gift shops. Candy stores, coffee stands, and cycling shops were interspersed with photography studios and Lamborghini showrooms.
And there were art galleries.
It seemed like every other storefront was a gallery for some type of artwork, from hand-crafted jewelry to oil paintings to glass sculptures and intricate designs in wood. Most were the work of an individual artist who was selling their own creations.
I said to my wife, “I guess if you have one of these big houses, you need a lot of art to cover the walls.” It just made sense. A big house needs more stuff than a little house.
We decided to turn into one of the galleries, just to see what it was like. The owner greeted us and offered to answer questions if they came up, then encouraged us to just look around. He wasn’t the artist, but simply displayed the work of others.
One particular item on the wall caught my attention. It was a white canvas board about two feet square, with squares of pastel construction paper forming a checkerboard. Each two-inch square was mounted about an inch off the canvas, giving the checkerboard a three-dimensional effect. The whole thing was mounted in a glass case.
It was simple and nicely done. Quite interesting, in fact.
I looked below to see the engraved details mounted on a small plaque on the wall, which included the price.
It was $250,000.
A quarter of a million dollars for a pastel construction paper checkerboard.
I whispered to my wife, “Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
I’m guessing that this wasn’t the first time the owner had been asked about this, so he smiled as he strolled toward us.
“I’m assuming you might have a question about this work?” he offered.
“Well, I’m not an art connoisseur,” I said. “But you already know what I’m going to ask, right?”
“Probably, because it’s a common question,” he replied. “You want to know what makes this piece worth a quarter-million dollars, right?”
“Exactly.”
“Two things,” he said. “For one, it’s signed by the creator.” He pointed to the signature at the bottom. “You might not recognize this name, but anyone in the art community would recognize the name in an instant – and they would immediately recognize the value.”
“Second, it’s an original. There are no copies of it anywhere. So when someone displays this on their wall, they know it’s the real thing from the real artist.”
We decided to pass this time. Maybe later.
I thought about that experience for days. I thought about how we’ve purchased great looking prints at IKEA or a swap meet and framed them to decorate our house. They look great – but if the house caught on fire, those wouldn’t be high on my “grab-these-first” items.
People are willing to pay more for something when it’s original – and signed – than they are for a copy of the same piece. It’s the uniqueness that sets it apart from everything else.
Then why do we try to be like others so often? Why do we get caught up comparing ourselves, feeling like we’re not as good as them?
The musicians, artists and sports figures we admire most capture our respect because they’re unique.
Sometimes we hear a singer compared to someone else. I remember hearing a really good singer described as sounding “just like Bruno Mars.” That might be OK when you’re starting out in your craft, but people won’t pay big bucks to hear that person in concert.
They don’t want a copy.
They want the real thing.
That’s the danger of comparing ourselves or our work with others. We see someone who is unique and want to be like them.
But that robs the world of our own uniqueness.
Authors run into this a lot. I once had an idea for a book, then went to Barnes & Noble and saw a dozen other books on the same topic. My mind went to the same place it always does:
“There are already so many good books out there. Why should I write another one on that topic?”
I verbalized that to a good friend. He said, “Because nobody else has your voice or experience. You don’t have to write a book that’s better than all the others. You have to write a book that’s uniquely yours. Not everybody will buy it, but some people will because your story speaks to them.”
He continued: “But they can’t buy it if it’s not on the shelf.”
Do you ever feel like you don’t have much to offer? That you don’t have much value compared to others?
Here’s the solution:
- Create the work. Be original. Don’t be a copy. Be the best version of you possible instead of comparing yourself to others.
- Sign your name. Your uniqueness can change somebody’s life.
Based on my friend’s advice, I did write that book
At first, the writing was tough. I was still thinking of all those other books and wondering how to make mine different. But as I wrote, my own ideas began to surface. I quit comparing and started composing.
And my voice came through. When that happened, the book
That’s how we create a work of art. Not by copying, but by being ourselves. It’s when we create something that’s uniquely ours.
That’s the criteria for a masterpiece. It might not have a quarter-million dollar price tag, but it’s priceless.
Because it’s you.