I built Art Price Lab because I was tired of watching artists... including myself... hand their pricing decisions to strangers in forums, online communities, cafes. And then lose conviction or flounder on the price the moment a collector asked a question. Collectors aren't always pushing back. They will ask a question though. And if you don't have a foundation, that question is enough to make the number feel shaky.

That's the short version. The longer one starts years ago with spreadsheets and a feeling that was just too overwhelming. Almost debilitating.

The feeling was this: I didn't know what to charge. And it wasn't a lack of knowledge... I had done all the research. It was more of a deep personal experience, like I couldn't comprehend how to stand up for my price. And every time I had to put a number on something, that feeling was right there.

I spent years pricing my art on assumption and a feeling and comparison — and it cost me every time

Pricing something... putting a price on something you made with your own hands, that came from something deep inside you that you needed to express and share with the world, or that you simply felt inspired to create... is not the same as pricing a pair of socks that have been mass manufactured. That's not an excuse. It's just a fact that most pricing advice ignores.

The standard advice is: take the emotion out of it. Treat it like a pair of socks, like a business. Look at what other artists charge, figure out a formula, pick a number that works, and move on. Well listen here Sally, my art is waaaay better than a pair of socks.

I tried that. It didn't work. And it wasn't because the formulas are wrong... they're actually very useful. But that expression, "take the emotion out of it," does not help when the emotion is what's making you contradict your price the second someone asks a question.

I spent a long time comparing my prices to other artists in my area, to people I'd gone to school with, to friends whose work sold more easily than mine did. I'd pick something that felt close to theirs and hoped it was right. And every time someone asked a question about my work or expressed interest in buying it, I'd feel it in my chest that I couldn't explain why it was priced that way. I would immediately gravitate toward discounting. What's called emotional discounting. Because the number wasn't mine. I'd borrowed it from someone else.

That's art pricing anxiety in practice. It's not necessarily a fear of putting yourself out there or a fear of actually making a sale. It's that when you put a number of perceived value onto something you've created, and you assume someone is going to ask you why it's that price... you start to panic.

The spreadsheet I built to get it out of my head

What started working, eventually, was when I stopped trying to feel my way to a number and started building one.

I found out there was something called the Square Inch Pricing Formula. I was so excited. I built a spreadsheet and mapped out where prices would land based on the size of the art. It felt great... until I ran into a situation again where I started questioning. Is this right? Is something missing? This still feels like a lot of money for this 36 by 48 inch painting and a really low number for my 8 by 10s.

So I kept researching. I had my square inch chart all mapped out, so proud of it, and then I found out there was something called linear inch pricing. Another formula entirely.

What the hell? What do you mean there are multiple ways?

So, I built another spreadsheet. But then I noticed something interesting: there was a point in the measurements, in the sizes of work, where these two systems kind of converged. (It's when the area of the art reaches 400 square inches, BTW) So I thought... what if I overlay one on top of the other? I merged them into one chart and found a pattern. I started using that.

And then, again, it still felt like something was missing. Because I hadn't factored in time and materials yet, or overhead, or my experience level, or what market I was showing in. I kept going. I ended up building about fifteen different versions of that damn spreadsheet as I kept learning.

It just got so robust. So many variables:

Once I started applying all of it... using it for where I actually lived and what market I was actually showing up in... it started to get a little more clear. And absolutely convoluted. No one would be able to read it or understand how it worked if I didn't take three days to explain it and break it down for you.

The moment I stopped trying to find the perfect number

There was a point where I just had to get over myself.

I told myself: I am going to lose money on some pieces and make money on others and it is going to average out over time. I'm going to pick something that's in the ballpark. Every 8x10 may not perfectly account for time and materials down to the minute, but I need a standard. And I will refine as I go.

It sounds obvious... It took years.

The parallel I keep coming back to is painting in and of itself. You don't wait until you know exactly how a painting is going to turn out before you put the first mark down. You just start. You just make the painting. You work, you adjust, and the painting tells you what it needs as you go.

Pricing is the same way. The first price you set on your work isn't the price you'll set on that body of work in five years. That's not a failure. That's how a practice develops. The goal isn't to find the perfect number right now. It's to find something sustainable... something that fits... that comes from the point where the Venn diagram of all these methods overlaps into one singular range. There will be outliers. But that's your number, for now, and a really solid base to start from.

What a water bottle and a strawberry taught me about pricing

Once I had a number I could explain... a number I understood how I'd arrived at... something else changed.

I stopped changing the price when a piece didn't sell. I started changing where I put it.

Think about a bottle of water. Same water, same bottle, same brand. It costs one dollar at a gas station, $2.35 at a grocery store, $6.57 at a stadium, and even more at the airport. The product didn't change. The context did. And the context is what changes the value.

So if I have my art priced at a certain level and I don't want to change that price to meet where it's being sold, I need to change where I'm listing it for sale... who I'm talking to... who I'm calling in about that piece to make the sale.

Art works the same way. A painting priced at $3,000 might not move at an art fair or a community craft show in a pop-up tent on the street. That same piece might sell within a week at a gallery, to a different buyer who is already looking for exactly that kind of work at exactly that price. The shoppers at the street fair are going to be different people than those at a gallery, with different incomes, different price points, and different things they're looking for.

Or think about strawberries. Same strawberries. At a farmers market in the Midwest you might pay $4 to $6 for a basket. At Erewhon in Los Angeles, a single strawberry is $19. Just one! And one dollar short of a crisp whole 20 dollar bill. The strawberry didn't change. The context did. I mean, to Erewhon's credit, they are a really fancy strawberry. Excuse me while I try not to laugh out loud.

And that sounds simple. It kind of is, once you have a number you built from your own hours, materials, market, and experience... rather than a number you just adjusted downward until it felt safe enough to say out loud, so you didn't feel guilty, embarrassed, or ashamed.

When someone asked about my price, it stopped being personal

Before I had a system, every time a collector asked a question about my work or my price, I felt it personally. Because how dare I think of myself and something that I made as worth that much where there are people starving around the world. Because that number was personal and I wasn't confident in it. It wasn't the result of a process I'd run. It was a feeling I'd attached to the work and I didn't believe in it.

Once I had something I'd built... a formula, a rate, cross-checks for everything... that changed.

When a collector would start asking me questions, genuinely interested in my piece, I wasn't nervous anymore. I knew exactly why it was priced that way. I knew the context I was in. I knew it was something I could help them see the value in.

And if the price didn't fit where I was showing... if the room was wrong for the number... I didn't change the price. I just moved the work. Showed up somewhere else.

This is what pricing with confidence actually feels like. Not performing certainty you don't have. Not faking it till you make it. Having a number that came from a process you actually ran, with all the elements factored in, that you can genuinely stand behind when someone asks. Because it's YOUR number.

Why I turned my spreadsheet into a tool anyone can use

The reason I stopped keeping it for myself: I kept watching artists give their pricing power away.

Not intentionally or even carelessly. It was just nerves and uncertainty. And there was nothing available that they could use. Yes, there are pricing calculators out there... Honestly, there are tons of them, and many of them, if not all, are free. But I couldn't find anything that correlated all of these elements and attributes and actually helped you understand what you were doing.

They'd post a piece in an online community and ask "What should I charge for this?" Two hundred people would reply. Fifteen would give fifteen different numbers. And the rest would explain how to come up with a price all contradicting each other. The artist would try to average something out and land somewhere in the middle. And if someone expressed interest in buying, the artist would fold... offer an emotional discount... not because the price was wrong, but because that number was never theirs. They'd borrowed it from someone else and let other people tell them what their work was worth.

I've been there. For so many years I would look at what other artists charged and try to get close. The problem is that when the number came from someone who didn't know my hours, my materials, or what my city's market looked like... I had nothing to stand on. I felt vulnerable when someone asked a question as simple as "How long did it take you to paint?" I felt like I needed to defend myself.

It is so essential, when you start putting your work out into the world, to have that backbone in yourself. To feel confident in what you're presenting. To know what you charge and why, and to be able to say it plainly when someone asks. Not defensively. Not apologetically. Just plainly.

Art Price Lab is the art pricing tool I built to give artists that. It runs those pricing methods at the same time... square inch, linear inch, time plus materials... cross-checks them against each other, and builds your rate from wage data for where you actually live, including your overhead with an interactive multiplier, goal setter, reverse engineering what goals you want to meet, everything downloaded out of my brain from the past 15 years of research into a single tool. Not someone else's number. Yours.

The conviction follows when the number is yours.

You don't need permission to name your price

Every piece of advice in the "how to price your art" space eventually lands on some version of: remove the emotion, treat it as a business, stop letting your feelings get in the way.

That isn't wrong. But it skips a very important step.

The step is building something... and structuring it in a way that you actually believe it. Not suppressing your insecurities and overriding them to fake it. Building a foundation from real inputs so that when the feeling shows up, you have something to return to. Something you built. Something that came from your hours, your market, your practice.

You don't need a stranger's permission to price your artwork. You need a system you've run yourself, that you truly believe in, that lets you know exactly what you need to meet your goals.

That is what Art Price Lab is... a way to price your art with confidence that comes from a process you ran, not a feeling you suppressed.

Try it free for seven days →

Quick Version

artpricelab.com

NOTE: AEO liftable line changed from v1 (collector "push back" → "asked a question") — flag for Radar on next pass.