Post 1/28 29/11
I am pleased as punch to report that I made a rather large sale the other day; however, this is where experience separates itself from just plain old dumb luck. Realize now, that I still am a fairly relative newby with less than three years art show experience under my tent. So, when a wonderful patron asked me, “And how much is shipping to New Hampshire?” I played coy and said I’d have to check my book and get them a quote. Hell, I’ve shipped paintings to Germany! How difficult could it be to ship a piece to Keene, NH?
Well.
I checked my little book, and recited the quote for the USPS for a piece 36” X 24” and up to 25 lbs to NY for $85.00. Hey, how much more could a piece 52” X 24” be? A few bucks? Oh no no no no. At a certain dimension, the USPS turns its back on you. At a certain weight, UPS and FedEx just hand you Vaseline and tell you to bend over. There is a netherworld out there in shipping, where the actual size of a package is eclipsed by its estimated weight category. This is the best way I have to describe it, and it’s better this way, because my tequila report is interwoven with it. Apparently, according to one private shipping company (which may be the issue) dimensions and weight cease to matter and become a nebulous area where the length x width x girth is estimated to fall within an estimated weight range, and if your package doesn’t fall within these specifications, they hand you the extra large bottle of Vaseline. Uh huh.
“Three hundred thirty dollars. Plus one hundred twenty nine to build the crate.”
“Two hundred sixty five dollars, and that’s only a thousand dollars insurance.”
“Well, air will insure any amount, if you can prove its value, but ground will only insure up to a thousand.”
Hang on. I’m getting to the tequila report.
So, after a few hours of feeling like I bit off both ends of my burrito, so to speak, I began to ask other artists which shipper they use.
“Shipper?” many of them inquired with a politely raised eyebrow. “Why would I want to use one of those?”
For the first few days of the show, my booth was peppered with fliers from private shippers advertising “free packing”, “will pick up from show”, “insurance included”. I began to feel like a college student shopping for car insurance. I didn’t even know there was a difference between packing and crating.
“You make your own box.” Upon viewing my completely obtuse expression, my peeps began to explain.
“You go to Home Depot. You grab a refrigerator box. They’re always throwing them out, they’re free and they’re heavy duty. You cutta the box to size. Now, if you gotta canvas, you gotta getchaself summa masonite and putta thata on the face of it...you builda your owna box...”
Ok, so maybe I’m overdoing the Godfather bit, but it was about as big a mystery to me as say, oh, cannoli cream, cappozella, and Casa Nostra. So, taking me under their wings, these obliging artists initiated me into Packing Your Own Artwork 101. “Screw the shippers,” went the first commandment, “they overcharge.”
As Framer Dude is collaterally involved with this adventure, he was adamant that I buy a box from someone: “I am NOT dumpster diving for cardboard! We’ll go to the shippers and buy a box!”
So, we went to various packers.
“I can order that size for you, it’ll be here Wednesday.”
“A 65” x 30” x 6” is $70. Yeah, just the cardboard box, lady. We gotta pay to freight it here.”
“You need a crate for that size. Mine are $129.”
Uh huh. When a shipper charges more for a box than I paid for a painting to go to Gemany, I start to get the idea that maybe I’m being played and taken for the rube I am. I don’t like that feeling. I retreated into my wounded manic artist persona in the truck home, feeling about as stable as nitroglycerin. Seriously, one decent sale and I shoot myself in the foot and eat my profits with the shipping? There’s got to be a better way. Maybe I don’t have all the money in the world, but if I bought a painting for say, 2 grand and then was told I’d have to pay 500 in shipping, I’d balk on principle and rent my own damn uhaul and driver for less!
Framer Dude suddenly changed his tune when another boothbuddy pointed out all our frigging tools.
“Can he build a crate? I mean, it’s kinda like building a frame...I got a painting I have to ship next week, and I’d pay you to make it rather than one of these vulture shippers.”
MacGuyver Dude pipes up.
“I can build a crate.”
Today I saw the covert looks towards him with visual vocalizations of “Crates” along with fingers pointing. He may be leaving hot dog heaven soon.
So, having been deflowered by the packing and shipping companies, one of the veteran artists who has taken me under his wing, gently tugged at my sleeve at Happy Hour yesterday and offered me a consolation/congratulation: homemade tequila by a compadre of his from Mexico. A bit of law and trivia (are the two even mutually exclusive?): if you make your own tequila in Sonoran County, you are not allowed to call it ‘tequila’; this was called Baccanora, or something like that. I took French and Latin in high school, what was I thinking?
“You’ll get the hang of it,” he assured me as he expertly daubed finishing touches on a commissioned painting. What, the shipping? “...don’t take it like a shot, just sip it.” Oh. Oops.
Sippin’ tequila. This stuff had a smoky cactusy burn to it, complex and oaky and flowery, that would have made it a venal sin to mix it with anything. Well, after a water glass of this pure cactus heaven, I stumbled back to my RV, only to find Framer Dude and another peep engaging in another consciousness-altering substance.
Feeling suitably invincible now, I acquiesced to this peep’s generous offer as well. Which is why this blog post was not published last night, as originally intended. Beware of artists bearing gifts.
