One Foot in Front of the Next: Notes to an Artist Facing Their First Solo Show

And how to price it.

My 50th+ solo show of paintings and collages at Ferrari Gallery in Dallas, Texas Spring 2024

One Foot in Front of the Next: Notes to an Artist Facing Their First Solo Show

An artist I know who lives in Glasgow, Scotland reached out, a bit nervous, asking for advice about their first one-person exhibition. I remember that feeling. Most of us do that have had one. That strange cocktail of excitement, doubt, overthinking, hope, and vulnerability that rises up when you’re about to show your work - your self - in a way you’ve never done before.

Here’s what I told them, and what I’d say to anyone standing at the edge of that same moment:

First of all, take a deep breath. Clear your mind. Whatever’s swirling around in your head - expectations, worries, what-ifs - let it go. You’ve already done the hard part. You made the work. That’s no small thing. That’s the part most people don’t have the courage or discipline to do.

Now comes the part that’s out of your hands.

If you’re feeling a pull to try something - a certain way of hanging, lighting, promoting, or organizing the show - follow it. But don’t get too attached to outcomes. This is not about proving anything. It’s about experimenting, learning, and showing up with presence and humility just like you do with your art making.

Your first show isn’t supposed to be your grand statement to the world. It’s just your first step out into the open. You’re testing the weather, listening for echoes, getting a feel for the terrain. It’s a beginning, not a coronation. There’s no need to overwork it or overthink it. What matters most is that you do it. That you show up.

Later, after your tenth or fifteenth solo exhibition, you’ll laugh at how nervous you were. It’ll all feel natural. You’ll know what works for you, what doesn’t, and how to make decisions based on lived experience, not speculation. But you only get there by walking the path yourself.

There’s no map for this kind of thing. The art world doesn’t hand out GPS coordinates. Doors open and close in ways you can’t predict. You don’t know which conversations will lead somewhere, or which quiet observer will become a future collector, or how your work might ripple out long after the show ends. You learn all this by doing, not by waiting until you feel ready.

So go lightly. Don’t overextend. Don’t exhaust yourself trying to control the outcome. Just stay curious. Stay open. Be present. Let the show be what it wants to be, not what you imagined it had to be. Make it real. Let it breathe.

And if it doesn’t go the way you hoped? So what. That’s part of it too. This whole thing - this long road of making, showing, sharing - is full of detours and dry spells, flashes of brilliance and long stretches of uncertainty. But the ones who keep going, who keep making, keep learning, keep trusting the process - those are the ones who grow into the artists they were meant to become.

Everyone else is just watching from the sidelines, wondering how it’s done.
The truth is, it’s done the simplest way possible:
One foot in front of the next.

So take your first step. Show your work. And don’t forget to look around and enjoy the view.

Pricing Your Art When You’re a Cornucopia

But wait a minute… Let’s talk about the uncomfortable topic of pricing your artwork.

Most artists I know undervalue themselves. It’s almost a given. We second-guess, we hesitate, we worry we’re asking too much, or we think, “Well, it didn’t take me that long” or “It’s just collage” or “Who am I to charge that much?” But here’s the truth I’ve come to after decades in the studio:

You are a cornucopia.

Not in the puffed-up, self-important way. I mean it literally. You are a horn of plenty. A walking fountain of ideas, visions, forms, and beauty. What comes through you is inexhaustible. You don’t run out. You evolve, you cycle, you shift gears—but the well is deep. You are not selling a single object. You are offering a moment from your endless creative flow, shaped by years of experience, intuition, risk, and refinement. In terms of monetary value - there is all this hidden time and effort and years of expense for studio and materials and experimentation and practice you have put in at your own expense and it has to be accounted for.

So here's my pricing advice, simple and direct:

1. Come up with a number that feels reasonable to you.

2. Then add 50%.

3. If you still feel its reasonable, add another 25%.

That’s not to gouge anyone. That’s to counteract the knee-jerk tendency to undervalue our work. Most artists start too low, not too high. This exercise is meant to stretch your comfort zone and help recalibrate your sense of worth.

I used to say, half-jokingly but not really:
"If I’m not going to sell it anyway, I might as well not sell it for a high price."

That’s actually not a bad philosophy. Think about it: if your work doesn’t move right away (and much of it won’t - I am still selling works from decades ago!), better that it stands proud than slink around underpriced. Pricing isn’t just transactional—it’s energetic. It signals how you regard your own work, and others pick up on that. If you value it, others will too. When you price with confidence, it encourages people to take the work seriously. When you lowball, they start wondering what’s wrong with it.

And remember: you can always lower the price later, or give a discount in the moment but it’s harder to raise it once the precedent is set.

Of course, you’ve got to feel good about the price you set. It has to resonate with you. If you walk into a room and wince when someone asks the price, that’s a sign you’re out of alignment. So do what feels right. But also: check in with your scarcity mindset. Is your hesitation coming from humility, or from fear? Are you genuinely tuning in to your values—or trying to stay small to make yourself acceptable?

I’m not telling you what to charge. I’m just saying:
You’re worth more than you think.
And so is your work.

Be generous with your art.
But don’t cheapen the miracle of where it comes from and what it took to bring it into the world.

---

Have thoughts on pricing your work? Stories of sales that taught you something? Let’s hear them in the comments. And if this kind of insight helps keep your compass steady, consider supporting the publication or forwarding it to a fellow artist.