Setting Boundaries and Guarding Your Time

When my kids were small, they begged me not to take them to the grocery store. We lived in a small town, and I was a somewhat recognizable figure in the art community. That meant that I knew a lot of people. And with one grocery store in town, it was more likely than not that I would run into someone I knew from the gallery, often artists who would ask me questions about the gallery or their work. Too often, I’d allow myself to be drawn into a conversation that I really didn’t want to have. Meanwhile, my kids just wanted to get home.

Off-hours meetings and events encroached on my private time, too. I’m a morning person and by the end of the workday, I’m ready to get home and stay there. Instead, I’d find myself at an exhibit opening reception, a music event, or a meeting after work. As a prominent part of my community, I thought it was critical for me to be visible, taking part in community events.

As I started to feel increasingly drained, I found myself needing more recharge time from my work at the end of the day. I realized that the problem was my inability and unwillingness to say no.

As I write these blogs for galleries, I am seeing a consistent theme – saying no. For many years, I didn’t say no very often. Which meant I was saying yes, a lot. And a lot of those yesses got me in trouble, made more work, or just plain didn’t feel good.

I didn’t want to miss out on a single opportunity that might be good for my business. My identity was so wrapped up in being a gallery owner that I couldn’t see the boundary between me and the OOAK Art Gal Boss Lady, so of course neither could anyone else. What I was leaving out of the equation was me, that a drained and exhausted me was definitely NOT good for my business.

I decided to approach this by choosing only two off-hours events that I’d attend each week. That clear boundary made it easier to decline a last-minute invite to an open mic or a reception. That said, if I thought an activity would energize me, such as a late afternoon hike, I’d gladly accept.

The face-to-face encounters were a little more challenging, and I allowed myself some grace there. However, when it became clear that a particular conversation was more appropriate at work, I’d gently and firmly ask whoever to call me at work or email me to set up an appointment or meeting.

Once I started being more intentional with my off hours, it really didn’t take long for me to reclaim my time. Being able to compartmentalize my work life from my personal life left me feeling more peaceful at home and more energetic and work.

Don’t be afraid to say no. Saying no to others often means saying yes to you. Resist worrying about missing an opportunity. There will be other opportunities. Don’t bring work home. All that creative energy, beauty, and yeah, that paperwork will be there for you in the morning. Lock the door and wish your gallery goodnight when you leave at the end of the day.

Managing How Many Artists You Represent

By the time I’d been in business for about a decade, my gallery represented over 180 artists. As the list of artists I represented grew ever larger, I would rationalize:

“That number includes musicians and authors, and those books and CDs don’t take up much room.”

“I just had to accept such-and-such artwork because it’s so wonderful and will sell well.”

And my old standby: “Let’s give it a try.”

After years of keeping manual sales records, we were using a Point of Sale (POS) system, which helped manage all those artists, but even with a good management tool, 180 is a lot. When looking at the year-end reports with so many entries, it was clear that there too many. I was giving a lot of artists “a try.”

Besides the reports and spreadsheets, something I hadn’t thoughtfully considered was physical space. My gallery was over 2000 square feet, so I thought that I always had room for more art. I had arrived at this place in good faith – I believed in my ability to sell the work, and I had this big space, so why not?

In reality, I was curating without limits, which isn’t actually curating well. More artwork is fantastic, but it overloads a gallery space, overwhelms customers, and creates extraneous work for you and your staff.

I wasn’t using my business brain to make the decisions on who to represent. For example, books and CDs don’t take up much room, yet they still need to be processed, priced, and displayed. They still need to be dusted. And they really didn’t sell well at all. They were costing me retail space and money.

And every new artist I brought in crowded the already too-crowded roster of talent.

I decided to put my business hat on and take a hard look at revenues. I examined yearly sales by artist, sorted by medium. Automatically, I decided to keep the top 5 best sellers in each category – pottery, jewelry, prints, etc. That would guarantee the variety of media I wanted. Then I set a dollar figure in retail sales, say $1000, and kept any artist who sold at least $1000 in that year. The remaining artists were evaluated on a case-by-case basis.

I took my time deciding who to keep, and when an artist was let go, I made clear that my decision was a business decision and that it wasn’t personal. After all, I’d admired and accepted the work in the first place. If an artist’s work isn’t sell well, you aren’t doing yourself or the artist any favors by continuing to carry it. The work might be a better fit in a different gallery.

Of course, you’ll make exceptions. I ended up keeping the books and CDs because I love books and music. And because those authors and musicians were my community, I loved them, too.

Art doesn’t lend itself to being reduced to numbers. The business of selling art can combine your intuitive love and appreciation for artists and their work with your entrepreneurship.

Limiting the number of artists that you represent is a smart business move and will allow you the freedom to focus on the artwork that is selling and that your customers want to buy.

Making Thoughtful Decisions for Your Gallery

During those first gallery years, I made several rookie business mistakes.

• I wholesale purchased over $1000 worth of art from a local artist the first time he walked in the door.

• I spent hundreds of dollars on advertising in places that were a poor fit, including cheap tote bags for the local library, and ads printed on the backs of grocery store receipts.

• I accepted work from artists who needed more development before they were ready for gallery representation.

Each mistake cost me time, money, not to mention a little self-respect. I judged myself harshly, and it took years for me to forgive myself and to truly learn from those mistakes.

Part of that learning was understanding the type of decision-maker that I am. I need time. I need to slow down, consider requests carefully, and look at multiple perspectives before committing my time and money. This self-realization led me to build structures that allowed me to respond thoughtfully rather than react impulsively.

Some solutions were practical.

• I set an annual advertising budget and planned my spending in advance.

• I developed strict guidelines for submitting work for representation.

• Once I accepted an artist, I requested that they leave their work for a few days for me to examine. That time allowed me to assess if their jewelry was as well constructed as it was beautiful, or if their pottery had smooth, finished surfaces with no rough spots.

And fortunately, the local artist whose work I bought visited the gallery every few weeks and would exchange pieces that weren’t selling. He was a natural salesman, and I quickly had to learn to say “no” when he brought work that wasn’t right for the gallery.

Every request you say “yes” to creates more work for you. As the business owner or manager, you have to decide if that work is worth your time and energy.

• Are you saying “yes” to spending time managing the displays of work that isn’t selling? My staff and I noticed that we spent more time arranging and dusting work that we ultimately returned to the artist, than we spent on work that sold consistently.

• Are you succumbing to the pressure of advertising salespeople?

• Are you putting your reputation on the line by accepting work that doesn’t meet your standards?

Even with experience, I still made mistakes. At times, I could be as dazzled by artwork that I knew deep down wouldn’t sell, but work that I wanted to spend time with nonetheless. On occasion, I invested in advertising that didn’t result in any sales.

Over time though, I became a more thoughtful and confident businessperson. I learned how to make decisions that honored my business, my time, my energy, and my vision. Saying “yes” to myself and what truly mattered to me allowed me to create a gallery that I loved and genuinely enjoyed running.

Tracking Inventory: Manual or POS

You’ll hear me talk often about the importance of keeping your business paperwork in order, and inventory is where it all begins. Your gallery inventory is the foundation for everything: what you display, what you promote, what you restock, what you sell, and ultimately, how you make money. If you don’t know what you have, you can’t possibly know what you can sell or where your business is financially.

When I first opened my gallery, I tracked everything on paper. Artists would bring a written inventory list along with their work. We’d verify each item and transfer that list to each artist’s master inventory sheet, all kept in a large turquoise binder. Every piece was numbered and stickered by hand.

We recorded daily sales on a steno pad divided into columns (artist number, item number, description, price), and the next morning those sales were entered into a basic spreadsheet and manually deducted from each artist’s master list. Checks and double checks. My hope was that the redundancies would prevent errors.

When my gallery represented a small number of artists, the system worked well enough.

But as the gallery grew and sales increased, that paper-and-spreadsheet system became cumbersome and time-consuming. Mistakes were easy to make and even easier to miss. When our artist roster grew to over 100, inventory management started to take on a life of its own.

I knew just enough about spreadsheets to be dangerous, so I tried building a more efficient system myself. I quickly abandoned that and began researching Point of Sale (POS) systems that could support consignment inventory. There are many options out there, and choosing one felt overwhelming, but I took my time finding the best system for my business.

The transition wasn’t easy, but the shift was well worth it. We had to inventory the entire gallery by hand. When we finished, we discovered that we had over 11,000 individual items for sale in the gallery. That number still blows my mind.

But once we trained up and settled into using the POS system, I couldn’t imagine how we had ever managed without it.

The POS we used was cloud-based, which meant artists could view their inventory and sales in real time. That single feature built trust and motivated artists to restock proactively. It also eliminated the need for monthly sales report emails - a task my staff and I gladly let go of. We could get back to the work that actually mattered:

• Receiving new work smoothly

• Creating thoughtful displays

• Talking with customers

• And most importantly - selling art

Switching from paper to digital inventory was a turning point for the gallery.

That said, a paper system can absolutely work, especially for small galleries with a manageable number of artists. The key is to pay attention to when your system begins holding you back. “Just fine” is fine… until it no longer is.

As your gallery grows, your systems should grow with you. The right tools don’t just save time - they support better relationships, smoother processes, and a stronger business overall.

Paying Artists (and Yourself) on Time

I’m not an accountant or a bookkeeper, at least not beyond what was necessary to run my gallery. I used free or low-cost tools to manage finances and tracked every dollar closely. With small profit margins, I had to stay on top of income and expenses at all times.

I earned an excellent reputation as a gallery owner who paid artists promptly. My artists trusted me with their work, and it was important to me to keep that trust. That trust bred mutual respect. In 12 years, the only time I was late paying artists was in April 2020. We went into Covid lockdown just as the gallery would have opened full-time for the season. And right when winter savings had run out. I had annual expenses coming due that I normally covered with early-season sales. By the end of March, I had to make a difficult choice: pay the utilities and insurance or pay my artists.

Fortunately, I qualified for relief funding and was only a couple of weeks late sending those artist payout checks out. Still, that experience stayed with me. I felt deeply that I had let my artists down. It forced me to take a closer look at cash flow - how money moved in and out of the business - and to build a better plan for the future. That realization didn’t just change how I managed the gallery; it changed how I valued my own role in it.

In the early years, I only paid myself when I paid my artists, and only for my own work that had sold. Every other dollar stayed in the gallery account to keep the business running. That’s how many small businesses operate and how many small business owners survive on stress.

After a few years, it was suggested to me that I should pay myself a modest salary just so that I would be contributing to Social Security. So, I did. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Over time, I took a long hard look at why I was in business and what I was worth. I encouraged my artists to treat themselves as professionals, yet I wasn’t truly doing the same for myself.

If I wasn’t paying myself a fair wage, I was essentially a volunteer.

I had to make adjustments, such as shuffling expenses and delaying purchases, but eventually, I landed on a salary that reflected my value and my hard work.

Paying artists on time and paying yourself isn’t just about money. It reinforces professionalism and ensures long-term stability. When you treat your creative business seriously, you create a stronger foundation not just for yourself, but for the entire art community you’re part of.

The Joys and Realities of Running a Gallery

Without a doubt, the biggest joy of being a gallery owner was meeting and getting to know the artists I represented. Knowing my artists and their stories made selling their work effortless. I adored spending my days surrounded by the creative energy of my artists.

I can still feel the excitement when my favorite painter would bring new work, or when my lamp maker arrived with a new piece, smiling and laughing as he explained what upcycled items he had used to create his newest lamp. I also relished seeing my hard work pay off, like the crowds of visitors who filled the gallery during events I had spent weeks planning and preparing for.

Another joy of being a gallery owner was being the boss. I liked making the decisions: who to represent, what to display, and how to run things. I made the rules, and I decided when to break them. What happened under my roof was completely up to me. Doesn’t that sound great?

Most of the time it was great. A lot of the time it was downright fun. But not always.

I represented a few high-maintenance artists who commanded more time and energy than I could give. I made some poor choices about where to spend advertising dollars. I never quite mastered the balance between consignment and wholesale. I learned on the fly and didn’t know where to turn for advice. And for years, I worked too many hours and didn’t give myself enough downtime to recharge. Still, I held myself accountable for the mistakes I made. Afterall, I was the boss; there was no one else to blame.

Owning a gallery and running one are two very different things. Ownership came with pride, independence, and creative freedom - the joy of shaping a space that reflected my vision. But running a gallery, day after day, was another story. That’s where the realities of bookkeeping, staffing, and maintenance lived. I learned quickly that being a gallery owner and business owner also meant being a manager, and that came with plenty of decidedly unglamorous jobs. I filed taxes, managed payroll, ordered supplies, and made sure there was heating oil for the furnace. I interviewed, hired, and sometimes fired employees. I cleaned toilets, balanced the books, and built the staff schedule, all part of keeping the lights on and the doors open. It wasn’t always pretty, but it was mine.

In my gallery, I was both the responsible CEO and the joyful janitor, happy to have built a business that was rich, meaningful, and entirely my own, a place where my hard work and my heart came together every single day.