We recently connected with Robin Howard and have shared our conversation below.
Alright, Robin thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insights with us today. What’s been the most meaningful project you’ve worked on?
I’m working on the most meaningful project of my career right now, a body of work called Peace Objects. Over the last 20 years, my assemblage work has been characterized by intricate elements tightly packed into wooden shadow boxes or sculptures made from bundles of found objects and textiles. A thread that runs through all of those works is the concept of layers and layers of time and how experiences build to make a life. After enduring the death of my parents and other loved ones during COVID, I realized I’d been wrong. Life doesn’t build on itself, it creates and destroys in cycles. Instead of continuing to collect experiences and objects, I began to let go. I had an almost compulsive need to make physical, temporal, and spiritual space. Over several months I let go of everything I didn’t need, fully embracing minimalism. It was an essential ritual for integrating grief and creating a new future with a blank slate. With my family gone, I came to a place where I knew whatever years I had left; it was time to travel light. I cleared my studio of all the assemblage supplies I’d collected over two decades. I took it down to a bare workbench and a rug. I knew this meant I might be retiring as an artist, but I was willing to let that part of me go too. However, what remained in my woodshop were lovely wood exotic offcuts given to me by friends and local artisans. One day, out of pure creative joy, I began piecing them together into sculptures and mobiles. The result is a collection of minimal sculptures with a minimal color palette. These new works are the inverse of my past work; what’s not there is as vital as what is there.
Awesome – so before we get into the rest of our questions, can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers.
Growing up in rural Indiana, I was influenced by the traditional crafts and Outsider artists of the South and Midwest. I had free reign in my dad’s woodshop, so I spent most of my time making things. He was a functional woodworker, but I was an abstract artist right out of the gate. As a grown-up, I became an anthropologist. I worked in corporate America for 15 years, interpreting cultural patterns for marketing departments. On weekends I made assemblage art in my basement. Then I began to sell it. Eventually, I became a freelance writer and artist, splitting my time 50/50. My writing work shifted from marketing to technology and finally to art and architecture, which are my passions. When I moved to Charleston, South Carolina, in 2014, I was surprised at how well my work was received in a traditional fine art town. I was also amazed at how supportive and close-knit the art community is here – especially how fiercely supportive women are of each other. My work began to find its way into homes that formerly just had traditional art, and I’m proud of that. I’d managed to stay honest in my execution of raw art, and it was fulfilling to see people genuinely connect to a medium they’d never considered before. My mission now is only to make art that brings me joy and to let go of what happens to it after that. While I’d considered giving up writing to be a full-time artist, I love that my writing work – my day job – makes that possible. It removes the pressure to produce or generate social media content constantly, and I’m so grateful for it.
Is there something you think non-creatives will struggle to understand about your journey as a creative? Maybe you can provide some insight – you never know who might benefit from the enlightenment.
The other day I was explaining cost breakdown of art to a non-creative and it blew his mind. Galleries usually take 50% commission, which they earn because rent, staffing and marketing are expensive. From the artist’s share, subtract at least 20% for materials and another 10% for things like websites, inventory software, studio space and utilities, photo equipment, photo editing software. If you pay $1,000 for a piece of art, the artist is pocking about $200. The average cost of living in the U.S. is about $38,000 a year, so just to pay the bills an artist would have to produce and sell over 100 works per year, or about two a week. Cost of living doesn’t include saving for emergencies or retirement. The net-net is it’s expensive to make art, and it’s a huge financial risk to be an artist.
Looking back, are there any resources you wish you knew about earlier in your creative journey?
I have become a huge advocate for software such as Artwork Archive, budgeting apps and software such as Quicken or YNAB, and online savings roboadvisors such as Fidelity or Vanguard. So many creatives don’t run their business like a business, and that can lead to financial mistakes and resentment down the road. For example, keeping track of expenses of every piece of art help eliminate confusion about how to price it. Software can also track where you sell the most art and make the most money – you may find that Instagram is a better platform that trying to find a gallery. You may find July and August are quiet seasons you can use to prepare for a busy November. Artists don’t have to starve anymore; there’s so much inexpensive or free technology that can help you maximize your financial potential as a creative. When you’ve got a handle on the big picture of your work, you can live and retire just as well as as a non-creative in a more traditional job.
Contact Info:
- Website: www.robinhowardart.com
- Instagram: @robinhowardart
Image Credits
Robin Howard