We were lucky to catch up with Bria Goeller recently and have shared our conversation below.
Alright, Bria thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insights with us today. We’d love to hear the backstory behind a risk you’ve taken – whether big or small, walk us through what it was like and how it ultimately turned out.
At the start of this year, I decided not to list prices on my art …
1 – As part of my little mission to make art accessible to everyone. I work with a lot of low income folks in my design practice and with my arts organizing work, so I’ve seen first-hand how the people who need art most are the ones who can’t afford it. I use my art to help myself – and others – feel less alone, so I’ve always felt that it’s something to be shared.
2 – Because I don’t think the price of art determines its value. When people ask how much I want for a piece, I’ve started encouraging them to tell me a story about why the art is meaningful to them instead of giving them a number. It makes us stop and connect a little, and see art as an avenue for communication and understanding.
3 – As a boycott, of sorts, to the profit-driven side of the art industry. The business of buying and selling art is so broken on so many levels. People who have access to traditional art schools, galleries, and dealers aren’t more talented than those who don’t. Dead artists don’t need more money. Classism, racism, sexism, all the -isms are so rampant in exhibitions, jurying, and curating. With NFTs coming into the picture, I got so frustrated with this desire to “own” art as a commodity. This was my small rebellion. I want to use art for societal change, liberation, and empowerment instead.
Basically, I tell people to pay it forward or pay what they can. My art has no prices. My custom work is sliding scale. I also do payment plans (people can pay a little bit over a long time rather than all at once) and monthly donations for people who want to support me long-term. It allows me to open up a discussion about wealth and redistribution with each new client, which I think is really necessary and something that should be done more.
Starting this experiment was terrifying but liberating. I had already made peace with fluctuating income being self-employed, but this went a bit beyond the usual uncertainty; I basically forced myself to have faith that my community would have my back. I thought it would cause me more fear, but it did the opposite. I’ve been able to move away from a “survival mode” mindset in favor of a more communal, trust-filled, hope-driven approach. It’s crazy how good it feels to escape individualist systems. (And no, I’m not independently wealthy or a trust fund baby – which I think people assume you have to be to adopt an alternative business model.) And I’ve actually found that everything’s evening out money-wise. Most people pay less, a few people pay way more.
It’s also made me hyper-aware of how capitalism has seeped into every aspect of our lives: our everyday interactions, our world views, the way we spend time, how we feel about our jobs, how we approach equity and reparations, how we embrace our passions (professional and otherwise). When money isn’t the first thing we think or talk about, it opens the door for a lot of other equally important forms of meaning and compensation: community building, mutual aid, sharing labor, increased well-being, flexibility, autonomy, etc. I’m definitely doing more volunteer and pro-bono stuff, but it doesn’t carry the same resentment as “working for free.” I’ve loosened up my expectations a bit.
People are, by in large, real ready to get behind stuff like this. I think it just takes bravery to offer them the avenue. If you’re a small business owner or have some leverage in your org, I’d love to talk if you’re interested in doing it too!
Funnily enough, I’ve found that people who have less give more (and vice versa). So that’s something to think about.
Great, appreciate you sharing that with us. Before we ask you to share more of your insights, can you take a moment to introduce yourself and how you got to where you are today to our readers
I’m an artist, designer, musician, filmmaker, writer, organizer … I like to do a lot of different forms of art – and I’m usually dying on some hill while I’m at it. When I’m not doodling in the name of humanity or designing for a cause, I’m organizing arts for change efforts and trying to make my communities a little more empathetic.
My art usually explores connection, vulnerability, and society. People say my work is surrealist / contemporary / kinda satirical / “really political.” I treat art as a tool for conversation and use it to tell stories. Whether stories of people, their dogs, or civil injustice, I’m flexible – but I won’t make you an NFT and I’ll come back to haunt this yuppie world if I die and any of my work ends up in a museum. I’m pretty doggedly community over commodity. My shop is pay-what-you-can, and my custom work is sliding scale.
Speaking of custom work: I do design, graphics, art, illustrations, presentations, infographics, social posts, websites, logos, branding, writing, film, and curricula development. I’ve clearly got a soft spot for equity orgs and creative people, so I’d love to work with you if you’re rolling up your sleeves or shouting from a rooftop.
When I’m not doing all of that, I teach high schoolers how to turn art into creative activism.
How can we best help foster a strong, supportive environment for artists and creatives?
Instead of going to a museum, go to a local arts pop-up and interact with an artist directly. Let them know how much their work means to you. Tell them a story.
Instead of buying home decour from a department store for cheap, save up and commission an artist to make something cool for you! And then spread the word to your friends!
Instead of defaulting to big name artists, find some creatives that you haven’t heard of, and support them. Those are the artists who need it the most.
Alternate answer: universal basic income!
What’s a lesson you had to unlearn and what’s the backstory?
I’ve always had a really hard time with being seen. In some ways, I’ve been trying to find ways to hide my entire life, and it doesn’t take much introspection to realize that pretty much every decision I’ve made has been a painfully obvious display of the change-focused, connection-centered part of me wrestling with my little reclusive soul that craves more privacy, fewer spotlights, and hours and hours of sweet, sweet solitude.
Lo and behold, I’ve chosen a career that’s kind of predicated on me bearing my soul to other humans. For the most part, art lets me be alone. It’s a way to express myself without actually talking to people. It makes connection easier, and it makes my internal world brighter. But I also believe art exists to make the external world brighter. And as I’ve made it my full-time thing, especially with arts activism added to the mix, it’s required a whole lot of not-solitude (public-facing art shows, interviews, teaching, collaborations, community-building, organizing, social media). Those have turned out to be the most beautiful parts.
I did an art piece about this (the cat one, entitled “Naked”). It’s about the comfort of darkness, and crawling out into the light every now and then, and how that makes me feel naked, and also how it’s also necessary to make and spread good in the world. Being shrouded in shadows and mystery is nice and all, but color and depth is best seen in the light.
Contact Info:
- Website: briagoeller.com
- Instagram: @briagoeller
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/briagoeller/
- Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/bria-goeller-213667111/
- Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCzbFotXdwoEwHN5JSqy0FMQ
- Other: You can become a monthly supporter of mine on Ko-Fi (kind of like Patreon!): https://ko-fi.com/briagoeller