Art on a Sliding Scale of No (Because No Is Relative)

Slobber, spontaneity, and me losing all sense of boundaries.

It all began during one of those walks where the dogs, the forest, and my questionable decision-making collide.

You see, I did a favour for a friend… but then I went and advertised it as a commission.

I don’t do commissions.

But this wasn’t really a commission. It was a spontaneous happenstance (say that ten times fast) that bloomed while tramping through the forest with some friends and the slobbering doggies. I took a few shots of the beasties, one thing led to another, and suddenly my friend had the perfect idea for a last-minute Christmas gift.

I agreed without a thought. A gift. A favour. An Amy-style photograph.

Look at those soulful eyes!

Lovely, right?!

But here’s the mea culpa: after Christmas, still patting myself on the back, I posted it on IG and claimed it was a commission.

Not my finest moment.

Because it wasn’t. Not really. My friend did pay me, but that’s another story entirely—stubborn stances, dramatic hand gestures, a touch of interpretive dance, and my eventual, graceful, and entirely unheroic surrender.

The truth is—commissions scare me.

I understand the appeal: someone wants a one-of-a-kind piece from an artist they love. Very special. Very personal. But here’s the rub: suddenly the art has to match their chesterfield (yes, chesterfield), their curtains, their rug… and their cat Spanky’s whisker length.

Expectations enter the room like uninvited relatives at a wedding, and the artist is left creating inside someone else’s box—while also using their crayons.

Sometimes that works. Sometimes it doesn’t. There are plenty of tales where expectation and reality between artist and buyer never quite shook hands properly.

Sure, you learn things from those misfires.

But...human nature, eh?

So if you ever see me bent over, red-faced, one hand raised in a desperate “Wait! Just a fricken chicken minute!” gesture, that’s me trying to maintain a shred of composure while reality careens past.

Because no, I don’t do commissions.

Usually.

But apparently no can be more of a suggestion on a sliding scale.

Buddy belting out his solo...I'm just the back-up singer on this one.