"Do people still buy fine art in this economy?"

My mother, ever the practical woman who lived through the Depression and successfully raised five kids to adulthood, always has good questions.

The answer is, "yes," but as in everything in this ever-changing, never-got-your-finger-on-it economy, they do it differently.

Ten years ago, when house prices were literally and unsustainably going through the roof, people purchased art, as they purchased many things, as an impulse item. Today's buyer, however -- especially collectors who live real-people lives with mortgages and angst at the gas pump -- looks at the art several times, oftentimes contacting the artist directly via e-mail, phone, or in person to discuss the work itself, as well as the price, payment information, and payment plans, if available.

The result is that, when the collector takes home the painting, he or she feels good about the purchase, because it was made with an eye to the budget. It's actually a better, more sustainable, and less stressful way of treating oneself.

Artists, as well, are finessing their products to the need of the marketplace, many offering fine art, archival prints of their paintings, some for the price of a bottle of good wine or a family evening at the movie theater. The difference is, once the wine is gone or the movie is over, the money is gone; but with the print, the art stays, becoming a part of the buyer's daily life.

At Steve Henderson Fine Art, we are committed to getting real art into the lives and homes of real people, and for this reason we welcome hearing from you who are interested in Steve's work. If you've never contacted an artist before, don't be shy or feel that this is something "real collectors" don't do. Increasingly, collectors across the board are finding that direct contact with the artist, before and after purchasing the work, enhances their appreciation of their collection.

Good questions always deserved to be asked, and they deserve good answers. You can reach us through our Contact Form on the Steve Henderson Fine Art Gallery website.

We also offer a complete line of Signed, Limited Edition Prints, starting at $55, and regularly offer Workshops for those pursuing their painting path.

These are not easy days in which to live -- there is much uncertainty. There is, however, also much beauty in the world around us, and a painting -- be it original or a print -- captures that beauty and allows us to lose ourselves in it, over and over, any time of the day or night.

No one wants to be a failure, in their own eyes or that of others. For this reason, there is a preponderance of books, DVDs, and other teaching matter designed to teach us -- be we artists, knitters, marathon runners, short order cooks, or gardeners -- the secrets to successfully doing anything we have an interest in doing.

Do you want to know the sure-fire methods to paint the perfect portrait? There's a DVD for that.

How about marketing your work and getting into  any show you try for? There's a book for that.

The fail-safe way of communicating with with any human being and  getting them to do whatever it is you want them to do?  DVD and book.

If there's something that you want to learn how to do, not only is there a corresponding workshop, seminar, video product, book, class, or teacher, but too many of these resources promise to impart secrets that you didn't know existed, and you obviously don't have.

It reminds me  of the vitamin ads. Or the "You, Too, Can Be a Millionaire Using my Unique Techniques" books. The problem does not lie in the actual  imparting of information -- after all, that's why we buy books and attend workshops and watch DVDs -- because we want to learn, and these resources, hopefully, have the information we need to do so.

The problem lies in a promise that is more than anyone can deliver:  the secret to success.

Seriously, if there were such a thing, how long do you think that it could be kept a secret?

And yet, we keep chasing after it, convinced that we alone are out of the loop, that we're poor because we don't follow techniques 1 through 6, that if we're savvy enough to find the right resource then we'll join the ranks of the elite.

Logic tells us, however, that if we're going to run a triathlon and finish it, much less place anywhere, then we're looking at months of disciplined training: working out, day after day, even when we don't feel like it; eating right, to the point of saying no to cheesecake; running in the wind, bicycling uphill, swimming when it's cold -- continuously keeping at it and incrementally improving.

If there's any secret to success, that's it.

When I want to watch the Norwegian Artist cringe, I hum the 1974 Morris Albert song, "Feelings," which, if you haven't heard it, goes something like this:

"Feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelings. Wo-wo-wo feeeeeeeeeeeeeeelings. Wo-wo-wo feeeeel you .  . . again . . . in my arms."

Believe me, once you've heard it, you never feel the same about feelings again.

Feelings are funny things, and if you are over the age of two, you've probably internalized the advice that you shouldn't make decisions based upon them. While this is good advice, it doesn't take into account that there are two wildly divergent meanings for feelings, and too often,we confuse the two:

Feelings, definition one: our emotions. Artists are familiar with this definition, not only because societal wisdom asserts that they are a tangled mass of uncontrolled emotional angst, but also because they do seek -- through their skill, discipline, and thought, to imbue both raw and controlled emotion into their work.

Feelings, definition two: our visceral gut reaction -- call it instinct -- based upon the compendium of our background, experience, analytical ability, and intelligence.

Definition two, which is not what Morris was crooning about, is the one we want to pay more attention to, but frequently do not, because we confuse it with definition one.

Think of it, how many times have you found yourself in a situation and thought, "Something about this doesn't feel right"?

And your next thought is probably, "But I shouldn't make decisions based upon my emotions."

Let's add a third thought: You're not making a decision based upon your emotions. You're making a decision upon that visceral internal voice -- the one that subconsciously collects information from your past and your present and gives you distinctive, sometimes urgent, advice about what you're planning to do with your future.

There is nothing wrong, and quite a bit right, about listening to this inner voice. It will guide you in everything from the next subject matter of your painting to whether or not you really want to sign that contract with the art museum, and one of the worst things that we can do is ignore it because we're afraid that we are being led forward by our ever-changing emotions as opposed to the extreme inner sanctum of our intellectual voice.

We need both kinds of feelings, in our control, to move forward as artists and artist businesspeople.