It’s OK to Say “Buy This”
The art of making an invitation
By Sue Pendleton, Founder
I want people to buy my art. There. I said it. I want them to…buy a painting. Order my cards. Ask about a commission. Invite me into a show. See my work and feel connected enough to take the next step. That’s true. And it’s also uncomfortable to say out loud. Because wanting people to buy your art can feel strangely loaded.
It’s one thing when someone approaches you. “Is this available?” “Do you take commissions?” “How much is this piece?” “Where can I buy your cards?” Those questions feel wonderful. They feel like someone opened the door.
But putting the invitation out there first? That feels different. It can bring up all kinds of thoughts I don’t particularly enjoy admitting. Who am I to think my work is good enough that someone should buy it? I don’t want to make someone uncomfortable. Or nag and sound pushy. If I ask someone to buy something, does that mean I think I’m more talented than I am?
And underneath all of that, there’s often a quieter hope: Maybe someday I’ll have enough proof.
Enough sales.
Enough collectors.
Enough validation.
Enough confidence.
Maybe then asking people to buy my work will feel easy.
The proof doesn’t always erase the discomfort
Here’s the strange thing. I’ve sold paintings. I’ve sold paintings for prices in the $1,000 range and above, which is a considerable amount of money for many people. That’s the kind of purchase someone has to think about. And I know what it means when someone chooses to spend that kind of money on my work. It means they saw something in it. They wanted to live with it. The work mattered enough to become part of their home, their story, their everyday life.
One of the most meaningful compliments I ever received came through a gallery owner. A woman had come into the gallery and bought one of my paintings because she was about to have a milestone birthday. She wanted something just for her. It was a splurge, but it was something she really wanted to do.
I still think about that. Not because it makes me feel fancy or important. Because it reminds me that buying art can be deeply personal. It can be a way someone marks a moment. Honors themselves. Brings beauty, memory, color, place, or feeling into their life.
You’d think a story like that would make it easy for me to say, “This painting is available. You should consider buying it.” But it doesn’t always work that way. The discomfort still shows up.
So I’ve started asking myself a different question. How many paintings would I need to sell before I finally feel completely comfortable making the ask? And I’m not sure there’s a number. Maybe this will always feel a little vulnerable. Maybe the answer isn’t to wait until the discomfort disappears. Maybe the answer is to learn how to make the invitation anyway.
Artists don’t just sell products
I think this feels hard because artists aren’t selling something separate from themselves. We’re selling work that carries our hand, our eye, our time, our choices, our voice, our point of view.
Even when the subject is simple, the work is personal.
So when we say, “This is available,” it can feel like we’re saying something much bigger.
Please like this.
Please value this.
Please think this is worth the price.
Please tell me this part of me matters.
No wonder we freeze.
Traditional marketing often treats a call to action as a lever.
Make it stronger.
Make it urgent.
Drive the click.
Push the conversion.
That may work in some contexts. But for many artists, that approach feels awful.
Too loud.
Too salesy.
Too aggressive.
Too far away from the spirit of the work.
And when something feels that uncomfortable, most of us won’t do it consistently. So instead, we do something softer. We post the painting. We write a thoughtful caption. We share a little process. We hope people understand. We hope someone asks. We hope the right person somehow knows what to do next.
But hope isn’t always enough information.
Clear doesn’t have to mean sales-y
This is one of the places where I think artists need a different version of marketing advice. In traditional marketing, the goal is often to make the call to action as strong as possible. But for artists, I’m not sure the goal is always the strongest possible call to action. I think the goal is the clearest invitation you can make consistently.
That might look different from artist to artist. Some artists may feel comfortable being direct:
“This painting is available.”
“Commissions are open.”
“Purchase details are on my website.”
Some artists may want something warmer:
“If this piece reminds you of a place you love, I’d be happy to share more details.”
“This card set was made for the kind of notes we don’t want to send by text.”
“I have a few openings for custom work if you’re thinking about something meaningful for later this year.”
Some artists may want something playful:
“Apparently this little painting is waiting for the right wall.”
“These cards are ready to go out into the world and make someone’s mailbox happier.”
Some artists may want something quiet and elegant:
“Available through the gallery.”
“Details are linked on my website.”
“Inquiries are welcome.”
There isn’t one correct style. The best call to action isn’t necessarily the loudest one. It’s the one that feels clear enough, natural enough, and comfortable enough that you’ll actually use it.
It’s OK to say “buy this”
Maybe the exact words aren’t always “buy this.” Most of the time, they probably aren’t.But it’s OK to mean it. Want the sale or commission. Or move from “I love this” to “I’d like to own this.”
That doesn’t make you arrogant.
It means you’re treating your art like something that can be offered, considered, purchased, collected, gifted, and lived with.
The invitation may still feel vulnerable. That’s fine. Vulnerable doesn’t mean wrong. It may simply mean you care. And maybe, instead of waiting for the day when asking feels effortless, we can practice making the invitation in a way we can live with. Not pressure. Or perfection. An invitation: “This piece is available (and you can buy it.)”
It’s OK to say so.
