Why you need to do a risk assessment before you start painting – by Art Blogger and industry insider, Rob Kennedy

Why you need to do a risk assessment before you start painting – by Art Blogger and industry insider, Rob Kennedy

Starting a new painting often depends on what is happening around an artist at the time. Inspiration can come from almost anywhere. Some artists work with a clear plan, knowing exactly what subject they will tackle next, while others simply place paint on a canvas and allow the painting to reveal itself as they go.

As a realist artist, I have always needed a degree of planning before beginning a work. I need sufficient reference material, or at the very least, a strong familiarity with the subject. The larger and more complex the painting, the greater the need for preparation.

Over time, however, I have found myself considering more than just the artistic aspects of a project. Increasingly, I perform a kind of risk assessment before committing to a painting. Is the subject practical? Will it appeal to buyers? Is the considerable investment of time and money likely to be rewarded?

The days of casually setting up a still life and painting it simply for the enjoyment of the process feel long gone. As my paintings have become more ambitious—and, consequently, more expensive to produce—the prospect of creating another work that sits unsold in a corner for years has become far less appealing.

If you watch artists on social media, you will occasionally catch glimpses of stacks of paintings leaning against studio walls. One European artist I follow has hundreds of completed works stored on tiered wooden racks. They are beautifully painted pieces, yet many remain unsold.

Speak to artists today and you'll often hear the same concerns. Sales are down while costs continue to rise. Canvases, brushes, paints and other materials can easily amount to hundreds of dollars before a painting even begins. Add to that the countless hours invested in creating a finished piece and the financial risk becomes obvious.

For some artists, particularly wildlife painters, production can be remarkably slow. Completing just five major works a year is not uncommon. When a painting fails to sell, it is not simply the cost of materials that is lost. It represents weeks or months of effort that could have been devoted to another subject. A single unsuccessful painting can have a significant impact on income over an extended period.

Browse some of the larger online galleries that specialise in realism, photorealism and hyperrealism and you'll notice works that have remained available for years. Many of these paintings are technically exceptional. The drawing is accurate, the colours are convincing, and the execution is flawless. Yet they remain unsold.

Why?

It is a question I often ask myself. There are urban landscapes I have encountered that are brilliantly painted yet seem unable to find a buyer. Sometimes I suspect the answer lies not in the artist's skill but in the composition. Perhaps it is the particular street chosen, an awkward cloud formation, a distracting sign, or a focal point that fails to engage. In still life painting, the issue can be even more subtle. A little too much foreground, an object placed slightly off balance, or a fallen leaf sitting at the wrong angle can alter the entire visual impact of the work.

These details may seem insignificant, but collectively they can influence how viewers respond to a painting. The difference between a work that attracts attention and one that is overlooked is often surprisingly small.

As a result, I have become far more deliberate in my approach. Whenever I am considering a painting that will require a substantial investment of time and money, I scrutinise the composition carefully. I would encourage any artist doing the same to adopt a similar approach.

Years ago, I might have spent five minutes arranging a wine bottle, a glass and a few supporting objects before deciding the setup looked good enough. Today, that same arrangement may sit on a table beside my easel for days. I move objects repeatedly, examine them from different angles, alter the lighting and reconsider every element. What once took minutes now unfolds over several days.

My studio reflects this process. I have bags of corks, more than twenty corkscrews and an ever-growing collection of glassware. Each item exists because, at some point, I needed another option. The right object, viewed from the right angle and placed in the right position, can transform an ordinary composition into a compelling one.

Of course, even the most careful planning does not guarantee success. Every artist eventually produces a painting that fails to connect with buyers despite their best efforts. Risk can be reduced, but it can never be eliminated.

The lesson I have taken from years of painting is simple: examine your compositions relentlessly. Whether you are arranging a still life, painting a locomotive, depicting an aircraft or creating an urban landscape, do not settle for the first arrangement that appears acceptable. Give yourself options. Explore them thoroughly. Challenge your initial decisions.

The time invested before the first brushstroke is often just as important as the time spent painting. In an era where materials are expensive, time is precious and buyers are increasingly selective, composition remains one of the few factors completely within an artist's control. Work it hard. Refine it. Question it.

Sell more, and lose less.