I've Sold Over 40 Original Paintings This Year. Here's Who's Buying Art in This Economy.

Spoiler: They're probably a lot more like you than you think.

"A Place To Be" Deschutes River Painting Set hanging in it's new home

If you've been paying attention to the headlines lately, you've probably heard some version of the same story: the economy is tough, people are cutting back, and nobody is spending money on things they don't absolutely need.

And yet, here I am, approaching the end of 2026, having sold over 40 original paintings this year.

Not prints. Not mass-produced reproductions. Original, hand-painted works of art.

And the most interesting part? It's not necessarily wealthy people buying them.

It's people with heart. People with values. People who believe that living with beautiful, meaningful things is worth investing in.

I want to tell you a little bit about them.

First, Let's Go Back to 2020.

"First Snow" Painting Commission from 2020 for a client

I graduated with my fine arts degree in 2016 and spent the next four years painting, experimenting, and slowly finding my artistic voice.

When I became a full-time artist in 2020, I had absolutely no idea what to expect.

Looking back at some of those early paintings, I almost cringe. Not because they were bad, but because I can see just how much I was still discovering about myself as an artist.

But something incredible happened.

I would release a painting, and it would sell. Sometimes almost immediately.

Between 2020 and 2023, the world was going through an enormous transformation. People were moving, buying homes, reimagining their spaces, and searching for a little more hope and optimism.

And my artwork, filled with color, light, and expressive landscapes, seemed to meet people right where they were.

There was an eagerness to bring something joyful into the home.

Fast-forward six years, and people are still buying artwork.

But the why behind those purchases has become even more interesting.

So, Who's Actually Buying Original Art Right Now?

I've had the privilege of visiting some pretty spectacular homes over the years.

Beautiful architecture, incredible views, enormous walls just waiting for a painting.

But you know where I've spent even more time?

In perfectly ordinary homes.

Homes with kids running around. Homes with furniture that's been loved for years. Homes where people are figuring out where to hang a painting because they genuinely want to make room for something they love.

And these collectors? They're some of my absolute favorite people.

They're not necessarily sitting on unlimited disposable income.

Some have saved for years. Some have followed my work for months before finally reaching out. Others have been quietly watching my artistic journey since the very beginning.

They don't always buy immediately.

But when they do, they're excited. They're intentional. And they genuinely love what they're bringing into their lives.

They aren't buying art because they have money to spend. They're choosing to spend their money on art because it means something to them.

That's a pretty beautiful distinction.

They're Investing in More Than a Painting.

"Sunrise Sister" Original Painting by Kristine Cooper installed

One of the things I've noticed about my collectors is that they tend to share certain values.

They believe in creativity.

They appreciate craftsmanship.

They care about supporting independent businesses and living artists.

They understand that art isn't just something you put on a wall to fill an empty space.

It's something you live with.

And sometimes, purchasing an original painting is a stretch.

I know that spending several thousand dollars on artwork can create some serious sticker shock!

But I've had collectors come back to me years later and tell me how much their painting still means to them.

They remember when they purchased it. They remember why they chose it. They remember what was happening in their lives at the time.

And now that artwork has become part of their story.

That's something I don't take lightly.

When someone purchases an original painting from me, they're not just supporting my business. They're helping make it possible for me to continue creating, experimenting, and bringing new ideas into the world.

They're participating in the future of art.

And I think that's incredibly special.

In an Increasingly Digital World, We're Craving Something Real.

Here's something I've been thinking about a lot lately.

I don't think we've fully processed how much the world has changed since 2020.

We went through a pandemic that disrupted nearly every aspect of our lives. And before we could even fully catch up, technology accelerated in ways that would have seemed unimaginable just a few years ago.

Now, as we head into 2027, I think more of us are asking ourselves some pretty important questions.

Who do I actually want to be?

How much technology do I want in my life?

What do I want my home to feel like?

What deserves my attention, my energy, and my resources?

I believe we're entering a season where tangible, handmade, deeply human experiences are going to become even more meaningful.

And original artwork fits beautifully into that conversation.

You can display a beautiful image on a television screen. You can order an inexpensive reproduction online.

But neither experience is quite the same as standing in front of an original painting.

Seeing the texture of the brushstrokes.

Watching metallic embellishments catch the afternoon light.

Noticing how iridescent colors shift as you move through a room.

Knowing that another human being stood in front of that canvas and made thousands of tiny creative decisions to bring it into existence.

There's something wonderfully analog about that.

In a world where almost everything can be reproduced, the irreplaceable becomes even more meaningful.

And I think people are beginning to recognize that.

Favorite Projects This Year

Wood Panel Hand Designed Custom Works for a client based in Bend, Oregon

One of the most rewarding parts of my career has been getting to create artwork that's deeply personal to the people who collect it.

This year, I created six individual panels for a couple's hallway.

Each painting represented a destination that held special meaning for their family. Together, the six works became these beautiful little portals into their memories.

Imagine walking down your hallway every day and passing through places that helped shape your life.

I also had the opportunity to create a large commissioned painting for someone who has known me since 2018.

We incorporated beautiful gold embellishments, and seeing that work installed in their home was such a wonderful full-circle moment.

Then there was a collector who fell in love with two abstract paintings featuring unique line work.

Instead of choosing between them, she decided they belonged together.

She purchased both.

"Verano" & "Invierno": two of my favorite pieces from my 2026 collection of works

These are the moments that remind me why I do what I do.

It's not about convincing someone that they need a painting.

It's about creating something that resonates so deeply that they can already imagine living with it.

Maybe the Art Market Isn't Quite What We Think It Is.

Kristine's newly installed commission for clients who have been dreaming of getting a statement piece since 2018

I certainly don't want to dismiss the economic challenges people are facing.

They're real.

And I know that purchasing original artwork isn't accessible to everyone at every stage of life.

But I also think we sometimes underestimate how much people value beauty, creativity, and meaningful experiences.

My experience this year has shown me that people are still saying yes to original artwork.

They're just saying yes thoughtfully.

They're considering what they want their homes to represent.

They're choosing to support artists whose work they believe in.

And they're recognizing that a painting can be so much more than decoration.

It can be a reminder of a place you love.

A celebration of a new chapter.

A source of calm at the end of a long day.

A little burst of optimism every time you walk into the room.

And really, isn't that a wonderful reason to own art?

Here's to 2027.

As I look toward the next year, I feel incredibly optimistic.

Not because I think the economy is suddenly going to become perfect or because everyone will start buying original paintings.

But because I've had the privilege of meeting so many people who genuinely believe in the importance of living with art.

People who value creativity, individuality, and human connection.

People who understand that supporting living artists helps create a world where art can continue to flourish.

And people who are willing to make room in their lives for something beautiful.

To the more than 40 collectors and households that have welcomed my original paintings this year, whether you've been following my journey for six months or six years: thank you.

You've helped make this one of the most meaningful chapters of my artistic career.

And to everyone who's been quietly dreaming about a painting, saving for something special, or wondering whether original artwork belongs in their home:

I hope you know that the art world is for you, too.

You don't need a mansion to live with beautiful art. You just need a space in your life for something that moves you.

Here's to more creativity, more connection, and more beautiful things in 2027.

With gratitude,

Kristine Cooper

Kristine joyfully reflecting on her work "Home" and the meaning behind it

Why I Dumped Prints

I built a successful part of my business and then realized I didn't actually want it.

So, I dumped prints.

Which is kind of wild, because prints have been part of my business since 2020. They sold. People loved them. They made my artwork accessible to people who weren't ready to buy an original. From the outside, there wasn't necessarily a reason to stop.

But there was one pretty important reason:

I didn't want to do it anymore.

And if I'm being completely truthful, I'm not sure I ever really did.

Prints started because I needed money.

In 2020, I had rent to pay and I was trying to make it happen own. I didn't have any financial backing but potentially $1,000 that I had saved before being laid off in September 2020.

Prints seemed like the obvious answer. Take one painting, reproduce it, sell it over and over again.

Brilliant!

So I launched prints.

And for six years, they became part of Cooper Art and Abode.

But something I've realized about myself over those six years is that I am a prolific painter.

I paint about one painting a week. And if I'm not painting regularly, I become mentally unstable.

I'm kidding.

Kind of.

Painting is genuinely where I find my groundedness. It's where I process my life. It's where I feel most like myself.

Give me a giant canvas and several uninterrupted hours and I am thrilled.

Give me emails, spreadsheets, inventory, packaging, vendor logistics and a stack of prints that need to be signed?

I would rather be painting.

At some point, I realized I was staying busy for the sake of being busy.

One of my main print vendors unexpectedly closed this May.

Suddenly, something that had worked fairly seamlessly didn't anymore.

I could move everything to a local printer. But then I'm driving around Bend, picking up prints, signing prints, organizing prints, delivering prints...

And at some point I had this realization:

Why am I running around town doing all of this to sell a $30 print?

Not because there's anything wrong with selling a $30 print.

But because I don't actually want to build a business around selling thousands of them.

I looked into hiring someone to take this part of the business over. The margins just aren't there unless I double down, increase volume and become a much, much larger print seller.

And that's when the answer became ridiculously obvious.

That's not my dream.

My dream is to make incredible paintings.

That's it.

I want to make bespoke, original paintings that completely transform a room.

I want to create collections that have something to say.

I want to spend more time thinking, feeling, noticing, experimenting and painting.

I want my commissions to get more of me.

I want to push my work further than I've ever pushed it before.

And I want to stop building parts of my business simply because someone somewhere decided that successful artists are supposed to have them.

Before 2020, I sold originals.

Somewhere along the way, I built more and more around that simple thing until I found myself running a retail business alongside being an artist.

And I've realized:

I don't want to run a busy business. I want to run a meaningful one.

There's another piece of this that's more personal.

For the last several years, my husband has helped me tremendously behind the scenes.

And we've also learned that working with your spouse is really hard.

We've had to take a serious look at what was happening behind the scenes of our business and our marriage and recognize that intertwining everything wasn't always healthy for us.

So we're untangling some of it.

He doesn't need to run my print business.

And I don't need to build a business that requires him to.

There is something incredibly freeing about realizing that.

So, are accessible pieces disappearing forever?

No.

I'm still planning my annual calendar this fall.

I'm exploring a membership for next year that could include something small each month: a mini print, postcard, card or something else entirely.

I'm also talking with a puzzle company about potentially licensing my artwork so that they can make and fulfill the puzzles and I can simply point you toward them.

I'm actually really excited about finding ways for my artwork to exist beyond original paintings.

I just don't necessarily need to manufacture, manage, fulfill and sell all of those things myself.

There's a difference.

I'm claiming my artistic territory.

That's what this change really feels like.

I'm stepping away from the idea that growth automatically means

more products, more inventory, more sales, more SKUs, more things to manage.

Maybe growth can mean less.

Maybe it means going deeper.

Maybe it means making fewer things and making them incredible.

Maybe it means building a business around the life I actually want instead of building a life around the business I've accidentally created.

This year has already felt like such a strange collision of beginnings and endings. Grief and celebration. Things closing while completely new things seem to be opening at the exact same time.

It feels very Eclipse.

And strangely, this feels like part of it too.

If you had told stressed-out 2020 me, desperately trying to pay rent, that I would launch prints, successfully sell them for six years and then voluntarily shut that part of my business down?

I would have thought you were crazy.

But here we are.

I'm trusting it.

I'm painting.

And I'm really excited about what comes next.

The Beauty Of Failing

Mock-Up Of My Wooden Print Series for the Redmond Airport

I have experienced a lot of rejection over the years, from galleries, shows, scholarships and more. Earlier this year, I got an email in my inbox stating that the Redmond Airport was looking for art in their new expansion. I was excited about the opportunity and also knew it was a risk. But I decided to go ALL IN. I spent a lot of time on this project. The design concept took about 7 hours, the in-person meeting ate up about 2 hours, and the application took about 25 hours all in. So we're talking about a 34-hour project to put your presentation into the hands of a jury who may just decide you're not the right fit because you hadn't done a prior civic public installation.

What many people who love my art don't know is that art installations aren't necessarily chosen on the "best fit" or most creative idea. Often it's decided based on whether someone has prior experience doing public civic installations. Lucky or unlucky for me, I have never been chosen for one. Have I done public art installations? Yes, my golly, I have done it ALL. I've been hanging art in large installs for a decade, adding my art to murals in apartment buildings, hanging art in over 50 venues around Central Oregon, Seattle and Palm Springs. But is that enough for a jury? No. A jury is often looking for someone with prior experience specifically in an airport, a government-affiliated building, or a nonprofit.

I consider this gatekeeping even if it's written in fancy terms. And I'm keenly aware of it, because I have intentionally built an art business that shatters that perspective. You don't need to live by the old rules of the art world to be a successful artist. I am rogue when it comes to putting my art out there. I've popped up in unexpected places. I've had the best and worst shows of my life. And honestly? That's exactly what I want to talk about. The art of failure. Recognizing that failure is a gentle redirect, and thanking it for showing up. I do this every time. I take the worst days of my business and make them the best days. I begin again. I open the next door, because I know if that last door didn't open, something else will.

So without further ado. I will be introducing a new series of wood panel artworks that were part of my vision for this airport project, because I don't just make art to be judged; I make art because I had an inkling that it needed to go out into the universe. I get downloads of things I need to make, and this is something I know in my gut I want to create. Be on the lookout for a new wood panel series coming this early summer, titled "Portals To Wild."

Mt. Bachelor Design For Redmond Airport