Artist and sculptor Margaret Egan’s solo exhibition, The Wonder of the Present, the Possibilities of the Future, runs at Solomon Fine Art Gallery, Dublin, until March 29th.
Are you a saver or a spender?
I’m both, which probably explains why I’m always slightly confused about my bank balance. As an artist without a regular income, you become disciplined out of necessity. Feast and famine are part of the financial rhythm, but I’ll happily spend money on theatre, cinema or a good exhibition. I justify it by telling myself it’s “research”, and sometimes it genuinely is.
What was the first job you received money for, and how much were you paid?
I was a receptionist in Hallmark Cards during art college, back when card shops were social hubs and people still wrote letters. I can’t remember the wage, but I do remember thinking I was terribly sophisticated, earning my own money and grateful for every pound. Most of it went straight back out on paint and coffee.
Do you shop around for better value?
I shop around for quality rather than just price. Over the years, I’ve learned which paints, linen canvases and framers I trust, and once you find materials that truly work for you, you stick with them. Good materials make the work easier and last longer. In the end, that’s better value.
What has been your most extravagant purchase, and how much did it cost?
An electric easel from Kennedy’s on Harcourt Street, Dublin, for about €3,500. I remember standing in the shop thinking, “This is madness”, but wrestling 7ft canvases is not glamorous, and my back was beginning to protest! It felt indulgent until I realised it was key to me making my living.
What purchase have you made that you consider the best value for money?
The same easel. It lifts enormous canvases with the touch of a button. Many of the larger works in my current exhibition simply wouldn’t exist without it. It’s the most practical luxury I’ve ever owned.
Is there anything you regret spending money on?
I wouldn’t say major regrets but, like everyone, I’ve bought things in the past I didn’t really need. I’ve learned to pause before buying now, primarily because my income isn’t predictable. Now I only buy what I truly love, whether it’s art, or a coat I’ll still be wearing 10 years later.
Do you haggle over prices?
Never. As someone who sells work, I know how much invisible labour sits behind a finished piece. If something is beautifully made, the maker deserves to be paid properly. Besides, I’m hopeless at poker faces.
Do you invest in shares and/or cryptocurrency?
Absolutely not. The art world is volatile enough. I prefer investing in things I can see and touch. Linen feels safer than bitcoin.
Do you have a retirement or pension plan?
I intend to keep painting until I physically can’t hold a brush. Artists don’t really retire; they just slow down. My idea of a pension is a studio with good light and a strong coffee.
What was the last thing you bought, and was it good value for money?
A beautiful small sculpture by my friend Bob Quinn. It sits in my studio and quietly judges my work, in the best possible way.
Have you ever successfully saved up for a relatively big purchase?
I saved for my first trip to visit my sister in Australia. The light there was astonishing, with vast skies and endless sea. One of the seascapes inspired by that journey now hangs in my exhibition, which is proof that sometimes the splurge becomes substance.
Have you ever lost money?
Not dramatically, though being an artist sometimes feels like a long experiment in financial uncertainty. You learn resilience, and creativity extends to your budgeting. I’ve become very good at stretching a euro.
Are you a gambler and, if so, have you ever had a big win?
Not with money, but every blank canvas is a gamble. You begin with absolutely nothing and hope it will become something worth keeping. The risk is the thrill.
What is your best habit when it comes to money? And your worst?
My best habit is planning for lean months and never assuming the good times will last forever. My worst habit is occasionally being too cautious when perhaps I should leap. That said, 40 years in my line of work teaches you that steadiness can be radical.
How much money do you have on you now?
About €40 or €50. Everyone taps cards now, but I still think cash has a certain dignity. Cards are convenient, but cash still feels real to me.
In conversation with Tony Clayton-Lea
