If Youve Ever Wondered How Reposting Hurts Artists- Yesterday I Found A Post From 2012ish Featuring One

If you’ve ever wondered how reposting hurts artists- yesterday I found a post from 2012ish featuring one of my Sherlock/Doctor Who pieces. That post had 17,604 notes. It wasn’t my post. My post of that art had 0 notes.

Apparently I saw the post once when it was at 6k because an artist I admired reblogged it, but at that stage I was very unwell & not experienced enough with Tumblr to realise what effect it might have.

Looking through the notes now I see that in the six years since then-

Several people got the design as a tattoo.

A number liked it enough to want custom designs but didn’t know how to contact me so that’s approximately £300 I didn’t get a chance to earn.

Someone used that art in the front cover of a comic by accident and while the company fixed it after I contacted them that’s exposure that it’s far too late to capitalise on now.

If you like an artwork that you find off tumblr, please, please I am begging you search for the artist’s name and see if they do actually have a Tumblr you could reblogged from instead. If you’re an artist search your username(s) every so often to see if your work has been taken.

A few hundred quid might not seem like a lot, but that’s a few months of income for me

REBLOG IF THIS RELATES TO YOU:

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Working at the mattress store generally means a lot of long shifts. Ten hour days are not uncommon. You come in, sit alone in a box for a long time, maybe sell a bed, it’s fine. It’s not usually an issue of safety, though, because who’s coming in to shakedown a mattress store? We have no cash and nothing really portable.

But there was one night where I was whiling away my time and a guy came in. He was a big guy, muscular and very punk, tattoos, piercings, the works. We got along fabulously and while helping him a middle aged white couple came in. I was pleased to have a livelier night than I’d anticipated. I bounced back and forth between the disparate parties, eventually finding beds for both.

I finished sooner with the couple but they lingered uneasily by the front of the store instead of leaving and eventually beckoned me over. I trotted along to ask if everything was okay and the woman whispered to me that they were scared to leave me alone with the guy. It was getting late and he appeared quite menacing to them. I wanted to laugh, he was an absolute sweetheart, but instead I assured them that all was well and they could go.

They departed and I immediately told the guy what they’d said. We both had a hearty laugh over it. He finished his purchase and went on his way.

In the last hour, I had my final customer. A young white man in immaculate clothes, button down shirt with freshly shined shoes. Reader, I wanted to bolt. The man had the discordant energy of a cracked bell. Something was deeply wrong with his vibes despite his polished exterior. I desperately wished the nice couple would come hover in the doorway and stare.

I gritted my teeth and greeted him, projecting a friendly and unconcerned air. It seemed clear pretty quickly that he wasn’t actually that interested in getting a bed, which alarmed me even more. I tried to go through the process of fitting him for a mattress but instead he would segue off into telling me about his life while making unblinking eye contact. He asked probing questions about me. I longed for the nice punk man to come back in with a question.

I soldiered onward, visualizing my panic button and refusing to show the slightest hint of unease to him. Eventually he told me that he played piano. He asked if I would like to see a video of him playing piano. I said okay. He then turned his phone over and showed me his screen. In it, he sat staring directly into the camera while playing piano. Above the screen he stared with the same intensely unhinged energy in the video, two sets of serial killer eyes fixed on my tiniest reaction.

I smiled politely, pinned in place by social niceties. After an eon the video finally ended. It was clear he was not going to buy a bed. I insisted that I needed to lock up. He asked if he could stay for that. I firmly informed him he needed to leave for that. With reluctance he drifted out the door as I radiated calm assurance of my own safety and power, locking the door behind him. I turned out the lights and crouched behind the desk in the darkened store, peeking out to watch.

He sat in his car for a long time. But eventually he drove away. I darted out to my car and got home as quick as I could.

The encounter remains one of the most unsettling I’ve ever had in retail. In my decade of serving the public I helped a parade of characters from the harmlessly eccentric to the genuine creeps but this man truly frightened me unlike anyone I’d ever dealt with.