Let’s talk money

Hello all,

I want to start this article by saying that coin and monetary value are topics for which I have a natural aversion. I can’t see the world through their filter. I reject the notion that “a price”, as most commonly approached by commerce and businesses worldwide, is but a representation of the intrinsic value of an object, raw material, tool, good, art piece, etc. I think it is clear to most who care to observe past the first layers, that our relationship with the concept of “value” is incredibly skewed and misshapen nowadays. That there are few occasions in daily life in which you will hear that word be spoken in a context other than its monetary expression. That the value of things, experiences, consumables, etc., may rest on parameters unrelated to the effort required to create or obtain them. And, even worse, that the actual value those things bring into our lives, either it be sustenance, knowledge, shelter, diversion, or in my case, a tool for exploration and creative expression, is often set aside as a minor variable when calculating the overall value of that thing, monetary or not. 



I also want to clarify that I am in no way an economy ‘wiz-kid', I’m not trying to cosplay as one, nor I have any desires to ever be one. I understand my visions and ideas as coming from a position of vast ignorance in the literature, treatises, lectures, books, theories, etc., that might have shaped and defined the topic of monetary value. Plus, my inquiry into, and understanding of the main modern economic ideologies are, at best, negligible. I accept that. I don’t mean to lecture anybody here when I open up about my pricing approaches and my personal relationship with some financial concepts. I write only from within the scope of my own experiences, feelings and, thoughts. This article is not meant to set an example. It’s not meant to excuse my actions. It’s main intention is to act as a tangible medium for me to lay bare this part of myself that I rarely get to speak about out loud; the various topics and aspects I think are important about how I see my work and its relationship to me, monetarily speaking. It does the part of a release valve that I need to open, regardless of how many, if any, might have an interest in the read. And I don’t mean for this to sound rash, but I am not really writing this for you, the reader. I’m writing it mainly for myself, to scratch an itch. Maybe an excuse to finally start writing, or maybe a therapeutic space to understand myself better, whatever it might be, its intention most definitely is not to have riveted readers. Now, with that out of the way, let’s dive in.






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Since the beginning of my professional life as a half-time, then full-time independent cymbalsmith, I’ve struggled with how I price my instruments. My own personal beliefs and views on the topic of ‘money’, plus my ignorance and repulsion for anything business surely were to blame.

The seemingly obvious strategy I took when first starting was quite simple: “Check out other people and brands’ prices, try to fit in somewhere in the middle and go from there.” I attempted to place myself in a position where I had comparable, yet competitive prices to those who I thought stood in the same category as I, regardless of geography or currency. I now know that it wasn’t sound logic, more so given my frail initial position and my then production capacity/output, but at that moment it seemed like the right choice. This was all very new to me. So far, I had only worked professionally as either a musician or as a minimum wage employee doing simple and menial service jobs. The intricacies that existed underneath the number at which I was pricing my work were invisible to me for a while. 


To no one’s surprise, that pricing strategy didn’t last long. It became evident quite rapidly that, at the rate at which I was selling, which was discouragingly and dishearteningly slow during the first year and a half, the whole project would come to a halt sooner than later. After all, I was comparing myself to people that already had a steady flow of sales, amongst many other surpassed steps and achieved goals. To adapt, I felt I had to change not only my prices, but also the lenses I was using to shape my vision and aspirations.

So, I set out to ensure what I thought would be the first step in the right direction: have my sales provide just enough so that I could buy the same amount of material that first allowed for those sales to happen. I know, sounds circuitous, but that’s exactly how I was thinking of it, as a net-zero circular economic environment. I made the choice to ignore growth, that aspect felt like a secondary afterthought at the time. What I set my sight on, what I truly cared for, was stability, but that required some initial support. Luckily for me, so did my regular-ass life: I was already working another job, I mean, who isn’t.. right?
And so, I was ready to double-up on the pressure I was willing to put on it to supply for myself and my enterprise.

I was entirely invested and devoted to the workshop’s success. All in on it baby! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I had -and still have- nothing else to my name. It felt like one of the last opportunities I had in my young adult life to do something right, so I was OK with the idea of sustaining literally every other aspect of the workshop, except for the bronze raw materials, by whatever means I had at my disposition.

I threw 100% of my other job’s income at paying both of my rents, food, utilities, tools/machines, extra materials, taxes, social security, etc. As long as it kept the workshop afloat for the time needed for me to figure out how to make it self-sustainable, I was OK with it. And by the way, I don’t think it was heroic in the least, that’s not the picture I’m trying to paint here. I don’t mean to make it sound like it was “such a burdensome sacrifice”. I was grinding it out of my own accord. The intention here is to give a clear understanding of what my personal economics were for most of my workshop’s first years; they were highly dependent.  


And so, not too long after I had first opened my doors and set my initial prices, with a better panoramic understanding of how it all worked, I went ahead and raised them, aiming to accomplish the new goal of a net-zero production cycle. And I must say, I wasn’t calculating my work hours as being part of that price, nor the added value I imprinted into the raw material. I wasn’t calculating the cost of packaging material, or any energy consumption required to finalize an instrument, those were all “losses”. I was actually even offering a free shipment service for EU sales, and it came fully out of my pocket. I felt pressured by ‘the market’ to do so in order to make myself more accessible/desirable to the consumer. I really wasn’t thinking about anything other than attempting to have my cymbals allow me to make more cymbals; simple.

Now, if you must know, all of this was thought of, assuming a certain number of shipments of blanks per year, which was regulated by what I expected my sales frequency to look like month to month; a cycle that all comprised, was of around 4 months in between each shipment. 


This worked, even though my other income would in some cases need to supplement a percentage of the required means to ship in more material, I didn’t care, it worked. It felt like the workshop was moving, at a limping pace, though moving nonetheless, which combined with my stubborn head and the inertia I had gathered so far, fuelled the workshop’s continuance through an intense work regimen that was at best, feeding itself. Time went by and things didn’t change much, that bumpy pace wasn’t satisfactory but it proved steady; some months were pretty scary while others were acceptable. But then, November of 2023 came, and with it, a sudden and unexpected increase in sales that gave me a gust of hope I hadn’t had to date. 


During the first year as an independent, I had developed a mantra that I would tell myself when I was feeling pessimistic or on the brink of wanting to quit. When I was wondering about ‘the whys’ of what I was doing, and especially, when I was confounded by the grey areas of the craft that seemed to be out of reach, both skill and knowledge wise. That mantra was: “All be it for the project” … A phrase that might sound silly, a bit grandiose, almost ‘culty’, or just plain weird. But it was a way I found to help myself understand that I was involved in a long, slow-paced project, and it occasionally gave me just enough determination to continue, even though at times, it all felt almost entirely futile. Well, November of 2023 seemed to have finally allowed that mantra to coalesce into reality and make those past years suddenly make sense; saying it was a good month is understating the impact it had in my emotional and economic state. 



At that point I had been working this other job -which I hated- for exactly two years and two months. I know that isn’t a lot, I know others might have dealt with worse for much longer without faltering, but to me, given who I am and my previous work history, it felt like I was nearing a point where I couldn’t continue bearing it. Call me weak if that’s how it sounds to you, I don’t mind it, I know how I felt back then. Though keep in mind, this job was almost entirely physical, requiring me to entertain and manage large groups of people on my own, deal with unfavorable weather conditions, and much more, while shifting through a city that could feel and act chaotic. I worked 4-5 days a week, full day, using the other 3-2 days to work on cymbals. It was non-stop, I had very little rest, no weekends, no vacations. Not that I wanted them, I am just saying, I was working overtime, which certainly amplified my disgust and discomfort with this main income job. 



So, in December of 2023, after a month that seemed to have changed everything, and with the accumulated steam of more than two years, building the pressure of ‘needing to leave that job behind’, I took the first opportunity I had to quit it and attempt to go full-time cymbalsmithing. It is not like that November was enough to dictate the pace at which my workshop would function moving forward. I knew that. I wasn’t gullible or naive enough to assume otherwise, but I was kind of desperate. Dedicating full time to making cymbals had transformed from a desire into a need. So, even though I knew it was a very risky move, akin to jumping off a cliff with no safety net, and even though I had to make quite a few assumptions about what the coming months would look like, at that point I was willing to learn how to fly on the go or accept the crash and call it a day. 



As you might be aware, 9 months later, the boat hasn’t sunk—I’m here writing about it, so things have gone well enough. However, so far, no other month has been as good as that November. It was an anomaly that gave me just enough energy to spring upwards, a jump that, though small, at the time felt massive to me. I am really grateful for it, but it is also important to note that up until today, August 2024, my prices hadn’t changed at all since way back then, when the workshop was barely moving and entirely supported by an outside income. And so, we arrive at what might feel like natural end-point for this whole essay: opening up about the reasoning behind raising my prices, informed by these past months going at this full-time.



The short answer is: I need to if I want to keep the workshop either breaking even or operating at a positive economic state. If I consider these past 9 months as indicative of the norm going forward, one of the many necessary steps to achieve the aforementioned is increasing prices, which is normal. But, also a bit obvious, plus, not really the main point I would like to drive home here, so, let’s actually dig a bit deeper into my thoughts and feelings on the matter.

The upcoming pricing strategy and its goals aren’t much different to the old ones. I still somewhat disregard my work hours as a valuable part of what I sell, not with pride nor shame, rather, simply because I am prioritizing other aspects of my work —such as the production cycle’s health— as more valuable to me than the time I spend under my workshop’s roof. I’m still aiming towards a solid stability rather than a roaring growth. And, I still don’t give a rat’s ass for profit.

I don’t do what I do for profit, I’ve never done so, and that approach to life is absolutely alien to me. I don’t want to have to ever do anything for profit. In fact, I actually consider the goal of profit for profit’s sake to be a somewhat amoral and non-virtuous behavior. It’s not even greed which I find overtly problematic, though, I do think it is a disgusting conduct. Rather, it's the vacuum of essence, of curiosity and love, the absence of matter required in one’s relationship with oneself that may allow for the pursuit of profit and wealth as an “acceptable” life path, which I find destructive, and probably, at the root position for much of our dysfunctional societal standards.

Aren’t we supposed to do because we want to do, because we enjoy that ‘doing’, because we obtain fulfillment in the process of creation? Because that which we do, adds and increases either our own or other people’s life experiences? I know, all of this sounds preachy as hell, but it is my truest opinion, an opinion that makes it quite difficult for me to ever adopt and behave in a traditional business-oriented mindset. And yes, I do care for growth, but the way in which I perceive growth isn’t measured by any form of economics. Growth for me is absolutely unrelated to an ever-augmenting profitable income. For me, growth translates into giving myself the chance to obtain better tools, a better space, better materials, a better position, deeper knowledge, etc. all of which would potentially allow me to make better instruments. Growth is widening the palette of possibilities I have within my reach to be better at my craft, and better as a person, in all of its colors and manifestations. After all, “all be it for the project” still remains part of my vision, and ethics.

And yes, my sales frequency have indeed increased considerably when compared to the initial years, but not enough for me to achieve what I am attempting without taking the measures I am describing. As the world kept becoming more expensive in every aspect, from copper to gas, electricity, shipping, rents, secondary materials, you name it, I kept my prices steady for as long as I could. If I was to keep the old pricing structure, it wouldn’t be rapid, but most certainly with some time, I would have to once again find a supplementary income to help support my craft, which —even though I know it isn’t— would feel like a great failure.


Knowing this, you might understand why, though my prices will increase, my strategy will not change whatsoever. All I need my sales to do is, provide enough to have for the cycle of production be continuous while aiming at a slow-paced growth, plus, the now added economic responsibilities that were prior taken care of by the other job. I don’t feel there’s a need for any other variables to be part of that equation.



By now it should be clear that I can’t think of my workshop as a business, because to me, it really isn’t. For sure, to the world it is. To Belgium’s financial regulatory entities it is. As far as it behaves as my sustenance, it is. But, as to the reason for its existence, it very much isn’t. As for how I treat the work I do in there, it isn’t. As for what I would like it to be in the future and the space I want it to occupy in my life, it isn’t. But every once in a while, I do have to behave as if it was, despite of how much internal conflict that might produce.



As in many other aspects of my life’s experiences, I feel pulled in opposite directions by what I want and what I need. This is no different. My personal ideals, philosophies, or however you want to call them, pull me in a direction that feels diametrically opposed to that of the behaviors and actions I must take to achieve a life in alignment with the aforementioned ideals. One of many silly existential dichotomies that I just seem to love running into. 

So, when you are buying from me, you should know that above all else—above buying from a craftsman or an artist of any sort—you are buying from a massive hardheaded idealist at heart.

I want to close this first ever blog article by saying that I know very well there’s no reason nor expectation on anybody’s behalf for me to explain myself price wise, or expose any of my personal thoughts on my workshop’s economy as I’ve just done. I don’t think other smiths are doing so, at least not to this lengths and on comparable mediums, which they are in their full right not to disclose. Plus, big companies/factories would clearly demonstrate the underlying greed that fuels them if they were ever honest about their pricing structures. Regardless, I feel the need to share what I’ve here written because it is an integral aspect of my personality. The same way in which I am my words, in which I am my music, my ideas, my actions, etc. I am also my workshop and I am my craft; therefore, I am as well the way in which I portray the value of its fruits.  I want to be honest and true to myself in all aspects in which I exist. My being rests on the thought structures I’ve created, and therefore, need to justify.

Opening myself up about my inner workings, feelings, history and the state of my workshop acts as a part of that justification. I need to “prove myself to myself”, which I know might sound so ridiculous to some, and ‘quasi-clinical’ to others (hopefully fewer), but it is who I am, and it is likely a part of why you might enjoy and appreciate my craft, my art and what I do. 

Thank you for reading, if you did.
MGQ