Most artists sign their first consignment agreement in a hurry. A gallery says they love the work, they have a wall, they have a client, and could you drop the pieces off Thursday. The paperwork is a page and a half. You sign it in the back room with your jacket still on.
Then you wait. And waiting is where the trouble starts, because the terms you skimmed are the terms that decide when you get paid, who pays when a frame breaks, and whether you can take the work somewhere else in six months.
None of this is exotic. Consignment is an old, simple arrangement that has been written badly for a century. You can learn the shape of it in an afternoon.
What consignment actually is
You are not selling the work to the gallery. You are leaving it there on loan so the gallery can try to sell it for you. The work stays yours until someone buys it. The gallery is a middleman holding your property.
That single fact explains almost every clause. Because the work is still yours, the gallery is holding something of value that belongs to someone else, and the law treats that relationship with more care than people usually give it on a napkin. Courts have consistently treated consigned art as trust property in many states, which is a formal way of saying the gallery cannot treat your painting as its own inventory when the rent is late.
Because it is a loan, the important questions are not about marketing. They are about custody: who has the work, what condition it is in, who is responsible while it is there, and how it comes back.
The terms that decide whether you get paid
Seven clauses do most of the work. If you read nothing else, read these.
Identification. Every piece should be listed by title, medium, dimensions, year, and a stated value. Not “three paintings.” Three paintings with names. This list is the only proof of what you left, and it is the document you will be grateful for if anything goes wrong.
Retail price and commission. The agreement should state the retail price of each piece and the split. Fifty percent is common in many markets; thirty to forty percent is common in others. What matters is that the number is written down and that it applies to a stated price, not a price the gallery can quietly raise or discount. If the gallery can discount, say by how much and who absorbs it.
Term and return. How long is the gallery holding the work, and what happens on the day the term ends? A term of ninety days or six months is normal. Silence is not. Without a return clause, your work can sit in a back room for two years while the gallery tells you it is “still up.”
Exclusivity. This is the clause artists regret most. Does the gallery represent you, this body of work, or these specific pieces? A gallery that wants exclusive rights to everything you make, forever, is asking for a marriage on the first date. Scope it to the listed work and a defined territory and time.
Insurance and loss. Who pays if the work is stolen, damaged in a flood, or broken during a move? The answer should be the gallery, and it should name a value. Ask for a certificate of insurance if the numbers are large. If they will not insure, you are the insurer, and you should know that going in.
Payment timing. “We pay when we sell” is not a payment term. It is the absence of one. Ask for payment within a set number of days of sale, typically fifteen to thirty, with a statement of what sold. You are entitled to know what sold and for how much.
Shipping, framing, and who pays. Delivery, return shipping, framing, and wall hardware all cost money. Decide who covers each before the work leaves your studio. This is the most common surprise bill in the whole arrangement.
The inventory sheet nobody makes
Make it anyway. A single page with a photo of each piece, its dimensions, its condition on arrival, and its stated value, signed by both of you. Take photos of the backs and the frames. Note existing scuffs.
This takes twenty minutes and it converts every later argument from “I think it was fine” into a document. Galleries do not object to signing an inventory sheet. If one does, that is information.
Red flags in a “standard agreement”
There is no such thing as a standard agreement, only a template someone copied. A few patterns deserve a second look.
- Blanket exclusivity with automatic renewal. You are locked to one room and the term renews itself unless you remember to cancel. Calendar the cancellation date the day you sign.
- Commission on work the gallery did not sell. Some contracts claim a percentage of any sale of the artist's work during the term, including sales you make yourself. Read that clause twice.
- No stated price. If the agreement leaves price to the gallery's discretion, the commission is effectively variable and you cannot audit it.
- Silence on insurance and shipping. Omission is not neutrality. It usually means you carry the risk.
- Payment “upon receipt from the buyer” with no deadline. This can stretch for months and gives you no leverage.
What to say when they hand you their contract
You do not need to be difficult. You need to be specific. A short, friendly note does the job: “I am glad to sign. I would like to add the inventory sheet, confirm the retail prices, and add a return date. Can we do that before I drop off?”
Most galleries will say yes. The ones that react badly to a return date and an insurance line have told you something useful before you have handed over a single piece.
For the business side of the paperwork, the Small Business Administration's guide to managing a business is a solid, free starting point for contracts and recordkeeping. Alan Bamberger's writing at ArtBusiness.com has been the practical standard for artists dealing with galleries for decades. And the National Endowment for the Arts publishes context on how the arts economy actually works, which is useful when a gallery tells you the market is soft. Read the contract itself with a lawyer if the numbers are meaningful. This article is a map, not a substitute for one.
Consignment is not a test of whether the gallery likes you. It is an arrangement with terms. Put the terms on paper, photograph the work, and set a date for it to come home. Then the only thing left to argue about is the work itself, which is the argument you actually want to have.
Sources: U.S. Small Business Administration · ArtBusiness.com · National Endowment for the Arts