My Experience Not Getting (Fully) Paid by an Art Gallery
A positive story about the art world.
In July 2025, Hengzhi Yang emailed me,
As the curator at 1969 Gallery, I’m putting together this show, “Parallax: Traversing Image and Text,” which is a survey of forms and visual languages on canvases.
He was nice, praising my writing and art. He wanted to show two or three of my mandalas.
The gallery would take 50 percent, as usual. This seemed fair to me—with books, I get ~10 percent—but I was used to getting 100 percent.
In the previous two years, I’d sold seven mandalas myself, mainly on Instagram stories, for $1200, $1000, $790, $1200, $1200, $1200, $1200.
So I chose two mandalas from my binder of unfinished/abandoned mandalas.
One I started on July 20, 2023, after switching from tobacco to cannabis, smoking cannabis for the first time in eight months:
The other, which I started drawing in 2021 or 2022, had viewing instructions, allowing people to look at the mandala by following numbers—1, 2, 3, etc.
I leisurely worked on them for 3 to 6 more hours each, completing them on July 8 and July 10.
Hengzhi suggested pricing them at $1500 to $2000. I wanted to increase their chances of selling, so I suggested $1000, which I later raised to $1100.
Both sold soon after the show opened on July 25. Hengzhi had good communication, keeping me updated.
In August and September, someone named Ethan emailed to update the artists on when we’d be paid, and to arrange for artists to pick up their unsold art.
On September 26, Ethan wrote, “Please confirm your shipping address, and find the outline of your sales report below. Once confirmed, we will mail your commission check promptly.”
My payment would be $1,045. One mandala had sold at a 10 percent discount.
On October 21, I emailed Ethan, “I haven’t gotten my check yet.”
No response.
On November 6, I emailed Ethan, “Checking in on this.”
On November 7, I got an email from Quang Bao, who’d been CC’d on emails but hadn’t said anything yet. I assumed he was a 1969 employee dealing with payments. He wrote that he’d pay me “via Zelle.” He wrote, “Sorry for inconvenience.”
I gave him my Zelle address and wrote, “Thank you! And no worries at all. Mail sometimes doesn’t get here for some reason.”
No response.
On November 21, I emailed him, “Checking in on this.”
He replied that day, “This is getting absurd as we maxed out on our monthly limit for online payments a week ago.” He said he could PayPal me “now instead of waiting until Dec 2…my apologies and pls lmknow”.
I gave him my PayPal address.
No response.
On December 8, I emailed him, “Checking in on this.”
No response.
On December 13, I got a $550 transfer from Zelle labeled “1 of 2 payments artist share.”
On January 11, 2026, I forwarded Quang the Zelle email and wrote, “Thank you for this. I’m checking in on the ETA of the second payment.”
He replied 2.5 hours later, “Sorry to turn you into a collections agent.” He wrote that it had been “a miserable year - capped by the news that our gallery space was going to be put on the market for sale.” He wrote other things, including: “Since Zelle has no fees, when I have even the smallest amount, I will send it.” He set “lunar new year (2/17) as an outer deadline date -- so that we might begin talking about another subject.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t fully read his email until writing this post. I just wanted to be paid. I was busy working on two books.
On February 20, I emailed him, “Hi Quang. Just checking in on this.”
No response.
On March 12, I emailed him, “Checking in on this payment again.”
No response.
On March 24, I emailed him, “Would appreciate an update on this or instructions on who to contact about it. Will try phoning the gallery next.”
Being low on money had accelerated my prodding—checking in after 40 days, then 20, and now 12. I was calling in all my debts, selling my stuff online.
He replied on March 26, “Very tough transition out of gallery space and into quarter 1” and “your final payment in full will be made no later than Monday, April 6.”
I replied, “This is good news—thank you, I appreciate the time-frame update.”
On April 7, I emailed him, “Hey Quang, just checking in on this.”
He replied, “It’s coming - I keep relying on money coming in on time and then adding 5 days on to expected arrival but alas it’s another week or so … and if this isn’t paid to you in April I’m going to print money.” In another email, he wrote, “And also, I do apologize for this dragging on. I realized we are nearing a year from the group exhibition last summer,” and: “Thanks also for keeping the communication friendly and kind. Q.”
I hadn’t realized so much time had passed. I was in a good mood, so I replied,
I’m surprised it’s been almost a year! Doesn’t feel that long. If I was better off, I would just let it go, but this happens to be a month where I’ve run out of money and this would be helpful until my agent can try to sell my next two books in a month or so. [Spirituality and Reasons to Live—my agent Julie is sending these to editors soon.] So I’ll check in again later this month. I do appreciate the updates on when I might expect it.
Later, I felt kind of annoyed that I’d been put into a meek, submissive position, saying things like “I’m surprised it’s been almost a year!” and “I do appreciate the updates on when I might expect it” to maintain friendly relations in service of getting paid.
Five days later, on April 12, I emailed him,
Due to the amount of time this has been going on, I want to request that you, or whomever is in charge of the gallery, pay me this month. Then you or whomever can wait for the money to come in, instead of me waiting. This seems reasonable to me after so much time.
Two hours later, I finally looked up who he was, then emailed him,
I just realized you’re the owner and founder. Somehow I hadn’t expected to be communicating with the head person there. I would really appreciate payment on this instead of further waiting.
He replied,
Yes, of course.
We zero out in April.
Will let you know exactly when in 48 hours, Q
By then, I’d begun to talk to a friend about the situation—Brad Phillips, a veteran artist, with decades of experience in the art world. He said this type of thing was common in the art world. He said I could threaten to post about it on Instagram. He said this worked, in his experience.
On April 13, I emailed Quang:
My friend at Vice wants to interview me about my difficulties getting paid, and will pay me for the interview. I want to move forward with it if I’m not paid by Friday. I run a business too, and if this was me, I would have paid one of my authors upfront using my own money, as a matter of course.
I felt amused by my threat. It was a lie. I could maybe have successfully pitched such an interview—an editor at Vice had recently wanted to interview me about my dad and advance-fee scams (I’d declined)—but I hadn’t pitched it and didn’t want to.
Quang didn’t respond. I told Brad I kind of regretted the threat. Quang had seemed like he was going to pay soon, and I’d felt good about staying friendly for so long. Making the threat right after he said the “48 hours” thing seemed like an obvious tactical error.
I told Brad, “Wonder if taking back the threat would help.” I told Brad, “It’s annoying that he and I have had to send like 20 emails over like 8 months.” I told Brad, “Shouldn’t he be able to pay me out of his personal money, if he’s the founder/owner?”
Brad said galleries hoped artists would forget or not complain, and that most artists did forget and not complain: “Because they’re scared they will not be given art shows. That they will be seen as difficult. So they’re easy to steal from.”
Brad searched the gallery and saw they were closed. I hadn’t realized this, because I hadn’t read the emails from Quang closely. I didn’t know what this meant. Brad said it meant “they ran out of money” and probably owed “all the artists they work with.”
On April 16, I emailed Quang:
I just realized your gallery closed (permanently?), so you probably aren’t affected much by the potential loss of reputation the interview would entail. I’m not really interested in doing the interview—I’d rather focus on my work. I just would like to get paid. Can we pretend I never sent that previous email? Apologies for any ill will it might have caused.
I just wanted to get paid. He didn’t respond.
I’m smiling as I type this. I don’t feel ill will toward Quang. He seemed like he was going to pay until the threat. He seemed to use the threat as a reason to ghost me.
I made this post not to “call out” 1969 Gallery and Quang but because it seems like a good, amusing, informative story to share.
Also: I wanted to write a different kind of this type of post, where I accept not getting paid and feel calm and happy about it.
Still, though: I didn’t want to go out of my way to hide Quang and the gallery’s identity. I stated the facts. Seems fair.
In the future, I want to stay true to what I feel is my deepest self and refrain from making a made-up threat, if I ever get in a situation like this again.
Situations like this can teach patience, calmness, and acceptance—sub-lessons in happiness and being able to control one’s emotions and not worry.
This was a learning experience in which I got a little better at relinquishing control and focusing my attention on acceptance instead of frustration or anger.
It helped that I’ve been busy writing two books. Getting randomly upset about the $455, fuming over it, would have been detrimental to my work.
Instead of thinking, “It’s not fair,” I’m thinking, “I made $550 off mandalas I probably wouldn’t have finished otherwise, and I got this fun post out of it and learned.”
However, $455 is not unwelcome. If Quang pays me, I’ll add a note at the top of this post saying he paid me. I’m not going to pursue this anymore, though.
People can buy prints of my mandalas here. Publishers can message me to offer to publish a book of 70 to 100 of my mandalas.
My other gallery experiences have been smooth, with one exception: in 2024 I agreed to show my mandalas at Basel Social Club but I changed my mind after the curator became belligerent, telling me not to sell too many mandalas on social media.
I’ve had enjoyable experiences with LVL 3 in Chicago, Zodiac Pictures in Santa Monica, and Project Gallery (an online gallery that took only 20 percent).
My favorite was when Nick Irvin showed prints of my mandalas in 2022 at a kava bar under plexiglass at the tables/bar and sold 34 prints.
UPDATE
After posting this, I got many messages from artists who also didn’t get paid by Quang. One artist told me:
I got this message too and joined this Instagram thread:
From the thread, I found the Kenny Schachter article. It says:
Some of the text of “Heal Meow Time”:
This feels much better than tobacco. I feel more enjoyably and fully focused on writing than maybe only scattered minutes while on tobacco. Unconsciously started mimicking my pre-lip-seal self, it still feels comfortable; I can nosebreath with it, but as a child I probably was entirely or near-entirely mouthbreathed (rhinitis, etc.) I can take more time to write Self Heal.
Stared at ants—which I kill by the tens to hundreds daily—noticing patterns, patrolling, ordered to their walking on the concrete.
Paying more attention to Lali, smiling—she seems more playful and funny, grabbing the tatami mat in an exaggerated way, using her whole upper body, lying on her side suddenly jumping up and with a meow moving quickly to 7 feet away moving out of the sun facing me.
Glad I didn’t praise tobacco while using it past year; this seems much preferable.
Synergistic that I also stopped looking at my phone and seeing what time it was when I woke and setting timers for biking and meditation. I’ve woken, biked ~30, hung, meditated ~20, gardened, smoked ~70mg cannabis, and have been working.
Laughed looking at Lali and imagining I was seeing a human body, moving like her—throwing her body from standing to lying on her side curled flopping herself over repeatedly like a fish, putting her right paw under the mat while pulling herself toward me, looking at me in the sunlight, then clawing me a little then jumping up and moving three feet into the shade.
Nini’s movements are more like a human’s. He’s slow, careful, less forceful.
This reminds me of a therapy term called radical acceptance. It’s when we can’t change what’s going on so our options are to accept it or suffer. Also I love these mandalas!