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▶ Which contract type is right for my project?
tap to expandLogo & Brand Identity — You're creating a visual identity from scratch. A logo, possibly a brand guide, possibly additional assets. The core questions: does the client own it outright, or do they have a license to use it? This contract covers that.
Illustration — You're creating original artwork for a specific use: editorial, advertising, merchandise, publishing, or personal. The usage defines the license scope. An illustration for a magazine article and an illustration for a national ad campaign are very different agreements.
Licensing Existing Artwork — You already made the work. Someone wants to use it. You're not creating anything new — you're granting permission. This contract defines what they can do, for how long, and what you get paid.
Retainer — Ongoing work, paid monthly. You're available to a client on a recurring basis. The contract defines hours, deliverables, ownership, and how either party can end it.
Photography — You're shooting and delivering edited images. The contract covers deliverables, RAW file policy, payment, and copyright.
Selling Existing Artwork — A client wants to buy something you already made. No revisions, instant delivery. The contract covers what transfers and what you keep.
Statement of Work — The pre-project scoping document. Defines deliverables, timeline, revisions, and fees before a contract is signed. Referenced by all other agreements. Build this first for any new project.
Work Change Order — For when a client requests work outside the original scope. Documents what's changing, the new fee, and the schedule impact. Protects you from scope creep without a paper trail.
NDA (Non-Disclosure Agreement) — When confidential information is being shared: business plans, unreleased work, client lists, proprietary processes. Mutual or one-way. Includes return of materials and legal compulsion provisions.
Cease & Desist Letter — When someone is using your work without permission. Formal notice demanding they stop, with a deadline and consequences. References statutory damages up to $150,000 for willful infringement.
// Not sure which one fits? Pick the closest match. The contract wizard will guide you through the specifics from there.
▶ How do I know which scope is right — and am I pricing it correctly?
tap to expandThe scope you choose today sets every other price in this wizard. Rush fees, ownership multipliers, revision fees, and concept fees all stack on top of this base. Choose accurately.
Simple Logo Only — $750–$1,500
One mark, delivered in final formats. Black, white, and color versions. No brand guide, no variations, no templates. Best for: solo entrepreneurs, side projects, personal brands, or clients with a small budget who just need a professional mark. Don't undersell this — a well-executed logo mark is a real deliverable.
Logo + Basic Brand Guide — $2,000–$4,000
The most common scope for independent creative work. A logo mark plus the tools the client needs to use it consistently: color palette with hex codes, typography selection, basic usage rules. Prevents the "can you just make it work for Instagram?" follow-up calls. This is what most growing businesses actually need.
Full Brand Identity System — $5,000–$10,000
A complete brand toolkit. Logo plus all variations, a comprehensive guide covering every use case, templates for business cards, letterhead, social, email signatures. Everything a business needs to look consistent across every touchpoint. This is a significant engagement — price it like one.
Corporate / Enterprise — $15,000+
Multi-stakeholder projects, complex organizations, sub-brand systems, signage and environmental specs, internal governance documents, multiple presentation rounds. These projects have longer timelines, more revision cycles, and more people involved in every decision. Never underquote enterprise work. Their legal team alone will cost more than your fee.
Factors that should raise your price:
— Client is in a high-revenue industry (finance, tech, healthcare, law)
— The mark will be trademarked (your work has long-term legal value)
— Timeline is compressed
— Multiple decision-makers / committee approvals
— You're early in talks and the client is price-shopping
Adjust the suggested price below after selecting your scope. The suggested number is a market baseline — your actual rate should reflect your experience, your market, and the specific client.
// Never price a logo based on how long it takes to draw. Price it on the value it creates for the business. A great logo mark is worth thousands of dollars in brand recognition over a 5-10 year lifespan.
// Why This Matters
The more clearly you define the brand brief in the contract, the harder it is for clients to claim "that's not what I meant" later. These questions become part of the project scope — your creative protection in writing.
▶ How long should a license last — and how do I price it?
tap to expandA license term is not a formality — it's leverage. Every year that passes is another year your work has proven its value in the market. When a license expires, you have the right to renew at a higher rate, decline to renew, or convert to full ownership for a separate fee.
Standard term pricing multipliers:
1-year license: Base fee — no multiplier. Standard for new relationships, smaller clients, and startups. Natural annual renewal creates a touchpoint for rate increases.
2–3 year license: Base fee × 1.15 — Roughly 15% more than the 1-year rate. The client gets stability. You get a slightly larger payment and fewer renewal conversations.
5-year license: Base fee × 1.30 — 30% above base. Appropriate for established businesses with a stable brand direction. Charge more because you're giving up 5 years of renewal leverage.
Perpetual license: Base fee × 2.5 — Close to full ownership in practice. Charge accordingly. A perpetual license is the last time you'll ever get paid for this work in this context.
What happens when a logo license expires?
The client is required to stop using the mark until a renewal is signed. In practice, most won't stop on their own — you need to track the expiration date and reach out proactively. Set a calendar reminder 60 days before the expiration date. Frame it as a service: "Your logo license is coming up for renewal — here's what continuing looks like."
Rate at renewal: A 10–20% increase at renewal is completely standard. Your work has now been proven in market, your reputation may have grown, and the cost of rebuilding the brand from scratch is far higher than a renewal fee. Good clients understand this. Difficult clients will argue — which tells you something useful about the relationship.
What if they just... keep using it without renewing? That is copyright infringement. It is not a gray area. Your contract makes this explicit. If it happens, you have a paper trail and legal standing.
// The longer the term, the more flexibility you give up. Price every year of that flexibility. You earned it.
▶ Full ownership vs. license — what's the financial difference?
tap to expandThis is the most financially consequential decision in this contract.
Full Ownership (Copyright Assignment):
The client buys the design and all rights to it — permanently. They can use it anywhere, modify it, license it to others, sell the company and the logo goes with it. You give up every future right to this work. Standard premium: 2–3x your base design fee.
Why so much more? Because you're not just selling the design — you're selling every future use of it, forever. Think about the Nike swoosh. The designer was paid $35. Nike's logo is now worth billions. Full ownership means the client captures all of that future value. Price like it.
Licensed Use (You Keep Copyright):
The client gets permission to use the logo for an agreed period. You keep the copyright. When the license expires, you can renew it (at a higher rate), decline to renew, or convert to full ownership for a separate fee. Base fee — term multiplier applied in the next step.
This is the artist-protective default. It keeps your long-term leverage intact and creates an ongoing client relationship with renewal revenue.
What clients want to hear about licensing:
"You'll have the right to use this logo across all your materials for the agreed term. At renewal, we'll revisit the arrangement — most clients simply renew. You're not renting it, you're licensing it — like software. The distinction is a legal one that protects both of us."
If a client pushes back on licensing:
Full ownership is available — at 2.5x the base rate. That's not punitive — it's reflective of what you're actually giving up. If they want to own it outright, they pay for that right.
// Most clients don't actually need full ownership — they need the right to use the logo consistently and without restriction. Licensing covers that. Full ownership is for clients who want to remove you from the equation entirely — and that has a price.
// One More Thing Worth Knowing
Copyright ≠ Trademark. This contract transfers copyright — the right to the artwork itself. That is not the same as a trademark.
Copyright protects the design as a creative work. A trademark protects the brand name and logo from being used by competitors in the same industry. They are separate protections, filed separately.
If your client is building a serious brand and wants real market protection, they should consider filing a trademark with the USPTO after this contract is signed. It's a separate process, costs around $250–350 per class, and can be done without a lawyer — though having one helps.
// This is educational context, not legal advice. True Brew helps you understand what you're doing — not replace an attorney.
Here's The Difference.
Full Ownership — The client owns the logo forever. They can do anything with it, sell it, modify it. You give up all future rights permanently. Charge significantly more.
Licensed Use — You keep the copyright. You give them permission to use it for an agreed period. If they want more, they come back to you. This is the artist-protective default.
▶ Selling existing work — what to think about
tap to expandWork made for fun vs. work made on commission are different things.
When you sell existing work, you're selling something you already own completely — no revisions, no brief to follow, no client feedback built in. That's actually a stronger position than a commission. Price it like it.
What are you actually selling?
— Physical original: The physical object. Unless you explicitly transfer copyright, you keep it. The buyer owns the thing, not the right to reproduce it.
— Digital file / print rights: You're selling the right to print or use the file. Be specific about how many prints, what sizes, what uses.
— Full copyright transfer: They own the image entirely — can reproduce it, license it, use it commercially. Charge significantly more for this.
Time already spent: The fact that you made this work for fun doesn't mean it has no value. If anything, it means you made it without constraints — that's often the best work. Don't discount it because of how it was made. Price it on what it's worth to the buyer.
Delivery is instant — that's a feature, not a reason to charge less. You're selling a finished, proven piece. No waiting, no revisions, no risk. That has value.
// The contract protects both parties. Even for a simple sale, having it in writing prevents "I thought I could use this on my website" conversations later.
▶ What should I charge for illustration?
tap to expandEditorial (magazine, newspaper, online article):
Spot illustration: $150–$400 · Half-page: $400–$900 · Full-page: $800–$2,000 · Cover: $1,200–$3,500+
Advertising & Commercial:
Web/social (small brand): $500–$1,500 · National print ad: $3,000–$10,000+ · Product packaging (national): $2,500–$8,000+
Merchandise:
T-shirt (small run under 500): $400–$1,200 · T-shirt (1,000+ units): $1,200–$4,000+
Publishing:
Children's book (indie press): $1,500–$5,000 · Traditional publisher: $4,000–$15,000+ · Book cover: $1,500–$5,000+
Personal commission: $150–$600 depending on complexity.
// Never price on how long it takes. Price on the value it creates and the rights you're transferring. Time is a floor, not a ceiling.
▶ How long should an illustration license last?
tap to expandEvery license should answer four questions: What can they do with it? Where? For how long? How many times / units?
Standard term lengths by use type:
Editorial (magazine, newspaper): One-time use or 1 year. Tied to a specific issue or run. Reprint, syndication, or republication = new license, new fee. This is not negotiable — it's industry standard.
Online editorial (blog, web article): 1–2 years or life of the article. Define whether "life of the article" means they can keep it up forever. Many artists now specify a 2-year term even for web editorial.
Advertising / campaign (regional): 6 months to 1 year. Campaigns have natural lifespans — tie the license to the campaign, not to an arbitrary date.
Advertising / campaign (national): 1–2 years. More money, more visibility, higher renewal leverage.
Merchandise / apparel (limited run): Tied to production quantity. "Up to 500 units" is more useful than "1 year" for merchandise — it ties the license to actual use, not calendar time.
Merchandise / apparel (ongoing): 1–2 year renewable term. Annual renewal keeps the relationship current. Rate increases at renewal are standard.
Product packaging: 1 production run or 2 years, whichever comes first. Packaging gets redesigned — don't let an old package keep your art in market forever.
Book cover (hardcover first edition): Life of the first edition. Paperback edition = new license. Foreign language edition = new license and new fee. Audio / ebook = separate. Each format, each territory, each edition is a new license.
Book interior illustration: Life of the edition in the defined territory. Define: print run quantity, territory, and whether digital versions are included.
Digital / website use: 1–2 years. Websites get redesigned, brands evolve. Annual renewal is completely standard and expected.
App / software UI: 1 year with renewal. Apps get updated constantly. Annual licensing keeps you in the loop on how the work is being used.
Social media content: 1 year. Specify which platforms. Instagram license ≠ TikTok license — they're different audiences, different uses.
Brand identity / logo (licensed, not assigned): 1–5 years depending on client size. See the logo path for detailed term guidance.
Territory — always define it:
US only, worldwide, English-language markets, EU only — these all mean different things. A US-only license at base rate. Add 25–50% per major territory for regional expansion. Worldwide rights: 2–3x US rate minimum.
Exclusivity — price it or lose it:
Non-exclusive (you can still license this work to others): base rate. Category-exclusive (no competitors): 50–75% premium. Fully exclusive: 100%+ premium. Time-limited exclusivity (exclusive for 6 months, then open): smaller premium is fair.
What happens when a license expires:
The client must stop using the artwork — remove it from products, pull it from campaigns, take it off websites. If they want to continue, they come to you for renewal. If they keep using it without renewing, that is copyright infringement with a paper trail in your favor.
Rate at renewal: Raising your rate 10–25% at renewal is completely standard, especially if your work has become well-known, your reputation has grown, or the work has driven measurable results for the client. A logo or illustration that's been in market for 2 years has proven its value. Price accordingly.
Set a renewal reminder: Calendar reminder 60 days before expiration. Reach out proactively. Frame it as a service: "Your license is coming up for renewal — here's what continuing looks like."
// "Unlimited" without defining duration, territory, medium, and quantity is not a license — it's a permanent rights transfer at a temporary price. Never agree to it.
▶ What should I charge for a full rights transfer?
tap to expandFull ownership of illustration = base fee × usage multiplier. Never just the base rate.
Editorial illustration — full assignment: 2–3x the editorial rate. So a $600 editorial piece becomes $1,200–$1,800 with full rights.
Advertising illustration — full assignment: 3–5x the base fee. Advertising budgets are larger. A $1,500 ad illustration with full rights = $4,500–$7,500.
Merchandise illustration — full assignment: 2–4x the design fee plus consider a royalty clause for ongoing production.
Character design — full assignment: $2,000 – $10,000+ per character depending on complexity and how widely it will be used.
Book cover — full assignment: $3,000 – $8,000+ for traditional publisher. Indie publishers: negotiate based on print run and distribution.
The multiplier logic: Think about how many times the client will profit from this image over the life of the copyright (70 years after your death). Your fee is a one-time payment for all of that value. Price accordingly.
Things to negotiate even with full assignment:
— Portfolio and promotional display rights (always keep these)
— Credit / attribution on all published uses
— A percentage if the work is resold or sublicensed by the client
— Right of first refusal on future projects
// Many illustrators regret selling full rights cheaply early in their careers. When in doubt, offer a broad long-term license instead — it gives the client nearly the same freedom at a lower upfront cost, and protects your long-term interests.
Not Sure? Here's The Difference.
Full Ownership — They own the original art and all rights. They can resell it, modify it, use it forever. Charge significantly more.
Usage License — You retain copyright. They get permission to use it for the agreed purpose only. This is standard professional practice and protects your work.
▶ Exclusive vs. non-exclusive — what's the difference and what should I charge?
tap to expandNon-exclusive license: You can license the same work (or similar work) to other clients. This is the default for most illustration. Standard rate applies.
Exclusive license: The client is buying the right to be the only one using this work for the license period. You cannot license the same image to anyone else. This has real commercial value — and that value should be reflected in the fee.
Exclusivity premium: add 50–200% to base fee depending on the market and the term. A one-year exclusive for a regional brand is very different from a five-year exclusive for a national product.
Category exclusivity: A middle-ground option — exclusive in one industry or product category, non-exclusive everywhere else. Example: "exclusive for use on coffee packaging for 2 years." You can still license the work to a clothing brand. Charge 25–75% premium for category exclusivity.
// Exclusivity locks you out of the market for that image. If they want that protection, they pay for it. If they don't want to pay for it, they don't get it.
▶ What should I charge to license my artwork?
tap to expandLicensing is how you get paid multiple times for work you created once. Every use has a value — define it before you agree to it.
Apparel & Merchandise:
T-shirt / apparel design, small run (under 250 units): $250 – $600
T-shirt / apparel design, mid run (250–1,000 units): $600 – $1,500
T-shirt / apparel design, large run (1,000+ units): $1,500 – $4,000+
Accessories (bags, hats, patches, pins): $200 – $800 per design
Home goods / décor (mugs, prints, textiles): $300 – $1,200
Stationery / greeting cards (single design): $150 – $500
Digital & Web:
Website use (1 year, single site): $300 – $900
Social media use (1 year, all platforms): $400 – $1,200
Mobile app / software UI (1 year): $500 – $2,000
Digital advertising (campaign, 6 months): $600 – $2,500
Email marketing use (1 year): $200 – $600
Publishing:
Book interior illustration (indie press): $100 – $400 per image
Book cover (self-published / indie): $300 – $1,000
Book cover (traditional publisher, one edition): $1,200 – $3,500
Magazine interior (one issue): $200 – $600
Magazine cover: $800 – $3,000+
Physical products & packaging:
Product label / packaging (small brand, regional): $500 – $1,500
Product packaging (national distribution): $1,500 – $5,000+
Toy / collectible (limited run): $500 – $2,000 + royalty
Royalty model — when it applies:
Merchandise royalties: 10–15% of gross sales is industry standard. Some artists negotiate 8% minimum with escalating tiers (8% up to $10k sales, 12% above). Always define "gross sales" explicitly — net vs. gross is a common dispute.
Publishing royalties: 5–10% of cover price for illustrated books. Traditional publishers often bundle illustrator and author royalties — negotiate your cut separately.
Advance against royalties: $500 – $5,000 upfront, recouped before royalties flow. Get it in writing.
Territory pricing:
US rights only: base rate. Add 25–50% per major territory (EU, UK, APAC). Worldwide rights: 2–3x the US rate. Never grant worldwide rights at the same price as US-only.
Exclusivity premium:
Non-exclusive (you can license to others): base rate. Exclusive within industry / category: 50–75% premium. Fully exclusive worldwide: 100–150% premium. Timed exclusivity (exclusive for 1 year, then open): a smaller premium is fair.
Nonprofit & fundraising:
Event / campaign use: $250 – $750 voluntary contribution minimum. Include a commercial trigger clause — if they ever sell products with the work for profit, full commercial rates apply automatically.
// Always define: territory, duration, medium, quantity, and exclusivity. "Unlimited" without these four defined is not a license — it's a blank check. Never sign off on unlimited use.
▶ What license term is right for this situation?
tap to expandThe license term defines how long the client can use your work. After it ends, they need to come back to you. Structure it so they always have to come back.
Commercial — term structures by use type:
Single production run (apparel, merch): Tie to quantity, not time. "Up to 500 units" is more precise than "1 year." When they reorder, they negotiate a new license. This is the cleanest structure for merchandise.
Ongoing commercial product use: 1–2 year renewable terms. Annual renewals keep your rate current and give you a natural check-in point. Don't grant 3+ years upfront — markets change, your value grows.
Digital / marketing use: 1 year renewable. Digital campaigns have natural end dates. Annual renewal is expected and standard.
Exclusive commercial license: 2–3 years maximum at initial agreement. Never grant permanent exclusivity at a flat rate. If they want to lock you out of the market entirely, they pay a significant premium and the term has an end date.
National / major brand campaign: 1–2 years, per-use or per-campaign. Major brands have legal teams who understand licensing. Don't be undersold — they're used to paying.
Nonprofit & fundraising — term structures:
Single event / campaign: Event-based license — expires when the event ends. Be specific: "license expires 30 days after the event date." After that, any continued use requires a new agreement.
Ongoing nonprofit use (annual): 1-year renewable. Require annual renewal with a nominal fee or updated donation. This keeps the relationship active and prevents "perpetual free use by default."
Fundraising product (t-shirts, posters): Tied to a specific production run. Define the quantity. If they sell out and reprint, that's a new license — and if the organization is making money, commercial rates may now apply.
The profit trigger clause — essential for any nonprofit deal:
Include explicit language: "If the Licensee generates revenue from products, campaigns, or activities using this artwork — beyond recovering direct costs — commercial licensing terms apply automatically from the date of first profitable sale." This closes the "we started nonprofit but went commercial" loophole. It's not aggressive — it's fair.
Escalation clause — for long-term licenses:
For any license over 1 year, consider including a rate escalation: "Upon renewal, the licensing fee shall increase by a minimum of [10–15%] unless otherwise agreed in writing." Locks in your ability to raise rates without renegotiating the whole agreement.
At expiration — the renewal conversation:
60 days before expiration: send a renewal proposal. Include your updated rate (10–20% increase is standard and expected). Frame it positively: "Your license for [work] expires on [date]. Here's what continuing looks like." Don't wait for them to bring it up — proactive renewal is professional and protects your income.
If they keep using it after expiration without renewing:
That is copyright infringement. You have a signed contract with an expiration date. Send a formal notice requesting immediate renewal or cessation of use, with your updated rate. If they don't respond, you have the paper trail to escalate.
// "Nonprofit" is not a license for free. It is a discounted rate in exchange for community goodwill. You still deserve compensation — and you still deserve a written agreement.
▶ Flat fee vs. royalty — which is right for this situation?
tap to expandFlat licensing fee — One payment, agreed upfront, tied to the license term. You know exactly what you're getting. Good for: shorter license terms, smaller clients, situations where you want certainty over potential upside. Most common for independent artists.
Royalty model — You get a percentage of every sale. Industry standard for merchandise licensing is 10–15% of gross sales. This can be significantly more valuable than a flat fee if the product sells well — but it requires tracking, trust, and sometimes auditing. Best for: merchandise, apparel, and products with real sales potential.
Flat fee + royalty — A guaranteed floor (flat fee) plus upside participation (royalty above a threshold). Protects you if sales are slow while rewarding you if they're not. Example: $500 flat fee, then 10% royalty after the client recoups $2,000 in sales. Best structure for merchandise with uncertain sales potential.
Voluntary donation — For genuine nonprofits where you want to contribute. Set a fair floor — even goodwill has a value. Include a trigger clause: if the work is ever used commercially, full licensing fees apply automatically. Don't let "nonprofit" become a permanent free license.
When royalties are better than a flat fee:
— The product has real commercial potential
— The client is established and financially transparent
— You can verify sales numbers (get audit rights in writing)
— The expected royalty over 1–2 years would exceed the flat fee offer
When flat fees are better:
— You can't verify sales
— The client is new or small
— You need certainty over upside
— The license term is short
// Royalties are how artists get paid multiple times for work they did once. But only if the contract is tight and the client is honest. Get audit rights in writing or stick to flat fees.
▶ How much should exclusivity cost them?
tap to expandNon-exclusive: The default for most licensing. You can license the same artwork to multiple buyers. Standard rate applies.
Exclusive: They're the only company in the world allowed to use this artwork during the license term. You can't license it to their competitors or anyone else. This is a significant restriction on your business — charge accordingly. Add 75–200% to the base licensing fee.
Category exclusivity: Exclusive in their industry or product type only. You can still license the work outside that category. Example: exclusive for brewery merchandise, non-exclusive everywhere else. Add 30–75% premium.
Also consider: unit caps. Even on a flat-fee license, defining a maximum print run or unit count protects you if the product becomes wildly successful. Above the cap, they negotiate a new license or pay a per-unit royalty.
// A licensee who wants exclusivity is telling you the work has real commercial value. Price it like it does.
▶ What should I charge for a retainer?
tap to expandA retainer is guaranteed income in exchange for guaranteed availability. Price it like both of those things have real value — because they do.
Hourly rates by discipline and experience:
Graphic designer, entry (0–2 years): $35 – $60/hr
Graphic designer, mid (3–6 years): $65 – $110/hr
Graphic designer, senior (7+ years): $110 – $175/hr
Brand designer / strategist: $100 – $200/hr
Illustrator, editorial / commercial: $75 – $150/hr
Art director / creative director: $125 – $250+/hr
Web / UI designer: $85 – $175/hr
Copywriter / content strategist: $65 – $150/hr
Motion designer / animator: $85 – $175/hr
Monthly retainer ranges by commitment level:
Advisory / light support (under 5 hrs/mo): $300 – $600/mo — Brand oversight, quick reviews, one-off assets.
Part-time support (5–10 hrs/mo): $600 – $1,200/mo — Regular deliverables, social content, minor updates.
Regular work (10–20 hrs/mo): $1,200 – $2,800/mo — Consistent design support, campaigns, ongoing brand work.
Heavy involvement (20–40 hrs/mo): $2,800 – $6,500+/mo — Near-embedded creative, multiple projects running simultaneously.
Full creative partnership (40+ hrs/mo): $5,000 – $12,000+/mo — Essentially a fractional creative director or in-house designer. At this level, compare against the cost of a full-time hire.
How to structure retainer pricing:
— Start with your standard hourly rate
— Multiply by estimated monthly hours
— Apply a 10–15% retainer discount if and only if the client pays on time, every time
— Never give the discount upfront — earn it over 2–3 months of reliable payment
What the retainer fee should cover:
— Your available hours for that month
— Response time guarantee (e.g., within 24 business hours)
— Any project management overhead
— Priority scheduling over non-retainer clients
Unused hours policy:
Standard industry practice: unused hours do not roll over. The retainer fee is for availability and priority, not just for delivered work. A client who uses 4 of their 15 included hours still pays the full retainer. If they push back on this, remind them they're paying for your availability, not just your output.
When to raise your rate:
— At contract renewal (always)
— When scope has expanded beyond the original agreement
— When you take on a significant new client (your time is finite — price accordingly)
— Annually, as a baseline — 5–15% per year is completely standard
Red flags in retainer clients:
— Consistently exceeds the hour limit without acknowledging it
— Late payments on a recurring basis
— Treats the retainer as an "on-call for anything" arrangement
— Asks for work outside the agreed scope without a change order conversation
Any of these is a signal to renegotiate — or exit. A retainer should feel like stability, not like being taken advantage of on a schedule.
// The retainer discount is a reward for reliability — not a starting point. Give it when they've earned it. Remove it if they stop earning it.
▶ How should retainer ownership be structured over time?
tap to expandMonth-to-month ownership transfer (most common):
Rights transfer to the client each month upon full payment. Clean, simple, protects you if they miss a payment. Work produced in an unpaid month stays yours until payment clears.
Retained copyright with usage license:
You keep the copyright on everything. Better for creatives who want to maintain a portfolio. The client can use the work for the agreed business purposes but can't resell or sublicense it without your permission.
What to review at retainer renewal:
— Your rate (increase annually or every 6 months for long-term clients)
— Scope (has the work expanded beyond the original agreement?)
— Ownership terms (do they now want full assignment? Charge for it)
— Notice period (reassess if the relationship has evolved)
Rate increase at renewal: 5–15% annually is standard and expected. Frame it as a cost-of-living and experience adjustment. Good clients understand. Difficult clients are a signal to reassess the relationship.
If you've been undercharging: A retainer renewal is the right moment to correct your rate — not mid-contract. Give 30 days notice of a rate change with the next renewal.
// A retainer is a partnership. Treat renewal as a business review — not just a rubber stamp. Adjust terms as your value grows.
▶ What should I charge for photography?
tap to expandPhotography pricing has two components: your creation fee (shooting + editing) and your licensing fee (how they can use the images). Know both before you quote.
Event Photography:
2-hour mini session (portraits, headshots): $250 – $700
Half day shoot (4 hours, corporate / event): $600 – $1,800
Full day shoot (8 hours): $1,200 – $3,500
Wedding — ceremony only: $1,500 – $3,000
Wedding — full day + editing + gallery: $3,000 – $8,000+
Concert / live music (per show): $400 – $1,500
Corporate event / conference (full day): $1,000 – $3,000
Portrait & Headshots:
Individual portrait session (1 hour, 10–15 edited images): $200 – $600
Professional headshots, individual: $250 – $800
Corporate headshots, team (per person): $125 – $350/person
Corporate headshots, on-site team day (10+ people): $1,200 – $3,000 flat
Actor / model comp card session: $300 – $900
Commercial & Advertising:
Product photography, simple (white background, per product): $50 – $150/product
Product photography, lifestyle/styled (per day): $1,000 – $4,000
Brand / campaign shoot (half day, small brand): $1,500 – $3,500
Brand / campaign shoot (full day, mid-size brand): $3,000 – $8,000
National advertising campaign: $5,000 – $25,000+ — includes creation fee plus usage licensing.
Food / beverage photography (per day): $1,200 – $5,000
Automotive photography (per day): $2,000 – $8,000
Editorial:
Online editorial (blog / web article, per image): $75 – $300
Magazine editorial shoot (half day): $500 – $1,800
Magazine editorial shoot (full day): $1,000 – $3,500
Magazine cover: $1,500 – $5,000+
Newspaper / press (per image, one-time use): $100 – $400
Real Estate & Architecture:
Residential listing (standard, under 2,500 sq ft): $150 – $400
Residential listing (luxury / large): $400 – $900
Commercial space / office (per day): $800 – $2,500
Architectural / design portfolio shoot: $1,000 – $4,000
Aerial / drone add-on: $150 – $500 per session (requires FAA Part 107 certification — if you don't have it, don't offer it)
Licensing — images used beyond personal / portfolio:
Web use, 1 year (social + website): $200 – $800 per image
Print advertising (regional, 6 months): $500 – $2,000 per image
National print advertising (1 year): $2,000 – $8,000+ per image
Packaging / product use (1 production run): $500 – $3,000 per image
Broadcast / TV commercial (1 year): $2,000 – $10,000+ per image
What to include in your quoted rate:
— Shooting time
— Culling (sorting through all images — this takes real time)
— Editing and retouching (most photographers undercharge here)
— File preparation and delivery
— Travel time if applicable
— Equipment costs (insurance, wear, rentals)
Post-production rates if billed separately:
Basic editing (color correction, crop, exposure): $5 – $15/image
Advanced retouching (skin, compositing, object removal): $25 – $100+/image
Travel and expenses:
Mileage: IRS standard rate (currently $0.67/mile for 2024). Out-of-town shoots: full travel, hotel, and per diem billed to client. Always get pre-approval in writing before incurring travel expenses.
// Never quote just the shoot. Quote the whole process: shoot + cull + edit + deliver. If you charge $800 to shoot and spend 6 hours editing, your effective rate dropped by half. Price the full job.
▼ Should I hand over RAW files?
tap to collapseThe professional standard: RAW files are NOT included by default. You deliver edited, finished images. That's the product.
RAW files give the client the ability to re-edit your work, alter your vision, and distribute versions you never approved. That affects your reputation directly.
If a client wants RAWs — charge for it. A RAW delivery fee of 25–50% of your total shoot fee is standard and reasonable.
If you do deliver RAWs, include a clause stating the client cannot alter them in ways that misrepresent your work or claim the edits were made by someone else.
What to charge if you say yes:
Event / wedding RAW files: $200 – $500 flat fee on top of your shoot rate. You're handing over hundreds of unculled frames — that has value.
Commercial / product RAW files: 25–50% of your total shoot fee. A $2,000 shoot = $500–$1,000 RAW fee. Commercial clients often want them for internal use or future edits.
Editorial RAW files: $150 – $400 flat depending on volume. Rare request in editorial — if they're asking, charge for it.
Portrait / headshot RAW files: $75 – $200 flat fee. Make clear they're getting unretouched files and that the final edited images are still the deliverable.
What your RAW fee should cover: The transfer of your unprocessed work, the risk that your vision gets altered, and the implicit devaluation of your editing expertise. You are not just handing over files — you are handing over creative control.
// "Can we have the RAWs?" is one of the most common ways clients devalue your post-production work. It is completely acceptable — and professional — to say no.
// What is a Statement of Work?
A Statement of Work (SOW) is the pre-project document that defines exactly what you're building, when it's due, how many revisions are included, and what it costs. It's not the contract — it's the scope document that the contract references. Build the SOW first, sign it, then begin. It protects both parties before a single hour is spent.
// Why This Document Exists
Scope creep is the number one source of unpaid work in creative projects. A Work Change Order documents what changed, what it costs, and how it affects the timeline — and requires the client's signature before you touch it. No signed change order, no additional work. This is not aggressive. It's professional.
// When You Need an NDA
Use an NDA when sharing: unreleased work, client names, business plans, pricing structures, proprietary processes, or any information that would hurt you if it became public. The NDA should be signed before any sensitive information changes hands — not after.
// Your Rights — the short version
You own your work the moment you create it. That's U.S. copyright law (17 U.S.C. § 101). No registration required. This letter is a formal notice — it's not about being combative, it's about being clear. Most situations resolve once the other party understands the legal reality. Statutory damages for willful infringement can reach $150,000 per work if the work is registered.
In the print dialog → More settings → uncheck Headers and footers
// For high-stakes projects, have a lawyer review before signing.
// You retain all rights to customize this document for your situation.
Translate Their
Contract.
Upload a contract file or paste text below. We'll break it down in plain English, flag the red flags, and tell you what to watch out for.
// For high-stakes situations, consult a lawyer before signing.
// Project True Brew helps you understand what you're reading, not what you should do.
Find Your
People.
Want to be listed here?
Project True Brew is building a directory of independent creatives who operate with integrity — use contracts, charge fair rates, and treat their work like the profession it is.
To be considered, send your name, discipline, location, a short description, and your website or Instagram to: tomas@truebrewcreatives.com
// Listing is free. Always will be. This directory will never charge creatives to be seen.
▶ New to hiring a creative? Read this first.
tap to expandKnow what you actually need. "A logo" is not a brief. The more clearly you can articulate the deliverable, the more accurate the quote — and the less back-and-forth later.
Ask for a contract. It protects both of you. It should cover what's being delivered, when, for how much, how many revisions are included, and who owns the final work. No contract = no clarity.
You're buying a license, not ownership. Unless the contract explicitly transfers copyright, the creative still owns the underlying work. If you need to own it outright, ask specifically — and expect the price to reflect it.
Pay a deposit. Then pay on time. 25–50% upfront is standard and professional. Late payment is the number one source of damage to creative relationships.
Revisions are not rewrites. A revision refines an approved direction. Asking for a completely different concept after approving one is a new project. Come with consolidated, specific feedback.
Let them put it in their portfolio. Their work is their livelihood. A credit line or an Instagram tag costs you nothing and means everything to them.
// Spec work, "exposure" as payment, and "we just need a quick logo" for a fraction of fair market rate are all signals a working relationship will be one-sided. Good creatives will decline. The ones who don't are often the ones you'll be frustrated with.
Work With
a Creative.
Know what it costs. Build your brief. Find the right person. That's the whole move.
Brief.
// Need to find someone? Browse the directory →
Mirror
I've been thinking a lot lately about audience capture.
Not influencers. Not celebrities. Not politicians.
All of us.
The internet didn't invent audience capture. It simply gave it a louder microphone. Human beings have always adjusted themselves to fit the expectations of the people around them. The desire to belong is older than social media.
What social media did was turn that desire into a business model.
But the audience doesn't have to be millions of strangers.
Sometimes it's your coworkers. Sometimes it's your friends. Sometimes it's your customers, your family, your political tribe, or the version of yourself you've spent years carefully constructing.
That's where things get dangerous.
An artist starts making work for engagement instead of expression. A journalist starts writing for clicks instead of truth. A company starts protecting its image instead of its values. A parent starts performing parenting instead of actually parenting. A worker starts protecting their reputation instead of doing the work.
None of it happens overnight.
It happens slowly. One compromise at a time. One safe decision at a time. One small adjustment made in exchange for approval.
The problem is that growth requires change. Audiences usually don't want change. They want consistency. They want the version of you they've already decided they understand.
The crowd wants yesterday's version of you.
Real life demands something different.
Real life asks us to learn. To evolve. To admit when we're wrong. To leave behind identities that no longer fit. To become people our old audience might not recognize.
I think one of the hardest things a person can do is disappoint the version of themselves that everyone else has become comfortable with.
Because the moment approval becomes the goal, growth usually stops.
You stop listening to your conscience and start listening to the applause. You stop asking what's true and start asking what will be accepted.
And eventually the role becomes more important than the person playing it.
The mirror is useful. Reflection matters. Feedback matters. Community matters.
But the moment you start living for the reflection, the reflection becomes the prison.
First
Most of the things that changed my life started long before I believed I was the kind of person who could do them.
I wasn't a runner when I started running. I wasn't a jiu-jitsu guy when I first stepped onto the mat. I definitely wasn't a purple belt. (Honestly, some days I still don't feel like one — a mediocre purple belt at best. I don't compete. The belt's around my waist and I'm still waiting to feel like I earned it.) I wasn't a rider the first time I threw a leg over a dirtbike or a motorcycle either (also mediocre at best).
The point isn't that I'm good at any of it. The point is I never thought I could do any of those things until I did. Each one proved the same thing to me: all I really needed was patience. With myself.
I became those things by acting first.
For a long time I thought change worked the other way around. I thought confidence came before action. I thought motivation came before discipline. I thought I needed to feel ready before I started.
Turns out most of the things worth doing don't work like that.
You act. You show up. You do the work badly. Then a little less badly. Then one day you look around and realize you've become the person you were pretending to be when you started.
Looking back, most of the positive changes in my life happened that way.
Not through thinking.
Through doing.
vs Your Work
I came across an idea recently that's been rattling around in my head: there's a difference between your job and your work.
Sometimes the two overlap. If you're lucky, they overlap a lot. But for most people, they're not exactly the same thing.
My job helps support my family. It pays the mortgage. It keeps food on the table. There's dignity in that, and I think modern culture sometimes forgets that. Honest work is honorable work.
But when I think about my work, I think about something different.
I think about the things that keep pulling at me after hours. The things I keep returning to even when nobody asks me to. The conversations, ideas, drawings, articles, and projects that refuse to leave me alone.
Not because someone hired me. Not because there was a market opportunity. Not because it made financial sense.
Because there are things that feel worth building. People worth serving. Questions worth asking. Things that continue calling long after the workday ends.
I think a lot of people are exhausted because they've confused having a job with having a calling.
The truth is you can have a perfectly respectable job and still be neglecting your work.
Your work might be raising your kids. It might be teaching. Building. Writing. Coaching. Creating. Helping. Healing. Serving your community.
The world needs people who do their jobs well.
But it also needs people willing to do their work.
Because most meaningful things in life begin the same way:
Someone deciding to take responsibility for something nobody assigned to them.
Something
While thinking about all of this lately, I came across a quote from Vida D. Scudder:
“It is through creating, not possessing, that life is revealed.”
Lately I've spent a lot of time thinking about freedom. A different place. A different future. Building PTB into something real. Creating a life with more time, more peace, and more room to breathe.
But the funny thing is that the moments I feel most alive rarely happen after I've acquired something. They happen while I'm creating. Writing an article. Drawing an idea. Having a conversation with my kids. Building something that didn't exist yesterday.
Maybe that's why so many people feel empty after finally getting the thing they thought would make them happy. They were chasing possession when what they were really craving was participation.
The older I get, the less interested I am in owning things and the more interested I become in making things. Not because creation solves every problem, but because it reminds me I'm still here.
Maybe life isn't waiting somewhere down the road.
Maybe it reveals itself while we're busy creating it.
Thing
I've spent a lot of time looking for answers in places that promised certainty.
Work. Success. Philosophy. Religion. Politics. Communities. Organizations. People who claimed they had everything figured out. The older I get, the more I realize most of us are just wandering around carrying different maps and pretending we know exactly where we're going.
Lately I've found myself questioning a lot of things I used to take for granted. Systems. Institutions. Ambition. The constant pressure to prove your worth. The idea that fulfillment is always waiting somewhere further down the road.
Maybe that's why a Sturgill Simpson lyric has been stuck in my head lately. After all the searching, all the strange roads, all the questions about God, meaning, and existence, he lands on something surprisingly simple: love's the only thing that ever saved his life.
Not money. Not status. Not being right. Not winning. Not having all the answers.
Love.
I've seen enough disappointment over the last few years to know that people will let you down. Friends drift. Communities fracture. Organizations reveal their cracks. The stories we tell ourselves about people don't always survive contact with reality.
But I've also noticed something else.
When I think about what actually matters, I don't think about accomplishments. I think about my wife. My kids. Old friends. Conversations that lasted longer than they needed to. The people who stayed when there was nothing to gain from staying.
For all the things I've questioned lately, that's the one thing that keeps surviving the process.
The love we give. The love we receive. The people who remind us we're not carrying all of this alone.
Maybe that's what I've been searching for the whole time.
Here
I've had Zach Bryan's "Someday" stuck in my head lately.
Probably because it hits something I think a lot of people quietly carry around with them.
This feeling that real life exists somewhere else.
Somewhere down the road.
Somewhere after the stress.
Somewhere after the bills.
Somewhere after the exhaustion.
Somewhere after you finally "make it."
I catch myself doing that more than I'd like to admit.
Working constantly. Trying to build PTB into something meaningful. Wanting freedom for my family. Wanting a life that feels slower, more honest, more human than the one modern culture keeps trying to sell us.
And I still want those things.
I want the late nights making art to mean something. I want to take my wife and kids somewhere beautiful one day and breathe a little easier. I want to build a life that feels less like surviving and more like living.
But that song keeps reminding me not to miss what already matters while chasing what comes next.
Because life rarely shows up the way people imagine it will.
Most of it happens quietly.
Kids laughing in the other room.
Music after midnight.
A drive home after work.
Your wife smiling at you across the kitchen while supper's still warm on the table.
Small things.
Real things.
The kind of moments people spend years trying to get back once they realize those moments were actually the point all along.
I still believe in ambition. I still believe in building something meaningful. I still believe people deserve lives with more freedom, more creativity, and more peace than most modern systems allow.
But maybe growing up is realizing peace is not always waiting at the finish line.
Sometimes it shows up for a few quiet seconds while your life is happening right in front of you.
And maybe heaven starts the moment you finally notice that.
Open
Inspired by a conversation from Chris Williamson that's been stuck in my head lately.
Somewhere along the line, people started confusing emotional shutdown with strength.
We praise numbness like it's discipline. We celebrate detachment like it's maturity. We reward people for "keeping it together" while something inside them quietly breaks.
Real strength is feeling things fully without letting them turn you into bitterness, avoidance, or performance.
A lot of people are not emotionally regulated. They're emotionally disconnected.
And society rewards it constantly.
The guy who laughs at vulnerability because he's terrified of his own inner world. The partner who says "I don't do drama" when what they really mean is they cannot tolerate intimacy. The executive who prides herself on being "unshakable" while quietly burning out.
Even online, people claim they want authenticity while punishing sincerity the second it becomes real.
Everybody says they want honesty until someone actually opens up.
Then suddenly it gets uncomfortable.
Because real vulnerability removes the performance layer. There's nowhere to hide from someone being fully honest about fear, grief, loneliness, excitement, or pain.
And maybe that's why people react so strongly to it. Not because vulnerability is weak, but because it reminds people of everything they've spent years trying not to feel themselves.
I think a lot of people are exhausted from trying to become emotionally untouchable in a world that desperately needs emotionally honest human beings.
A closed heart might survive more efficiently.
But an open one actually gets to live.
Back
If nobody is laughing at you behind your back, there's a chance you're still playing it too safe.
Safe enough to avoid criticism. Safe enough to blend in. Safe enough to never fully risk being seen.
That discomfort is usually the first sign the work actually reached somewhere real.
Teenagers laugh at sincerity because they are terrified of vulnerability. Competitors laugh because insecurity needs comparison to survive. Strangers laugh because boldness reminds people of the parts of themselves they abandoned a long time ago.
People mock things that move outside the accepted rhythm of the room.
Especially when the person creating it seems genuinely committed instead of ironic, detached, or half-invested.
The internet made this worse.
Everyone learned to protect themselves through sarcasm, safe opinions, recycled aesthetics, and pretending not to care too much. Because caring openly gives people something to attack.
But meaningful work has always required a certain willingness to look stupid temporarily.
Not performative controversy. Not fake rebellion. Just enough honesty to risk rejection.
The people doing the safest work in the room usually receive the least resistance.
And almost never leave a mark.
Comply
A lot of people think school mostly teaches information.
Sometimes it does.
But underneath the math, the grading systems, the attendance sheets, the permission slips, and the endless behavioral corrections, there is another lesson running quietly in the background:
Do not stand out too much.
Raise your hand correctly. Stay inside the lines. Don't question authority too hard. Don't make the room uncomfortable. Don't disrupt the pace. Don't embarrass yourself. Don't fail publicly.
And eventually the fear becomes internal.
You stop needing teachers, principals, or guidance counselors to enforce it because the voice moves into your own head.
People carry that conditioning into adulthood more than they realize.
Into jobs. Into relationships. Into creative work. Into social media. Into the way they dress, speak, post, create, and think.
A lot of adults are still asking permission from rooms they no longer even need to be afraid of.
The tragedy is not that systems create order. Every society needs some structure.
The tragedy is how many people lose themselves trying to survive inside systems that reward sameness over honesty.
Then one day they wake up burned out, disconnected, anxious, and unsure why they feel numb despite doing everything "correctly."
Because somewhere along the line, fitting in became more important than becoming real.
To Start Again.
There is no shame in the pause.
Life happens. Rent happens. Surgery happens. Grief happens. A kid gets sick. A relationship ends. A day job expands to fill every available hour. The dream doesn't die — it gets filed away. Temporarily. And then the temporary stretches.
Here's what nobody tells you about getting back to it: the first step is embarrassingly small. You don't need a new portfolio. You don't need a rebrand. You don't need a plan that impresses anyone. You just need to start. One contract. One project. One email that says "here's what I charge now."
The people who make it don't have some secret momentum that never breaks. They just have a shorter gap between stopping and starting again. They've learned that the second start is always easier than it feels like it will be. And the third is easier still.
This platform was built for you. The 28-year-old who's been saying "I need to get back to my art" for two years. The 45-year-old who put it on hold and can't remember who gave them permission to pick it back up. The 19-year-old who hasn't started yet but already feels behind.
You're not behind. You're exactly where you need to be to begin. Again. Or for the first time. It doesn't matter which.
Generate the contract. Send the proposal. Show up for the thing you said you would.
That's the whole move.
Need Credit
One of the hardest things to accept is that most people do not want to openly admit they were wrong.
Not because they are evil. Not because they are stupid. Because identity is expensive. Pride is expensive. People build entire versions of themselves around being correct, being competent, being in control.
It feels good when people adopt your ideas, your taste, your perspective. But expecting gratitude for exposing blind spots is usually asking too much. Most people will resist first. Deflect. Minimize. Pretend they arrived there on their own six months later.
That used to bother me more than it does now.
Part of growing up is realizing you do not always need recognition for seeing something clearly first. You do not need applause for telling the truth. Sometimes the need for credit becomes its own form of ego.
The truth either lands or it doesn't.
Your name attached to it is secondary.
Money.
We Chase
Dreams.
You know who you are.
The ones who showed up when you needed something and disappeared when you didn't. The ones who saw potential and figured out how to extract it without compensating it. The ones who called it networking while the other person called it being used.
The ones who take credit for other people's ideas in rooms those people were never invited into. The ones who say "we should collaborate" and mean "you should work while I profit."
Here's the thing about opportunists — they're always chasing the next thing. The next deal. The next person to extract value from. They never stop because they never build anything that lasts. You can't build something real when you're only in it for what you can take.
We're not chasing money. We're building something. Slowly. Honestly. With people who show up not because they need something but because they believe in something.
That's the difference. And it's everything.
No hard feelings. Just boundaries. And a contract next time.
Who Needed It Sooner.
This platform exists because someone decided to stop waiting for permission to build the thing they needed.
Not because they had resources. Not because they came from money. Not because the Art Institute gave them what they paid for — it didn't. Not because the system set them up — it didn't do that either.
Because they had enough. Enough fire. Enough love for the work. Enough stubbornness to keep going past the point where most people stop.
TRUE BREW is for the 42-year-old who still has the fire. For the 21-year-old who doesn't know yet that they do. For the 8-year-old growing up in a house where nobody handed them the playbook.
If it helps you — pass it on. That's the whole model.
Get The
Letter.
No algorithms. No brand deals. Just honest dispatches from the DIY creative underground — straight to your inbox when something worth saying gets said.
Business tools for working artists. Pricing guides. Honest takes on the creative industry. New Side B posts. Occasional rants. Free. No pitch. No spam. Written by someone who built this whole platform on a credit card after knee surgery because the tools artists need should be free and honest.
// We publish when something worth publishing exists — not on a schedule that serves the algorithm.