The Crowd Named 22 Paintings Last Month. I Kept Every Single Title.

Here's a confession that would make my art school professor wince: I hate titling my own work. I can spend ninety hours on a canvas and then freeze like a guy in a Home Depot parking lot who forgot which aisle the caulk is in. Untitled No. 7 feels like a cop-out. Wistful Autumn Reverie feels like a scented candle.

So last month I outsourced the problem. Every time I finished a piece, I photographed it, posted it to Instagram and Facebook, and wrote the same caption: "You name this. Best comment becomes the official title. I will not veto. I promise."

Twenty-two paintings later, I'm a believer. Mostly.

The Rules (Because Even Chaos Needs Rules)

The ground rules were simple. Whatever comment got the most likes within 48 hours became the title — no exceptions, even when the winning suggestion was, and I quote, "Greg."

I did allow myself one tiny cheat: if two suggestions tied, I picked the one I hated less. Democracy has checks and balances. Sue me.

Everything got logged in a spreadsheet, because of course it did. Winners, runners-up, and a special column I labeled "Crimes Against the Work" for suggestions like "sad boi hours" and "this looks like my uncle after Thanksgiving."

The Good, the Bad, and the Greg

Let's start with the winner that changed my whole outlook. A moody blue-and-gray abstract I'd been mentally calling Study in Cold Tones (see? candle energy). The top comment, from a woman in Portland I've never met: "The Argument We Didn't Finish."

I sat there staring at my phone. That was the painting. It had always been the painting. I just didn't have the words for it because I was too close to the thing.

Other highlights from the month:

• A chaotic red-and-orange piece became "Fire Drill at the Salsa Festival" — the buyer later told me that title is why she bought it
• A quiet landscape of telephone poles at dusk got "Everyone's Already Home", which made me put my phone down and stare out the window for a while
• A small mixed-media collage is now legally (emotionally) known as "Greg"

And the misses? A serene lake scene won with "Michigan in July" except I painted it from a photo of Wisconsin. Close enough. Nobody's calling the art police.

What Buyers Said After the Fact

Here's where it gets interesting. I sold eleven pieces during the experiment, and I asked every buyer the same question: did the crowd-sourced title affect the purchase?

Seven said yes, outright. One collector from Austin told me she'd walked past the painting twice, but once she saw it was called "My Therapist Would Have a Field Day," she bought it on the spot. "It gave me permission to laugh at it," she said. "Untitled art makes me feel like I'm supposed to be smart about it."

That stuck with me. A title from a stranger lowers the velvet rope. It says this thing doesn't take itself too seriously, and neither should you.

Only two buyers said the title didn't matter, and one of them asked if I could change it. I said no. Rules are rules. She bought it anyway, renamed it in her head, and reportedly refers to it as "the red one" in her living room. Everyone wins.

What This Did to My Creative Control

I expected to feel like the internet had vandalized my work. Instead, the opposite happened. Handing over the pen made the work feel less precious and more alive. These pieces stopped being my babies and started being conversation starters — literal ones, between strangers, in my comment section, arguing about whether a painting looked more like "a panic attack in pastel" or "cotton candy at a funeral." (The second one won. It's currently hanging in a dentist's office in Ohio, which feels correct.)

Here's my theory: the titles I invent are about proving I'm clever. The titles strangers invent are about what they actually see. One serves my ego. The other serves the work.

The Tally

Final numbers, for the spreadsheet people:

• 22 pieces named
• 11 sold (my best month ever, for what it's worth)
• 3 titles I'd have vetoed if I could (kept all 3)
• 1 title that made me cry a little ("Everyone's Already Home")
• 1 Greg

The experiment is over, but the system isn't. Every piece I finish from here on gets the same treatment. If you want a say in what ends up on a gallery placard someday, follow along. Bring your best. Bring your worst. Bring a Greg.

The internet, it turns out, has better taste than my inner critic. Lower the bar, and people will meet you there with something honest.