Beisinger is an iconic designer and illustrator whose instantly recognizable style and entrepreneurial hustle have allowed him to achieve the coveted and elusive status of full-time, economically secure(ish) artist. But over the years - and even in recent times - Beisigner has found himself in the all-too-common and endlessly frustrating circumstance of being owed money by people who refuse to pay it.

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The sums involved are typically small by the standards of corporate budgets, but it's what Beisinger calls "needed money" - money that makes a huge difference to the life of the artist to whom it is owed.

Speaking from personal experience, getting stiffed is one of the most embittering things that can happen to a creative worker - or any worker (as the tradespeople who've had their wages stolen by Trump can attest).

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I remember every time I got shafted by a client and often find my mind returning to those humiliating, frustrating moments.

There was the "friend" who hired me to do some work and then just decided never to pay me the $150 we agreed on. There was the university prof who asked me to speak to his class and promised me reimbursement for the taxi and then stiffed me for 20 quid.

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There was the international magazine who commissioned a short story from me, accepted it, then tried to cram a bullshit contract down my throat and refused to discuss any modifications to its terrible terms, finally stiffing me for the $500 they owed me.

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There was the largest publisher in the world, who commissioned a novella from me for an anthology, promising me tens of thousands of dollars, who accepted the novella, and then "discovered" they hadn't ever finalized the contract for the anthology and canceled it, stiffing me in the process.

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The fact that I went on to sell that novella several times over, both in book form and as a graphic novel, and for film rights (twice!), making far more money in the process, doesn't make me any less angry about these fuckers who just screwed me without a second thought.

Objectively speaking, there is no reason for me to dwell on these little humiliations. It doesn't do me any good. It doesn't make the dickheads who screwed me feel bad.

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It is, as the proverb goes, "drinking poison and hoping your enemy dies." But I can't help it.

Neither, it seems, can Beisinger. But unlike me, Beisinger has found an incredibly productive - and inspiring - way to deal with that otherwise pointless seething.

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In *9 Times My Work Has Been Ripped Off*, Beisinger reflects on the nine titular ripoffs, telling the story of how he got ripped off, what he did to get his own back, how he felt about it at the time, and how he feels about it in retrospect.

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The book's subtitle ("An informal self-defense guide for independent creatives") sets up this book as a kind of manual for navigating these situations in your own life, and there's plenty of that in here - successes and failures for the rest of us to learn from. These stories are often very satisfying, as the little guy gets the justice he deserves.

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But the most interesting part of this book is Beisinger's reflections on the meaning of the different ripoffs he confronted, and how they relate to his own work.

Because - as Beisinger will tell you - he rips stuff off, too. All artists do. "Good artists copy; great artists steal." (said Picasso (who was ripping off Faulkner) (or Stravinsky) (or Eliot) (or Trilling).

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He carefully parses through the muddied ethics of lifting elements for collage, for inspiration, and just because you forgot that you weren't supposed to. Much of Beisinger's early work was collage, and (as a collagist myself), and you can't do that work without developing complicated feelings about creative ownership.

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Beisinger also straddles a line between commercial illustrator, producing commissioned pieces to order for magazine and advertising art directors; and fine artist, making "artistic" pieces for his own satisfaction, and selling these as prints. While he's proud of all this work, it's clear that how he relates to his own work depends a great deal on whether it falls into the former category or the latter.

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Part of that difference is a blanket prohibition on licensing his "artistic" pieces for commercial work.

This just adds to the moral complexity of Beisinger's deliberations: when a extremely well-funded charity misappropriates an "artistic" piece to accompany an exemplary article on women's health advocacy, he wrestles with a whole suite of concerns and mitigations.

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There's the "charity"'s reputation as a money-laundry for a wealthy plutocrat, his support for the article, his principle about not licensing his "artistic" work. It's typical of the kind of nuance that Beisinger brings to these chapters.

Also fascinating is Beisinger's chapter about a fan who solicited artistic advice from him, but went on to produce a portfolio of uncredited knock-offs of Beisinger's own signature style.

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Beisinger describes how he blasted this young artist for abusing his goodwill and unjustly profiting from Beisinger's own work developing his style, and then, in later years, repented of his angry outburst. In a delightful coda, Beisinger recounts how he looked up this artist years later, only to discover that he had matured into a talented, original, successful and ambitious creator.

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When Beisinger emailed the artist to apologize for his furious letter, the other artist replied that Beisinger's blast had been the kick in the pants he'd needed to finally figure out his own style, and he credits his later success to Beisinger's fury.

At the root of all nine tales of ripoffs is the inadequacy and/or inappropriateness of the legal system as a tool for redress when an independent creator is ripped off.

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In the case of commercial ripoffs - by agencies large and small, by fly-by-night concert promoters, by gallerists peddling unauthorized reproductions - the sums involved are usually far too small to involve lawyers or the courts. In the case of disputes with other artists - like the copyist who bit Beisinger's style - the law is (rightly) silent, because styles are not copyrightable.

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In telling these nine tiles, Beisinger beautifully illustrates the limitations of copyright as the sole regulator of creative activity. Copyright law (and its cousin, contract law) might be suitable for mediating commercial transactions between creative workers and businesses, but it's utterly unsuitable for other kinds of interactions, including interactions between artistic peers, or between artists and creators working in related disciplines.

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The most important thing that Beisinger is doing in this book is setting out a continuum of relationships and detailing many of the different tools available to creators to resolve disputes arising at different points on that continuum.

Given Beisinger's justly deserved fame as an illustrator, this is also a *beautiful* book, published in pocket-sized trim by Drawn & Quarterly, one of the world's great indie comics presses.

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The many, many illustrations in this small volume don't just bring the subject matter to life - they're artistic delights in their own right. It's a reminder of how wonderful the "art" part of all this stuff is, and how that complicates the all too familiar labor issues at the book's core.

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I'm on a tour with my new book, the international bestseller *Enshittification*!

Catch me next in #Miami, #Burbank and #Libson!

Full schedule with dates and links at:

pluralistic.net/tour

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