There are other little things that I've used to speed it up too. I now use archival art markers to draw the lines, instead of the slow process of trying to draw with paint on plywood, in which you can only do very short strokes. That was really tedious, and the markers have cut hours off my paintings' times. Not only that but they allow the drawing phase to flow a lot better and the results are looser and more interesting. I also realized that paint costs were a small percentage of my expenses, whereas art show fees, travel expenses, cameras and computers were a lot more, so spending time trying to use 25% less paint because I was reusing colours only saved me $100/year. My biggest hold up is time, or making enough paintings to get into more galleries, so now I don't carefully lay out space on my pallet for colours that I might use later. I either just trash what I'm done with, or mix it all together so I have a blob of gray or brown. Much less thinking: faster and less energy used. That allows me to create more paintings over the course of a year, which is worth far more than the extra $100 or $200 of paint I might've used in the process.
So I changed my style to accomodate that process change: once I decided to trust myself that I could still get good colour schemes even if they weren't all pre-planned, I could start with a single colour, apply it, then use it as the base for the next one in a progression, or switch to something completely different. So I only really have one or two active colours on the palette. What that means is that if accidentally stick my hand in the wet paint, I no longer have those colours saved to repair it, so I have more work to do to fix an error or an accident. That's fine, because that doesn't happen too often. But now I force myself to look at what I've just put on, and decide if it's good enough, and if it is, I'm moving on and there's no going back. If it's not, I touch it up, or scrape it off and just keep going. The previous colours are gone and I'll never mix them again. No safety net in a way. And that's fine, because I need to force myself to stop wasting time puttering around worrying about getting the colours exactly right. And I adjusted the style so I'm applying overlapping brushstrokes instead of discrete ones; I don't have to worry about where all of the rest of the brush strokes are going to go, and I can always just go over an area later if I think it needs an adjustment. I no longer have to agonize over getting all the colours right at the beginning of the painting.
Now I'm trying to figure out what to do about frames. I can build my own fairly quickly, but it still keeps me from making paintings, which is the unique part of what I do. I'd love to farm it out if I could find an economical frame that wasn't a complete mismatch with my pictures. The ones I make myself are pretty good, but I would be fooling myself to think that there aren't better frames out there. I think if I had better frames the art would look better. Be more valuable. The small pieces might not work that way though, because in my own frames the scale of the piece and style of the frame have an intimacy that goes really well together. But with the big ones I think they might need something more polished in order to convince people that it is in fact worth the big bucks. Of course, a lot of hopeful artists blow a lot of money on frames and never make it back, and that's really the crux of the matter: what's the return on investment on the frames? You need frames that look great and are relatively cheap, and they have to be consistent. Nothing kills an artist's booth or show like having their paintings framed in 18 different styles of frame.
There's a saying about Canadian artists: It's not hard to be a famous Canadian artist: everyone else quits.