Make it or break it: The year I find out

Winter came and went. Or maybe it just skipped town entirely. 

Colorado has been doing that thing where it feels like spring all winter and drought starts whispering by March. I’m not complaining, warm days are nice, but it does make you wonder what kind of summer we’re about to get. And more importantly… what kind of show season. Because we’re there now.

It’s that time of year when artists crawl out of their studios, brush the clay dust, glaze, and paint off their clothes, and attempt to sell their work to the general public like functioning members of society.

It’s my version of tradeshow season. Only instead of behind-the-scenes oversight of branded booths, signage, and elaborate stage design, it’s tents, weather anxiety, and a vehicle packed with fragile objects that represent months of my life.

All winter, I’ve been rebuilding inventory, which sounds peaceful until you factor in that I was also acting as the General Contractor for my basement renovation. Finding any kind of creative flow in the middle of jackhammers, constant questions, toilet & tile shopping, and that lingering construction smell… wasn’t exactly ideal.

What I thought would be a three-month project stretched into six… maybe seven long and expensive months. So I adapted. I leaned into my “money makers”. The repeat pieces that require less emotional and creative energy. The ones I can make in a day and trust will move. Anything more complex had to wait for the quiet windows. 

It was last year when I had to admit something I didn’t want to… My behind the scenes sales strategy isn’t going to carry me.

I tried. Good photos. Thoughtful descriptions. SEO that would make my former corporate self proud (mostly). But between shifting algorithms and people tightening their spending, things slowed. A lot.

I had this quiet hope that I could build this business from behind the scenes. Maybe get into a few galleries, let them handle the selling, and avoid the part where I haul my entire life across Colorado every weekend.

That hope didn’t last long, because galleries? They take 40–50%. And they want you to show up with your own following. So essentially, I bring the work, the audience, and the marketing… and we split the sale.

I’m still deciding how I feel about that.

Either way, that leads to art shows. Juried art shows, to be exact. You submit a few images, a booth photo, pay your fee, and then wait to find out if you’ve been accepted. Or not. 

Mostly not, at first.

Last year, I was rejected more times than I was accepted. And there’s something uniquely humbling about being judged on less than a handful of images –especially when you know how much work exists outside of that frame.

But I learned. I learned how to present my work. How to photograph it. And how to create a booth that looks intentional instead of… full.

Because apparently, being an artist has very little to do with making art and a whole lot to do with everything else.

Last years quickly rejected art booth.

A “proper” art booth holds no more 12 - 15 pieces.

But there’s this one part I didn’t put much thought into... The weather.

Back in 2017, I could get away with weighing my tent down with gallon jugs of water. It felt scrappy and resourceful. I also wasn’t selling fine art. But now? You need at least 40 pounds per leg. And even then… you’re not in control.

Last summer I learned that the hard way. I was set up on Pearl Street Mall in Boulder, CO when a microburst came out of nowhere.

The wind picked up fast. Faster than you have time to think. My neighbor’s tent, unsecured, lifted off the ground like a helicopter and then it slammed into my booth, and four-tier shelf went down.

And the sound… If you’re familiar with my sculptures, the sound of delicately cut pottery doesn’t shatter all at once. It cracks, snaps, echoes, and lingers longer than you expect. I would liken it to a building demolition as it crumbles one section at a time. 

Not knowing what had just happened, I ran to grab my tent, trying to hold it steady as the wind pushed and the rain came down sideways. And I just stood there holding my tent leg down as the rain sprayed my face, staring at the shattered pieces. I was frozen. Tears just streaming down my face as I tried to register what just happened.

My tent leg broke in the process. I had a show the following weekend, so I scrambled and bought a replacement without really thinking it through. And that decision cost me again later that season in a way I still can’t fully talk about. So I won’t. But I will say this… I’m still here.

So this year, I’ve made some changes. I invested in a professional tent. The kind that doesn’t pretend to be sturdy. It is. And I’ll be pouring cement for weights. Actual buckets of it. 

It’s clearly a physical job, doing this gig. The loading. The unloading. The setup at sunrise. The teardown at sunset. Then doing it all again the next week. 

It’s exhausting, actually. But it’s also mine. No meetings. No approvals. No pretending to care about things that don’t matter. Just me, my art, and whoever walks into my booth.

And somewhere along the way, I realized that this job isn’t just about making art. It’s about deciding over and over again not to quit. It’s remembering why I’m doing this and what life might look like had I not changed my path. 

And for that I turn to LinkedIn. I read through the posts and updates from people who are thrilled to announce new products, and excited to promote webinars… I feel for those who have been laid off, but are “grateful to have had the opportunity”. I read the cries for a successful interview, and the sometimes cringy self-promotions with the hope of gaining attention and hooking that next gig. 

And then I remember.

And I return to my studio with a heart full of gratitude. 

Which brings me here. This year. My make it or break it year. Not in this dramatic, everything-falls-apart kind of way. But in a very real, very grounded way.

I chose not to return to a 30-year career. I rebuilt my life. I literally built an apartment in my basement to give myself a financial buffer. Because I knew this path wouldn’t be easy.

Last year was my first time in the public (once I finally got in), and the response was positive, booth flow was incredible, but sales were not high enough.

This year I have applied to both city and mountain shows. And so far? I’ve been accepted into every show I’ve applied to– which feels like something. It’s not a guarantee or a finish line, but something is starting to move.

It’s going to be a busy summer. City shows. Mountain shows. Early mornings. Long days. A full season of packing it all up and putting it out there. Weekends spent being “on”, being social, and staying engaged.

I don’t know how it’s going to turn out, or how my body will hold up. But I do believe I’ve done everything I can to give it a real shot, or maybe that’s the part that matters most. Or maybe… this is the part where if I say it out loud often enough, it will manifest itself. Or maybe it IS starting to manifest! And that this life I’ve been working to build wasn’t just a risk and a pipe-dream, but it was the right call.

I guess we’ll see…

Check out my summer events!