My first year as a solo artist: The wins, losses, and my flight to a remote island

I had a dream the other night that I can't shake. I was gliding on some kind of scooter or hoverboard over an endless stretch of water. At first, I hugged the shoreline, skimming safely near land and other people. But then I “remembered” there was a small, uninhabited island far off in the distance and something inside me urged me to reach it.

To get there, I had to climb higher, like a plane climbing for altitude, and that’s when the thrill turned a bit frightening. My palms were sweaty, my heart pounding. I told myself not to look down but of course I did and I found myself at the height of the clouds, the sea stretching infinitely below, speckled here and there with white dots that I could only assume were boats. Beautiful, yet terrifying. My legs trembled, my balance wavered, and suddenly I wondered: Was I crazy, or incredibly brave?

I woke up that morning with a new found sense of confidence and realized that dream was a reflection of the past year or so…

… After a tough year fighting breast cancer, it was time to return to work. But this time without a steady paycheck, no partner to share the burden, just me, a passion for clay, and the nagging question: what if I fail? It was a leap I had to take. I knew I couldn’t go back to corporate life, nor am I in a space for retirement—I had to carve out a new path forward.

So I launched my website, opened an Etsy shop, and began flooding social media with ads, photos, process videos, carousels and reels. I hit all the Socials - Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, TikTok, and occasionally even LinkedIn. And guess what? I began to get sales. Not endless orders, but a steady stream that kept my confidence high. Then, I submitted a piece to a gallery for a group show and it was accepted. Just like that, I felt the wheels turning and the stars aligning. I was on an upward trajectory.

Then rolled 2025. Typically January is slow for many businesses, and I thought I had escaped the lull, yet the months dragged on. February, March, April… and progress was stalled. Something was off and I had my suspicions, but I’ll keep politics out of this story.

I suddenly found myself in need of a strategic shift to my plan, and multiple income sources became essential. So I put on my General Contractor hat (had to buy it first) and began the steps to convert my basement into an apartment. 

I’ve added pet boarding and daycare through Rover to my resume, and I’m slowly building clients there.

And, as much as I was hoping to avoid art fairs—those exhausting, social, often times overwhelming events—they’re also necessary for exposure, sales, credibility, building a customer base, networking, and more. So, I decided to step out of my studio comfort zone and start applying to juried shows.

In many ways, this year has felt like job hunting, a reality many people are facing right now. Sending out applications into the void, receiving canned “thanks but no thanks” emails, and trying to stay hopeful amid rejection after rejection. That’s what summer felt like: show after show turning me away. My work was either rejected or I was waitlisted, and I started to wonder if I’d misunderstood everything. If that uncharted island was simply out of reach.

My own body was another hurdle. The side effects of cancer meds are no joke; they’re a physical and emotional rollercoaster. Some days I felt physically drained. Other days, it’s my emotions. Doubt crept in. There were mornings when the weight of it all, artistic rejection, endless to-dos, fatigue, financial worries, felt heavier than the clay itself.

But just like any job search, persistence was my only option. I reworked my portfolio, refined my booth layout and photo (which is crucial in getting accepted), and applied again. One more show, one more fee, one more attempt. Waitlisted. Was that just a polite way of saying my art isn’t good enough?

Then right at my one-year mark things started to shift. Suddenly, two acceptances came within one week. Then I was bumped from a waitlist to an invitation. After a summer of doubt, this turn felt like a miracle, or perhaps just proof that perseverance can move the needle.

Or does it?...

Here's the truth: two out of the three shows came with some devastating events. During my first show in Boulder, a microburst wind crashed my neighbor’s tent into mine and shattered eleven of my sculptures. She booked that night and no one took responsibility for my loss (she neglected to weight her tent as per the rules). 

Then recently, at the Cheesman Park event, high winds caused my tent to buckle and collapse, causing several pieces to shatter as they crashed to the pavement. The broken sculptures sit in boxes in my garage, waiting to be reviewed. Just thinking about it makes my stomach churn.

It’s not the financial loss that stings so much, it’s the emotional toll. My ceramics are a piece of me and my journey. I pour everything into my sculptures and when I see my work shattered or missing vital parts, it feels like a piece of my soul has been chipped away.

What are the odds of two devastating loses in 6 weeks time? And now what? Is the universe trying to tell me I’m not on the right path? Or is it simply testing me, throwing obstacles to see what I’m truly made of? 

I choose to believe the latter.

Looking back isn’t an option. Instead, I give myself permission to mourn these setbacks, then gather my strength, notes, and lessons, and plan for the next chapter. I can only come back stronger, better, and even more resilient. I see the trajectory I’ve been on, and I refuse to let these setbacks define me.

If there’s one thing this past year has taught me it’s that bravery isn’t about being fearless. It’s about flying scared. It’s about showing up when you’re unsure if your effort will pay off. It’s about learning, growing, and never stopping. 

And just like in that dream, sometimes you realize you’ve flown farther than you thought possible. You look back, maybe a little shaky, but proud because you didn’t fall after all.

A year in and I don’t have all the answers. The flight may be rocky. The fears are real. But sometimes, the only way forward is to take off anyway. Because the only way to find your true direction is to dare to lift off, even when you’re terrified of heights. And I will because I know that my journey isn’t over, it's just beginning. And I will reach that island.