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okay real talk, cold emailing galleries. do you actually do it? i've sent maybe three in my life and two of them never even opened the email (thanks, tracker). the one that did open it never replied lol. meanwhile i see people talking about "oh yeah i emailed 50 galleries last month" and i'm like... who ARE you. are you real. teach me your ways. my best gallery connections have come from instagram dms or meeting people at markets, not formal emails. maybe that's the way? or maybe i'm just bad at emails. what's your ratio? do you cold email and get replies or is it mostly a waste of time?

Ok real talk, what's the worst thing a gallery or collector has ever said to you about your work, the thing that showed they did NOT see it at all? Mine: a gallery owner once told me my charcoal work would sell better if it was "happier, more decorative" and suggested I add some flowers. Flowers. To my figures. I almost laughed in her face and then I almost cried. I still think about it when I'm putting a piece up somewhere. It's like they looked at everything I am and said "but can you make it prettier please." What's the one that stuck with you?? The one you still bring up at dinner 😭

ok real question. everyone talks about the polite email, the cold open call, the submission portal that eats your soul. but has anyone ever gotten in somewhere sideways? i'll go first. i got my first group show because i was standing in the gallery trying to decide if i even wanted to submit and the owner came out and asked if i needed help. i was so flustered i just pointed at a piece on the wall and said "i could make that better." absolute foot in mouth. she laughed, told me to prove it, and i brought something in two days later. still don't know if that was confidence or sheer stupidity but it worked. so what's yours? walked in with a piece under your arm? slid into their DMs? emailed so many times they finally answered just to shut you up?

Finally worked up the nerve to raise my portrait rate. From 850 to 930 zł, which is nothing, like the cost of a nice dinner in Kraków. First person to ask after the change heard the new number and said oh, that's more than I thought, and just never wrote back. And the stupid part is I knew exactly what I was doing. I priced it at 930 specifically so it would still feel like a bargain compared to the studios that charge double. And I still felt like I'd done something rude. I did the math on the old price last month because I wanted to justify the raise to myself. 850 zł, roughly 14 hours of work when you count the prep and the fixing spray and the retakes I always do on the eyes. That's about 60 zł an hour. Less than I made answering emails at my old office job. Less than the plumber charged me to unstick a radiator for forty minutes. So logically I know I was right. But I spent the whole evening second-guessing myself, wondering if I should write to her and offer the old price like some sort of apology. Didn't. Woke up annoyed at myself either way. I keep seeing people on here talk about their real numbers and it genuinely helps. So here's mine and I'm not proud of it: I'll probably still say yes to anyone who asks nicely, at whatever they want to pay, because I can't stand the quiet after a no.

There's a Saturday market in Galway I've been doing on and off for maybe twelve years. Rain, hail, the odd glorious day where everyone's in great form. And I used to think the point of it was to shift prints, which it is, but the real thing it taught me is how to talk to people about what you make without sounding like you're selling. You get all sorts at a stall. The tourist who wants something that says Ireland without being a leprechaun on a toilet. The local who stops because they recognise the pier or the mountain. The person who clearly loves the work but hasn't got thirty quid and stands there turning a card over in their hands. And you learn, quick, that the ones who buy aren't the ones you try to convince. They're the ones you just talk to, normally, about the carving or the ink or the hare that lives in the field behind your house and won't let you get near it. The thing that stuck with me is this: I've never sold a print by telling someone how good it is. I've sold plenty by telling them the story of the night I carved it and nearly took the tip of my finger off, or how the block got dropped in a puddle and the crack became part of the print. People want the thing behind the thing. They don't want a pitch. Anyway. The market's grand for that. But online, I still catch myself trying to sound like a proper business instead of just a fella in a jumper with ink under his nails. And the minute I do that, engagement drops off a cliff. The posts that work are always the ones where I forget I'm supposed to be marketing and just talk about what happened today. Sure I don't know where I'm going with this except that the best marketing advice I ever got was from a woman buying a print of a heron who said "just tell me why you made it" and walked away with two.

Three months wrestling this block. Seven hundred pounds of limestone. Had it laid out on the shop floor all summer, working it from the top and sides because I couldn't tip it without a rig I didn't have. Finally borrowed a neighbor's gantry this weekend, got it upright and onto the base without cracking anything or losing a finger. It's not finished. But it's standing. That's a different thing than lying down. When you work flat you're making a drawing in stone. Standing up, it starts talking back to you. Whole different set of decisions now. Took a photo of it in the afternoon light through the shop door. First time it's looked like a real piece. Might post it later if I don't talk myself out of it.

My first "yes" from a gallery, the owner was enthusiastic, we talked dates, I sent the portfolio, everything felt real. Then nothing. Emails unanswered for weeks. Finally a "we'll circle back" and that was it. I still don't know what happened. Maybe they found someone else, maybe they overbooked, maybe I said something wrong. The silence is its own kind of answer, I suppose. Has this happened to you? A gallery that said yes, meant it in the moment, and then just... disappeared. Did you ever find out why?

I finally did the real math on my last edition and it's worse than I thought. Thirty prints, edition of 30, sold at €220 each. Sounds fine until you count what's actually in it. The plate took me six weeks of drawing and biting. That time doesn't multiply across the edition, it just sits there as a lump. Then each sheet: paper, ink, the hours in the studio, the failed proofs that go in the bin before a single good one exists. Two plates cracked before I got one to bite right. So €6,600 gross on the edition. Take out paper and ink and studio rent and the proofs that failed and the plate time at anything near minimum wage and I'm looking at maybe €9 an hour if I'm being generous with myself. And that's the number I'm supposed to feel lucky about because editioned work is "approachable" for collectors. What I can't figure out is where the line is. Raise the price and a print is no longer the entry point, it's a real purchase, and people hesitate. Keep it where it is and I'm basically paying to have my work out in the world. I know plenty of printmakers who've just stopped doing editions altogether because the answer never made sense. I'm not there yet but I'm watching the math get worse every time I add up a new one.

I got asked by a small local place last autumn, off a piece I posted online, and I was so sure it was a joke I almost didn't reply. I said yes, obviously, and then spent the whole week panicking I'd embarrass myself with bad framing. But it got me thinking, the artists I know who've been in galleries, almost all of them got a no before the yes. Some of them three or four no's. Nobody talks about that part, the no's. So, real question: how many no's did you get before your first gallery said yes? Or, if you're still waiting on your first one, what's the closest you've come?

ok so back in february a small gallery reached out to me on instagram, loved my work, wanted to talk about a show. i was SO hyped, first real gallery interest since going full-time. we had a zoom, they said they'd send a proposal "next week." then nothing for a month. i followed up, they apologized, said they were restructuring. another month. then "we're still interested, hang tight." and i just... kept hanging?? for six months?? and finally i just said look i need an answer and they were like oh we actually paused programming for the year. and i know a lot of you are gonna say i should've called it way sooner, and you're probably right. but also i feel like there's this weird pressure to be chill and patient and not seem desperate, and galleries know that. so i'm asking, have you ever been strung along like this by a gallery? how long did you wait before you walked? and honestly what's the line between being professionally patient and letting them waste your time??

sent some work to a group show a few years back, first time in a real gallery. showed up to the opening excited as hell and stood by my pieces for like an hour and maybe two people even looked at them. everyone else was networking and drinking free wine and i just stood there feeling like a ghost in my own art. i know openings are weird and half the people are just there to be seen but man it stung. made me wonder if the work even mattered or if it was just about who you know. anyone else have an opening or show where you felt completely invisible? how'd you handle it? i just left early and sulked lol

so i did the thing everyone says you have to do. i made reels for six months straight. process videos, speedpaints, me talking to the camera like a normal person. gave it the real college try. one commission. from a girl i already knew irl. not saying it's dead or whatever, but i spent like 40 hours making those things and i would've been better off just emailing 20 people i wanted to work with. the math is not mathing for me anymore but i keep seeing people insist the algorithm is just about to reward you if you stay consistent. feels like a cope at this point. anyone else quietly dropping platforms or am i just bitter my face doesn't do numbers lol

My daughter set up this account for me last spring. I told her nobody wants to watch an old man carve stone, but she insisted, said it was "market research" or something. Fine. Here's what I actually notice. People will watch a forty-second clip of me roughing out a block with a point chisel. Just the tool hitting rock, no talking, no music, no caption except what the stone is. And the ones who comment have real questions. What kind of stone. What's the hardness. How do you stop a crack from running. That part I don't mind. That's actual conversation. But the post I spent two days fussing over, the one where I tried to explain the concept behind a piece, the thinking that went into it. Crickets. Two likes, one of them my daughter. I should have known better. You can't explain work you already made in a way that means anything to someone who just wants to see the process happen. I was raised to think if the work is good you don't have to talk about it. That's not how the internet works, and I'm too old to pretend otherwise. So now I just post the ugly middle parts and save the explaining for when someone actually asks. The frustrating part is my daughter was right and I hate that.

my first "gallery" was basically a corner of a plant shop in valencia, a friend of a friend let me hang like six wonky vessels next to the monsteras. no contract, no commission talk, just "sure, put them there." i sold two and cried in the street after. everyone talks about landing the big room but honestly the tiny scrappy spaces are where the real stuff starts. what's the smallest, least impressive place that quietly changed something for you? even if it just got one stranger to see your work?

I bought a pack of those super cheap synthetic brushes at Michael's a few months ago, like $8 for a dozen, just to beat up on for texture work and practice pieces. And now I reach for them almost every time over the nice ones my husband got me for Christmas. They're not even good brushes. The ferrule is wobbly and one of them is already shedding. But they're the exact right stiffness for how I actually paint, and I'm not scared to mess them up. That's the thing. The nice ones sit in the jar and I keep talking myself out of using them because what if I ruin them. Meanwhile the $8 ones are doing all the real work. I think I need to just give the good ones to a purpose. Use them on a piece I actually care about and stop treating them like they're museum pieces. Anyone else have brushes they are weirdly protective of and never use? Or am I just hoarding nice art supplies like everybody does.

So I did a little market in this old garage space in El Cabanyal last weekend. Thought it'd be quiet, maybe sell a few small pieces, cover the table fee. I brought a box of seconds, things with cracks, glaze drips, a little jug that leaned so far it looked drunk. I almost didn't unpack them. Put them at the edge of the table for 10€ each, basically clay cost. They went first. People loved them more than the "good" pieces. One woman said the crack in a little cup looked like a lightning bolt and she wanted to drink her morning coffee from it. I had to stop myself from explaining it was a kiln failure. Meanwhile on Etsy I'm fighting the algorithm, paying for ads, packing things in bubble wrap like a warehouse robot. And I made more in four hours sitting in a chair drinking terrible coffee from a thermos, telling people yes that cup is supposed to look like that. I'm not saying markets are the answer for everyone. But I'm starting to think the friction of selling online is getting ridiculous for small makers. You spend more time managing the store than making the thing. At the market you just... show up. Talk to people. Hand them a wonky cup and they love it. Maybe the real hack is just lowering your standards and letting people see the ugly ones lol

I spent six hours yesterday printing the same screen 85 times and somewhere around batch four I started having full conversations with myself out loud. The kind where you catch yourself and think, who am I talking to. Everyone warns you about the technical disasters. Misregistration, bad pull, ink drying on the mesh. Nobody warns you that the real challenge is just staying in the room with yourself and the repetition. It's almost monastic. Or maybe just lonely. I keep a notebook now and just write down whatever stupid thought passes through, yesterday it was "what if I printed this on denim" and "I think I've had three different versions of this thought in three different cities." Anyway. 85 prints, one registration error. I'll take it. But my god the silence gets loud.

somebody asked me last week why i don't do reels of the "process" and i had to actually stop and think about it because i do film things, just not the pretty parts. no sweeping paint strokes or me looking contemplative at a window. the clip that got the most engagement this year was me picking dried glue off my fingers for like forty seconds while i talked about a piece that almost got thrown in the trash. it wasn't even a good angle. i think the algorithm wants the mess but everyone keeps serving it the moodboard version. the stuff that reads real is the stuff you'd never put in a portfolio.

neighbor lady down the street asked if i'd do a small piece for her kitchen, something with her late dog in it. i said yes before we even talked price because i've seen her walk that dog's ghost every morning for two years. she showed up today with a canvas bag full of eggs from her chickens and three jars of strawberry jam. said money's tight but she wanted to pay me something real. i hung the little painting on her wall and she cried. not the loud kind. just stood there with her hand over her mouth. i've been paid in worse ways for better work. this one's gonna sit with me for a while.

So a gallery in my city reached out. They saw my work online. Want me in a group show this spring. This is literally the thing I've been wanting for years and instead of being excited I've spent the last week spiraling. I keep thinking about how I've never been in a studio program, never had a crit, never had anyone teach me how to hang a show or talk to a collector. I don't have a CV. I don't have an artist statement that doesn't sound like a journal entry. And now I'm supposed to show up next to people who did all that the right way. I painted through the anxiety last night and honestly the piece that came out might be the best thing I've made all year. So maybe the fraud feeling is the point? Like if you're not scared you're not pushing it far enough? Anyone else get the thing they wanted and immediately want to run from it? Or maybe I'm just overthinking this.