I blinked and it was 2024
Reflecting on a year of pushing myself to the absolute limit for no reason
In early 2023, I arrived home to Victoria, B.C. from a 3-week west coast holiday road trip. The journey itself was filled with magical adventures and the joy of seeing my family after many years apart, but it was not a restful break and I felt depleted kicking off the year. A few weeks later, our kitten Frances underwent a routine spay surgery that left her in the ICU, and she passed away after four days on a ventilator. It was the most terrible thing to watch her leave us and not be able to save her, by February I was feeling completely lost and honestly just empty inside.
I have found throughout my life that when I am at my lowest, I tend to throw myself into work. I love the feeling of working on something, tinkering away. I share the loss of Frances because even though I definitely wanted to get back into tabling at art/craft markets in 2023, I absolutely did not intend to do so many, or spend so much time and money. But the mindlessness of applying to markets and planning my table displays and products was an escape, and so I found myself sitting at a market table in early February - finding it kind of peaceful that nobody knew how sad I was, and blissfully unaware that I was about to spend the next 11 months working nonstop.
For the remainder of 2023 I attended at least two markets a month, and by the end of the year I had shown my art at 29 events, spent 36 days (207 hours) sitting at my market table, spent $7018.50 on fees, travel and supplies, and made $9497.00 selling ceramics, stickers, keychains, tote bags and prints. I kept meticulous notes on every market and spent the last two months of the year working every single day to reach my goal of breaking even. In the midst of all this, I had my first solo exhibition which consisted of 38 sculptures - most of which I made between February and June, having made the large pieces in 2022.
I learned so much from my year of not resting - what neighbourhoods the quirky art enthusiasts live in, how to tell people about my work in 10 seconds, how to set boundaries with people who ask for too much, what aspects of my art people respond to, how much I love escaping into my art when I’m surrounded by people who don’t like it, how I could do only six select markets and still make the same amount of money in a year, how having your own art show can be both the pinnacle and wildly disappointing, how to read sneakily behind a table, how to lean on friends when I’m exhausted, how to ask for help.
It’s hard to know exactly the what the result is of putting myself out there for a solid year. Part of me looks at the dollar amount and laments that I made just over $11 an hour at my markets, and another part of me wonders what else I would have done, how many connections I would never have made, or whether new opportunities that are coming up are a direct result of someone seeing me at a market or gallery. I’ll probably never really know, but I have a feeling that the year I’m about to have could never have existed without the year that came before.
For 2024, my goal is opposite in some ways. Rather than putting myself out into the world to visit people, I’m going to see what happens when I build a smaller little world where people can visit me. I also want to be really aware of how I am feeling throughout the year - in 2023 I used my body as nothing more than a tool to accomplish tasks and goals. I didn’t take care of myself at all, so this year I’m going to try to actually rest without tinkering, go on hikes, seek joy in the thrift store, eat good food, and spend time doing nothing with my family and friends. And since my goal in 2023 was to say yes to every opportunity that came my way just to see what happened, in 2024 I’ll say no unless I have a data-backed or gut reason to say yes.
In a perfect-feeling turn of events, in December I was offered a year lease for a mini studio/store in the Langford Station Arts and Culture District. This was an opportunity I applied for in March of 2023, and I had assumed I wasn’t selected so it was a huge surprise to receive their email. The more I let the offer sink in, the more I realized this was a step toward a dream I have held onto for years - like so many artists and curators of trinkets, I have had a hazy image in the back of my mind of my own little store and workspace, a place that I can decorate and nestle into and share with people. Realizing that this 8x10 foot converted chunk of a shipping container could be just that, I am walking on a cloud knowing that on February 1st, I’ll have the keys to my very first store. (I am also making ridiculous scale mockups of how I’ll arrange my furniture, but hey I can’t be relaxed all the time.)
I don’t know how everything ties together or what it all means, what led to what, but I’m thankful to be here and healthy, feeling optimistic and ready to give myself a more spacious year to ~hopefully~ flourish.
Thank you for sharing this ❤️ So excited for you and the new space and always cheering you on!
Love your work Hannah - so excited for you to have your own workspace/store front. Good job and way to go!