Starting

I haven’t blogged for fun in a long while. I’ve been really busy doing life, and I also write tech blogs for money, so a lot of my writing energy goes into things like “how IOS-14 is going to change your marketing strategy.”

For those of you who know me well, I left Texas over a year ago and ended up buying a little farm in the Piedmont area of Virginia, where I spoil horses, grow tomatoes, keep bees, and sweat a lot.

I also quit my day job and started an online art gallery which I named Kraken Fine Arts, which is a raw new start-up at this point.

Pre-pandemic, I had this cool vision of running my own little business, which included creating an amazing space where customers and collaborators would feel welcomed and inspired. But during a pandemic, that wasn't going to happen. So I started my business online. I registered my company online. I battled Shopify and created an online store. As soon as I was fully vaxxed, I traveled to Texas and back to meet with artists and gather artwork, which I cataloged and framed and stored in my house until every room is bursting at the seams with art framed and flat, shipping supplies, mat cutters, extra frames, tape guns, rolls of glassine, and receipts.

Running your own business is NOT THE SAME as advising other people on aspects of their business. Not at all. Sure, I’ve advised Fortune 500 clients on systems and processes, but as a solopreneur, I have to do everything myself. And doing it on a shoestring budget means not calling in an expert or a consultant to handle the stuff that’s hard or un-fun (like accounting).

I follow other art galleries on social media and observe what works well for them and what doesn’t. One thing that seems to emerge is that a lot of other people don’t think about or react to art the same way I do.

I have a house full of quirky art. Most of it my kids made. Some of it was painted by friends and extended family. A couple of pieces were given to me. And a few I bought from strangers. Each one has a story, a complex web of memory and feeling that I re-experience when I look at it.

This piece is a great example. My youngest child made this. We had moved to Austin in 2011 when I took a job at Seilevel, and I had to switch from home-schooling to something else. I found a small alternative private school which they attended for two years. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but there were some good things and experiences. One of them was a mosaic project that the kids did, which included visiting a local mosaic artist, making a guerilla-art mosaic in a public park, and creating their own little mosaics. This is the result.

But this one school project extended further. My older daughter interviewed the mosaic artist for a college class, which included borrowing and learning to use my audio-recording pen. We Googled and sought out other public mosaics and art installations to photograph. And my youngest is still creating mosaics today. They have bins full of broken tile and glass, and when the other projects they’re working on get frustrating or they’re losing creative momentum, they’ll bust out the mosaic supplies and create something entirely different.

When I look at this, hanging on the wall of my living room where it can catch the light from the window, I remember all of that. I remember the teacher, Caitlin. I remember the old east-side house and garden where the school was located. I remember the hopes and frustrations of that move to Austin and all the changes in our lives. I remember my child struggling to “fit in” to a school environment, even an unconventional one. I remember the impossible commute to get my child across town to school every day before and after work. I remember how the people I met through that school became the nucleus of an extended network of funky, liberal, artistic, activist friends that I continue to treasure.

Sure, I’d probably remember all those things without this piece of art to remind me, but it concentrates and focuses the memories. It’s become part of who I am.

Other people see it on my wall and say “that’s pretty” or “I bet that’s hard to dust.” They don’t see what I see. They can’t. But that’s okay. Every experience with art is unique.

I don’t understand people who have art because “it looks pretty on that wall” or “the colors coordinate with my décor.” I mean, there’s no invalid reason to buy or have art, so it’s not a criticism. I just hope that over time, they start to attach stories and memories to it too.