What I Miss About My Gallery

I have filled my home with handmade artwork, much of it from the gallery I owned until 2023, One of a Kind Art Gallery. I am surrounded by the creative energy of the artists who created the work. I have developed relationships with the art pieces I own and sometimes miss them when they’re out of my sight. They enrich my life with their beauty and comfort.

For the years that I owned and ran OOAK, I was also surrounded by artwork daily. And a sort of stillness, during the moments before I unlocked the doors, before I turned on the music, when I could wander the gallery floor, touch objects or take an extra moment to pay more attention to the detail of a painting, when I’d whisper to myself, “All I see is part of me.”

Once the workday began in earnest, the creative energy that surrounded me became vibrant and fluid. Running my gallery was a true joy, down to my bones and sometimes the sore soles of my tired feet. And I miss that daily jolt of energy and excitement.

I miss the people most of all: my staff, my artists, and my customers.

My employees were fellow art lovers, most of them artists themselves, who understood that the assignment wasn’t just to make sales. The assignment was to share the love of art and educate customers on why handmade was so fantastic. They also understood and shared my commitment to the local art community and my dedication to promoting my gallery and the area as a destination for art lovers.

And then there were my artists, every last quirky, shy, and provocative one of them. Every single one had a unique story, and their trust in me to represent them guided me to trust myself and my capacity as a business owner. I miss the feeling of anticipation when one would bring new work in, and we’d have time to visit a little.

And finally, there were my customers, from those who visited weekly for greeting cards and gifts to those who visited annually to those who stumbled on us on their day trip through the mountains. Customers provided me with the opportunity to talk about the area and the artists, which I believe is the absolute best way to sell a piece of art - to tell the artist’s story.

Lastly, I miss the extraordinary sense of purpose, that deep understanding that my work was making a difference in my community, that I was working for a greater good. Art adds spirit and energy and joy into our lives, and I miss being an art ambassador of sorts for the brilliant creators I represented.

This link will take you to the gallery Facebook page, now named Historic Micaville Building that chronicles the flood recovery. Scroll back a ways and you’ll see the gallery in all its glory.

Learning to Ask Questions

For me, the idea of consulting began with questions. The questions I asked out loud and the questions that tugged quietly in the background while I was running my gallery. Some questions I could name clearly. Others I didn’t yet know enough to articulate. And often, I wasn’t sure who to ask, or where to look for guidance.

Looking back, I realize I couldn’t have been alone in that. Artists, gallery owners, creative entrepreneurs, we share many of the same uncertainties, just from different angles. If I had questions about running a retail art gallery, it’s likely that others do too.

The search for answers applies to artists as well. After college, who was I going to ask?

That’s why I’m writing. Not because I have every answer, but because I’ve lived the questions and learned from them along the way.

When I was preparing to open my gallery, I signed up for every business start-up class the community college offered. If there’s a small business development center near you, seek them out. They’re often free, practical, and genuinely helpful. I filled notebooks with information and referred back to those notes for years.

But even with all that preparation, there were pieces that didn’t click right away.

For example:

I sat through multiple workshops on business finances and still didn’t fully understand how vital knowing what my cash flow was. I thought, “As long as money is coming in, I’ll be fine.” That’s not how it works, of course, not when rent, payroll, and artist payments are due on specific timelines, even when sales slow to a crawl after the holidays. Eventually, I learned. But sometimes the learning curve was steep.

I also believed that the consignment model was the perfect solution for my retail gallery. If I didn’t have to purchase inventory, I would avoid risk. Or so I thought. What I didn’t know to ask was: What are the advantages of having wholesale items in the gallery mix? I didn’t realize that wholesale pieces could have helped balance margins and create more predictable profits.

And then there was advertising. Every business needs to advertise, right? But how much of my budget should be spent on advertising? I tried everything free - listings, flyers, community calendars - and some of that reached potential customers. But I also spent money on ads that didn’t bring customers in the door. When those ads didn’t work, I felt foolish, like I should have known better.

Looking back, the problem wasn’t that I made mistakes. We all make mistakes.

The problem was that I didn’t know how to ask the strategic questions that mattered most. I didn’t yet know how to observe my business with curiosity before making decisions. I didn’t yet know how to recognize which advice applied to my gallery and which didn’t.

No one knows all the right questions at the beginning. We learn some of the questions to ask through running the business. By watching what works and what doesn’t. By asking, sometimes too late “What should I have been paying attention to here?”

If you’re in the early stages, or even years in, and you feel like you should know more by now, please know that you are not behind. You are learning in real time.

The key is not to assume you should already know the answers but to stay open, curious, and willing to ask the next question. That’s where the growth is.

And over time, the questions themselves become a compass of sorts, pointing you towards what matters most.

Practicing Gratitude

I have kept a gratitude practice for many years. If I said it transformed me from a sarcastic cynic into a joy-seeking Pollyanna, I would be exaggerating. But it has made a meaningful difference in how I move through my day.

Every evening, I take a moment to remind myself of five things I’m grateful for from that day. The idea is to touch on whatever comes to mind first, without digging for something profound. Today, for example, I’m grateful for time in my studio, the volunteer marigold blooming in a barren front garden bed, the soup I had for lunch, and the funny cat video a long-distance friend shared. And my bed. I’m always grateful for my bed. By running through the day quickly, I’m able to notice the small things, and the practice has led me to stay mindful of those small moments as they happen.

2024 was a year of losses for me. The most devastating was the damage to my building caused by Hurricane Helene’s flooding. Even though I had closed my gallery in WNC and moved away in 2023, I still owned my gallery’s building. The floodwaters rose six feet inside the building and left eight inches of mud on everything. For weeks, I worked alongside volunteers, mucking out mud and debris, and in order to save the building from total ruin, gutting it almost down to the studs.

I did not feel gratitude for the flood, the mud, or the backbreaking work. I was not grateful for the loss of nearly every improvement I had made over the decade I’d owned the building, including the cozy apartment I built for myself in 2022. I wasn’t grateful for the loss of my income and the peaceful semi-retirement I believed I would have. I was raw and angry, and my heart was broken.

I was, however, grateful beyond measure for the volunteers. Even now, I am moved to tears remembering how caring, thoughtful, and generous they were. And although it felt strange at first, I eventually understood that they, too, were grateful for the chance to show up and help. Gratitude can take up a lot of space.

Because practicing gratitude was already a routine for me, I returned to it every night, even on the most exhausting days. I would lie in bed and list what I was grateful for: Epsom salts in my bath, my crochet project, soft slippers after a day in muck boots, toast with peanut butter and honey, and the surprising peace of having no internet. The practice kept me grounded and kept me going during the immediate aftermath of the natural disaster.

After so many years of doing this, it’s second nature to effortlessly find joy in small things in my life and around me. And during those dark weeks last year, it saved me from falling into total despair.

Running a creative business asks a lot of us: resilience, adaptability, and persistence. Practicing daily gratitude allows us to see the abundance around us. Caring for your inner landscape is not separate from your work, and it can shape how you make decisions, create, and support others.

My Lifelong Relationship with Art

I was one of those kids who was always drawing. Someone gave me a couple of Walter Foster How to Draw books, some pencils, and oil pastels. My favorite thing to draw? Horses. Yeah, horses. All through school, I loved art class. I had no idea what an art career would look like. I just couldn’t imagine my life without art. Sound familiar?

I grew up just outside Washington, D.C., but had never visited the National Gallery of Art, much less the smaller galleries or gone to any arts and crafts shows. I didn’t know the treasures that DC held. It was mostly where we went to buy alcohol after Virginia raised the drinking age to 21. But the art in D.C. blew my mind.

During the summer of 1984, at the ripe age of 17, I spent weekends wandering the galleries, soaking it all in. My favorite place was the East Building of the National Gallery. Even now, I can vividly recall the feeling of walking inside: swooning over the Matisse papercuts, the Picasso paintings, and the Henry Moore sculptures. After seeing the Andy Warhol prints there, I bought a book about printmakers and printmaking because I wanted to learn more.

I decided to apply to art school at Virginia Commonwealth University. The portfolio requirement was unconventional: drawing assignments like the inside of an umbrella, a standing figure, or the outside of a building. Alas, no horses. I spent one semester at VCU and loved the art program, but I couldn’t manage my finances. With no assistance from my family, I struggled to balance classes, work, and student aid. I took a year and a half off, attended Radford University for a year, took more gap years, and eventually earned an Associate in Science from USC Salkehatchie.

Then, in 1994, I applied and was accepted into the Visual Arts Program at Clemson University. Having completed most of my general education classes, I could focus almost entirely on art. At 27, I took my first ceramics class, and it changed everything. When you find your medium, you just know it. And boy, did I know it.

After ten years, four colleges, and many twists and turns, I graduated summa cum laude in 1996 with a BFA in Visual Arts, concentrating in Ceramics. That journey taught me resilience, perseverance, and the importance of following your creative instincts, lessons that continue to shape my art and the way I guide others today.

After graduation, I divided my time between raising my two children and working as a studio artist. I experimented with clay, glazes, and forms, constantly learning and discovering what excited me most in the studio. I loved the meditative rhythm of throwing on the wheel, the unpredictability of glaze reactions, and the way opening the kiln door was a delight. For me, creating art has always been about curiosity, finesse, and the joy of problem-solving with my hands.

Today, I live in the Piedmont of North Carolina, and after several years hiatus, I have revived my home studio, Singing Tree Pottery. I work on a much smaller scale now and enjoy the nuances of these smaller pieces.

Alongside my studio practice, I consult with artists and gallery owners, sharing insights I’ve gained over decades of navigating the art world. I believe that creativity and business don’t have to be at odds. Thoughtful, intentional practices can make both art and life richer. My goal is to help artists and gallery owners thrive while staying true to their vision, cultivating curiosity, and finding joy in the work they love.

How an Artist Unexpectedly Became a Gallery Owner

I owned and operated one of the premier art galleries in the mountains of Western North Carolina for over a decade. From 2011 to 2023, One of a Kind Art Gallery (OOAK) in tiny Micaville, NC became a destination for both locals and visitors. We hosted live music, seasonal events, and housed a lovely coffee shop in an adjacent space. At its peak, OOAK represented more than 180 artists, craftspeople, musicians, and authors - a vibrant reflection of our creative community.

My career as a gallery owner was an unexpected one. I earned my BFA in Visual Art with a concentration in Ceramics from Clemson University in 1996, and all I wanted to do was make art. Over the next fifteen years, I moved several times, set up studios wherever I landed, and raised two children. In 2008, I founded Singing Tree Pottery in Yancey County, believing I had finally found my forever home. I knew there was a strong clay community there, but I hadn’t yet discovered how wide and deep the local art world was.

Then in 2011, two fellow clay artists and I had an idea to plan and host our own event. We weren’t trying to start a gallery, just an art show to highlight the incredible clay and glass artists in Yancey County. But fate had other plans. When we learned that a local artist friend was selling her gallery, we talked through what we thought running a gallery would look like. I took home the receipts, ran the numbers, and realized we could make it work.

A few long conversations and planning sessions later, we transformed One of a Kind from a folk art and pottery shop into a thriving local art gallery. We opened our doors on April 1, 2011.

None of us set out to run a business. We just wanted to create, have fun, promote local artists, and make a little money. After all, everyone knows artists aren’t businesspeople, right?

Two years later, my partners decided to step away from OOAK to return to their studios. I had a long talk with myself (well, several). My choice was simple: either run this business on my own or go get a “real job.” Part of me still believed what I was doing wasn’t a real job.

But what I learned through OOAK changed everything. It became so much more than a job. Running that gallery transformed who I believed myself to be, what I believed I was capable of, and how much impact one person can have on a creative community.

Today, my goal is to share what I’ve learned - to help artists and gallery owners build thriving, sustainable, and joyful art businesses.