GERB

An Artist's Newsletter

Hi there!

I hope you are enjoying the holiday season, eating many treats, and simply just relaxing if you get the chance to.

Without further ado, I welcome you to the very last letter of the year!

This was the first year of my life that actually felt long. December usually sneaks up on me, as if January’s hopeful goals were made just yesterday. This year, though, felt like a drawn-out, wild ride.

There’s loads of literature arguing for adding friction to one’s life. Like this substack post from Dr. Tracy Dennis-Tiwary. When life becomes predictable, time seems to evaporate. When friction and challenges are introduced, curiosity and time expand.

Friction, challenge, and curiosity defined 2025 for me. I call it: the year of the great sponge!

In all the years of school, work, play, and life, I have never felt more like a sponge soaking in all the lessons - some brand new, others long in the making. The sponge made some mistakes - still battling with existing frictions like procrastination, overthinking, and self doubt - but also experienced some good ole wins!

It’s not that the more I learn and understand, the easier things get. With each layer unlocked, it all gets more complicated actually. I think we all just get better at grasping life’s tiers, learning how to hold them up, even when they teeter.

–

I’ve begun bundling the themes and patterns I noticed this year— in art, business, relationships, and my personal life.

Here’s my reflection on life, artmaking, and what it means to be alive as a 26-year-old in 2025. Consider this my Q4 wrap-up of sorts.

Since I don’t have any coworkers, you can be mine for the time being. I want this company meeting to be fun, so I promise to make this worth your while.

Many of the opportunities I received this past year, and will continue to reach for as an artist, start with an email or a juried application. I ask and wait to see if my proposition is accepted. My destiny relies just as much on outside sources as it does on my own research and proposing for opportunities.

Back in April, after I landed the Campari brand commission, I was eager to work with more brands and institutions.

I began drafting personalized pitches to breweries and wineries in Wilmington and Charlotte, following up steadily over the next four months. I set off on a $30-a-month Pacdora subscription so I could transpose my art on different beer cans and wine bottles. First, I drafted mock-up labels in Canva, naming the fake IPAs or wines with titles I think fit with that company's personality.

(I’ve added a few pages of some pitches here so you can visualize what these pitches look like.)

Packed inside my friendly, professional email, I add a PDF document, about 12 pages long, highlighting my collaboration pitch.

Since this wine and cider company seemed to highlight storytelling on their website and social medias, in their pitch, I worked in my own little stories about my paintings. I picked works that went alongside the southern, colorful, re-writting theme.

As for breweries, I haven't landed one.... yet. Here's an example of my 1st pitch page for a local brewery (logo bleeped out for privacy reasons!).

So, out of the plethora in Charlotte, Wilmington, Leland, and some other little towns around NC, I only heard back from one.

Botanist & Barrel—an organic winery in the North Carolina mountains reimagining Southern wine and cider—said YES. I sent them my catalog of work and followed up every few months with new paintings, in case they hadn’t decided which pieces to use yet.

They’ll be featuring three of my works on three pét-nat (pétillant-naturel) bottles, set to release in Spring 2026. Given that I’m a wine lover, and especially love sparkling wines, this collaboration makes me very happy. Seeing three of my works selected feels particularly meaningful because they’re an NC-based brand also interested in “reimagining” Southern memory. For me, it’s girlhood and womanhood; for them, it’s wine and cider.

(side note: I’ll be sure to let you know where you can get your hands on a bottle once those get released. They have their products all over the states!)

That one yes sat alongside a lot of silence.

Galleries and art fairs operate differently in that an artist needs to follow a specific application process designed for that company, but the yes/no data told a similar story.

Out of roughly 30 galleries and shows I applied to, I only heard back from one. Wilmington-based Gallery 906 selected my work for two shows. Alongside that single yes, I was accepted into about 15–20% of the fairs I applied to. When an artist applies to a fair, the timeline is usually 6 months till you hear back (depending on how soon you applied). And then the actual fair isn’t for another 3-5 months. A big waiting game!

Every time I get an email from a fair, I get excited. When I see the first sentence starts with “We regret to inform you…,” I don’t feel emotional about it anymore. I’ve been trained not to expect replies—and to normally expect nos—but to not stop pitching, applying, or showing up.

There’s a pattern here. A huge part of running an art business—especially one that depends largely on external decision-makers—is learning how to stomach silence, being left on read, and hearing no, time after time.

I’m not too seasoned yet and still overthink this side of the business. But I must continue anyway. Because in order to hear a yes, the question must be proposed. I always think of that little line “ask and you shall receive.” The worst that can happen really is being left on read or a “no.”

This leads me to my next lesson of the year.

The work

I learned that believing in, painting, and selling my art on my own terms is absolutely vital.

2025 taught me that no one besides me should be dictating what gets created in the studio (unless it’s a commission, of course). I also don’t have to over-explain why I want to paint what I paint.

A large part of the beauty of running my own independent show in September—without any outside voice influencing what was selected or what themes were explored—was that my art became more true to me.

I leaped into a world my brain has been waiting to fully enter: magical realism. A big part of why I paint is that I like to world-build, something I’ve done since I was little. Inside these worlds, anything can be true. Colors can shift. Proportions can grow or shrink. Fields are fuzzy and alive. I like that I get to leave the bounds of Earth and see a new place.

So I ditched the belief that magical realism doesn’t have a place in serious art—and I’ve never felt closer to my paintings. I made more mystical and magical work than ever before.

Magic horses, floating fire orbs, fairies, distorted proportions and eye shapes, fireflies flowing like rivers, fluorescent skin tones.

The website

Alongside this freeing clarity, I also understood that relying on myself means my gallery is my website. I am my own salesperson… the best one for the job, I suppose! Prior to 2025, customers couldn’t check out quickly or easily. In fact, there was no way to collect a painting from me online unless someone randomly decided to email or DM me.

In the early days, I’d just send the inquiring person photos. And not professional photos. I would walk around the house and simply snap some quick photos off my phone. “Here ya go! Enjoy these dark photos!” No title, size, price. This makes me laugh now looking back at how naive that is.

I later graduated to sending a clean, professional PDF of all available works. This PDF was actually really successful. But I knew I could do better.

I once heard from someone who had been in the art world a long time that paintings shouldn’t “sit” on a website for too long. They begin to look dusty, unwanted. The trick, they said, is to sell out the day of a drop or at least within a month.

I couldn’t fathom how that was possible. How was I meant to sell out paintings listed on my site in a day when I couldn’t even get into galleries? This belief stopped me from putting my work online for years.

Granted, I have True Blue restaurants to hang work in, Lantana’s Gallery in Southport, art fairs, and other in-person ways of selling—but letting go of that idea of dusty website shenanigans really helped me this year.

As of late this summer, my customers could finally check out directly through my website (I love Shopify!), while seeing all the needed information all in one place. Knowing all available works are catalogued and categorized helps me sleep better at night.

See All Available & In Stock Originals

Trusting the process

In 2025, I tripled my revenue from last year. I attribute this growth to a few key shifts: a redesigned website, nonstop application submissions, and a deeper trust in myself. I also believe returning to long-form writing and sitting down to write these newsletters helped me understand what was and wasn’t working. I owe a lot of this year’s success to you guys. Somewhere between 50 to 60% of original sales came from my subscribers.

As I’ve said many times in past newsletters (including Hidden Art Sales), I value transparency when it comes to my work and process. If you’re a fellow artist reading this: put your work up for sale on your website. You get to decide what’s “dusty” and what’s “treasured.” When you’re running the show, there are no rules to follow but your own.

Side note: One day, I’d love to share the practical tips and lessons that helped me triple my revenue from year one to year two of working full-time. That story really spans six years of believing, showing up, and selling — and I want to present it with clarity, not vague advice. Midway through year three, I’ll have more concrete data and a fuller picture to share my perspective honestly.

But for now, back to our meeting—

It’s now been six years of concentrated focus on one major theme: that very alive land between girlhood and womanhood. Whatever it is about this space, I know it has endless layers, arenas, and possibilities to explore.

I’ve honed in on what I love investigating and took it somewhere deeply personal, deconstructing my own memories to create a body of work so near and dear to my heart: The Race to Grow Up.

As I’ve grown deeper in my need to explore this space, I’ve realized more about my memories and my present life. I no longer worry that I’ll run out of ideas to paint. This year has taught me I’ll probably never have enough time to build out what’s inside my head.

I like that.

Twenty-six-year-old me consumed more coffee and oysters this year than all previous years combined. I should probably slow down a little on the caffeine… but it’s hard when you live with a coffee addict.

My favorite day of the week is no longer Tuesday, and it has no replacement. Tuesday reigned as my favorite day for 10 years. I liked it so much, it’s on my list of baby names… potentially to be used for a middle name. Tuesday is no longer my favorite due to my atypical work week. No 9-5, working random—or all—days of the week, and not really knowing exactly what will happen the next day makes time blend into a smoothie.

Out of all the clothes I wore, I loved wearing maxi skirts and dresses the most; I feel most like myself in them. I also learned that I not only like sushi, but nigiri and sushimi too. I’m not sure why it took me so long to realize that. A shame!

I drive a minivan now. I never thought I’d have a big minivan at my child-less age of 26, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s no competing with big-time storage, baby!

I was the worst texter this year. I used to be really good at replying fast. I don’t like the phone and sometimes want to throw it into a tree and let the raccoons play with it instead. It feels like too much to be always connected sometimes, and I wish we could go back to landlines and desktop computers.

I’ve finally realized how happy low volume makes me. Ninety-five percent of the day, I like the music, TV, and voice volume low. Jack knows and abides by the rule. He’s not a loud guy anyway, so he actually didn’t have to change anything. I love quiet hours in the house where the only sounds are air flowing from the big vent or birds chirping outside. But when I need to rage—to Rage Against the Machine, 3 Days Grace, GloRilla, Lil Wayne, whatever it is—turn it up!

I’m still as disorganized (in my house, mind, and computer desktop) as I was at 25, 15, and 5. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m an “organized chaos” person. I know where everything is—most of the time. For my entire life, “being more organized” has sat on my lists of to-dos, goals, and New Year resolutions.

I’ll be 27 in February. I like getting older. It feels calmer in my head.

I spent a lot of time in my late teens and early-to-mid 20s worrying about other people and not feeling confident in my body or where I belonged. I think that’s pretty normal for that stage of life.

I hug my younger self and let her know it doesn’t all need to be figured out.

Reflecting on this year, I felt more and more comfortable and confident. I’m doing better at minimizing appearance as a measure of my wellbeing or importance. That’s something I’m deeply grateful for - sinking into myself.

Medium galore

2025 was the year of trying all the mediums: beading, wood panel, cloth, canvas, linen, fine art paper, yuppo paper, drywall, you name it! Beading and threading on cloth had to be my favorite: the most immersive and hands on. I can’t believe I hadn’t painted on panel yet! It’s a must have in the studio now.

Bluebell, 2025. acrylic, bead, thread on washcloth. I love her.

This was also the very first year I professionally framed my work. I am two amazing framers in town that have beautiful, professional options to pick from—both woman-owned businesses :)

My artmaking process felt somehow more fun and more serious. I know my tools better, and I don’t feel weighed down in the studio.

Now, I hope this meeting isn’t boring you to death. To amp it up, let’s take a look at some of the two major lowlights and highlights—a good break to get the energy up!

Lowlight (turned into funny story): The Grey Kitty Break-In

I’m giving some backstory so you know I am a good mother.

My cat Gumbo lived his first 3 years of life fully indoors. He’d appreciate my apartment balcony, but when I tried to take him on a leash out in the grass, he refused to play along. I basically dragged him across the grass a few times, until I realized he’s just not going to be one of those adventure kitties.

When I moved from the little apartment to a historic home, I’d let Gumbo chill on the front porch and play in the front yard. He’d never go farther than 15 feet from the front door. On guard, but still curious about this fuzzy, green outside world.

Back in April 2024, Jack and I headed up to Raleigh for a night to see Bella White perform. I left enough food in Gumbo’s bowl to last him until we returned. On our way back to Wilmington (30 seconds after getting into the car) Jack’s truck gave out on us. Luckily, our friend Patrick was in town and was able to drive us home while Jack’s truck was in the shop.

Two nights later, we finally made it back to Wilmington. I unlocked the door only to see Gumbo’s food had not been touched. Not one piece of kibble missing. I knew immediately he had accidentally been locked out. He had never spent more than an hour or two outside. And this time, he was alone, amongst the downtown strays, for TWO nights.

We began yelling for him and running through the streets of Chestnut and 13th. Shaking treat bags and looking under bushes, houses, everything. Jack managed to find an orange cat that looked just like Gumbo.

“Grayson, Grayson… I think I found him!!!” I sprinted over.

The very chill, chubby orange cat in Jack’s arms looked like a Gumbo knock-off. Everything fit, but his nose was slightly longer and his eyes a little more far apart. At this moment, it had only been 30 minutes of looking and crying.

“Yes, maybe it’s him,” I said.

I was genuinely ready to accept that this would be Gumbo now. Jack and I inspected him further. But, it didn’t feel right. He dropped the random orange guy down on the sidewalk. The cat wandered off back down 13th… probably thinking “what just happened… those people are really weird.”

The day turned to late afternoon and still no Gumbie to be found. I put his litter box outside and his food, checking every 15 minutes and yelling “gumboooooo, oh gumbieeee!”

At 5:45, I go outside again. I look over to my right, and there he is hanging out under the deck next door. He looked so unbothered. One elbow out, cowboy pose, just chilling in his fortress.

I walked over to him and he HISSED. I thought he was going to choose the streets over me.

This weekend marked a very big change in Gumbo’s life. Buried deep in his blood, was some ancestral wildcat lineage—primal and instinctual. He would let out battle cries all hours of the day and night, waiting to return to his promised land. I was getting less and less sleep. He was hungry for more and more exploration.

I’ve moved again, this time out in the country. Gumbo has his beloved cat door out to a real wonderland of trees and grass and donkeys and more! He freely explores throughout the day, coming in and out as he pleases.

For a while, we kept leaving the cat door open at night. We’d hear a cat come in once in awhile at night, but we didn’t start thinking to lock it up until one of them peed on a frame work of mine. The pee leaked into the glass and soaked the matt. There goes $400 of framing down the drain!

No more cat door openings at night… it’s messing with my products!

One dark October night around 9:30, we received the loudest reminder that the kitty door was accidentally left ajar.

Jack and I awoke to the absolute scariest sound I’ve ever heard in my life. It sounded like a panther was a few steps away from my eardrum, screaming the high-pitched cat screech. If you’ve ever heard a cat fight, you know what I’m talking about. Now just bring that cat fight 13 feet from your sleeping head.

A grey short-haired stumpy stray broke into the house through the kitty door, looking to steal Gumbo’s kibble.

I don’t remember this next part as I was hyped up on adrenaline. I jumped out of bed, half asleep, running down the hallway, screaming (an obscene word I won't mention in this letter) at the top of my lungs. From what I could see in the dark, Gumbo and the grey cat were fighting on the floor in a fuzz-ball formation. I kicked the grey cat to break them up. He scurried out the door, and poor Gumbus ran and hid in the living room.

Jack ran out shortly after. My heart was pounding, and I was covered in sweat. We went to check Gumbo for injuries.

At the scene of the attack, there was actually more tufts of grey hair than orange. I think Gumbo put up a good fight… my son!

10 minutes later, we received a knock at the front door. It was our duplex neighbor coming to check on us. We assume he might have thought there was some sort of domestic altercation. That’s a good neighbor for coming over to check!

Jack and I have never once left the kitty door open once the sun goes down. Whether gumbo likes it or not, he is locked in for safety.

We were actually severely shaken by this situation that first week, but now we can laugh about it and still reference it weekly.

Before bed, we ask each other “You sure the grey kitty door is on?”

The door has a new name, and just like that, we have a new task added to our nightly duties.

Gumbo was not harmed and is a very safe and happy boy. It was our fault for not locking the door. And we have learned from our mistake! The grey kitty saga was a big moment. I will never forget, nor should I.

Highlight: No Need to Fear!

For months leading up to my independent show in Charlotte, I got more and more nervous for my speech. I knew I wanted to give a speech at the exhibition, but given the show was so personal, I was having trouble imagining what exactly I’d say. It needed to be true and make sense.

I started practicing three days before showtime. I would give five of the seven practice speeches a D+ at most. I reworked the speech the night before the exhibition and it flowed better.

After about an hour of guests arriving, mingling, checking out the collection, I decided it was time. I had cried during my practice speeches. I knew it in my bones I was also going to be crying soon.

As I looked around the room, filled with about 60 people, I felt so safe and loved. I knew about 75% of the guests. A room of friendly smiles and encouraging looks, head nods (a teacher's favorite thing). The speech was exactly what I wanted it to be. Everyone listened intently to what I had to say. That feeling of being heard has to be one of the most beautiful things about life. Feeling like they were really right there with me. It wasn’t weird when I cried (at least for me).

When it was over, a stream of calm washed over me. And I felt proud of myself. And I knew that next time I do it, I’ll be just fine. These short 13 minutes were most definitely a highlight of my year.

There’s so much to a year than patterns, lowlights, highlights, wins and losses. In all of our lives, there are just too many nuances to thematically categorize. I could extend this meeting for hours and hours just blabbering about life, but I know you do not want that. Well, everyone besides my Grandpa and Grammie.

To close out this meeting, I want to tell you how much I appreciate you being here. For subscribing to my letters, attending my shows, sending me comments, sharing my work with other people, and believing in me. I can’t wait for another year of mystery, challenge, and lessons to learn.

Lastly, before we all go back to our desks, two quick things: check out this vanity mural project I just finsihed. I LOVE IT. I have never painted an Asian-inspired landscape or panda bears before. Best commission to end this jam-packed year.