It’s not easy

Tonight I stayed late at the studio.

Later than I usually do. I’ve been reworking the space over the last few days, but tonight it finally crossed a line from temporary to permanent. Walls went up. Art went on the walls. The room feels private now. Clean. Intentional. Like a place I actually inhabit, not just pass through.

I made a post earlier today about tax season. Nothing dramatic. Just honest. I said I needed some extra money to cover what’s coming up. Within an hour, two pieces sold. Those sales cover my studio rent.

That’s a strange and grounding thing to realize. My art paid for the room it lives in.

Standing here now, I’m surrounded by work that goes back years. Some of these pieces are from 2018. That’s a long time ago. A lot has changed since then. I’ve changed. My life has broken apart and reformed more than once. But the work is still here. It followed me through all of it.

Artists go their entire lives with work that never leaves their house. I’ve spent over a decade putting mine out into the world. Fairs. Shows. Studios. Tattoos. Online. In person. That’s not easy. It’s vulnerable and exhausting and often thankless. But it’s real.

This space didn’t exist a year ago. Neither did this version of me. I built it during one of the hardest periods of my life, when nothing felt stable and everything felt up in the air. I took confusion, grief, anger, and pressure and kept working anyway. Slowly. Imperfectly. Honestly.

Tonight I can see the result of that effort around me. Not as an idea or a future plan, but as a room I’m standing in.

I’m tired. I’m getting sick. Things are still in progress. But I’m proud of myself.

This wasn’t easy. It isn’t easy. But I’m doing it.