Refresh

At the very beginning of 2025, I found myself in my usual place of reflection—looking back on the past year and ahead to what might be possible.

I said to my husband, “I don’t think I’m going to paint anymore.”

As my biggest supporter, he was surprised to hear those words come from me. He questioned the legitimacy of my statement, but knew that I had to work my way through it.

I was going through a lot of change at the time. I felt a little lost in myself.

My practice had slowed significantly in the years prior as other responsibilities started taking priority. In 2024, I returned to painting a bit, but I only took the low-hanging-fruit opportunities that came my way. I wasn’t actively looking for more—and as a result, I wasn’t selling anything either. So all of my work sat wrapped in plastic in the loft, unseen and untouched.

What was the point of piling up more?

As I questioned my own statement, I quietly started to revisit all of my old art archival, like a historian researching the past. I opened my website—which hadn’t been updated in years. I looked at my logo, one I was tired of seeing. I read through my old bio, my exhibition history, even earlier blog posts.

A quiet voice told me to update my logo.

I didn’t need to. I hadn't handed out a business card in years. But out of curiosity, I started playing with ideas. After several iterations, I landed on something that felt modern, professional, and reflective of me.

If I had a new logo, I might as well update my website.

Not because anyone was visiting it—I hadn’t promoted my site in years—but because something in me said to do it anyway. In hindsight, that was the best possible time to refresh: when there was no pressure, no deadline, no audience expectation. I could take the time to try out each iteration until it guided me to what felt right.

Around the same time, I went upstairs and unwrapped every painting I had. I laid them all out on the floor, hoping something would spark.

I remembered why I painted each one.

And then I remembered why I paint at all.

Not for others—for me.

I started to reframe what it meant to me to be an artist—and to have an art business.

As I refreshed the outward-facing pieces of my practice—my logo, my website, my writing—I was also quietly refreshing my inner commitment. I decidedly told myself I wasn’t going to give this up. This was the only thing I ever wanted to be doing, but I had never given it my full attention - despite decades of pull. I made a mental shift at that moment when I connected that this wasn't something I just did, it was who I was.

My next conversation with my husband started with, "I’m going to start looking for a studio."

I didn't want to continue treating my art as a passive side hustle, I wanted to fully embrace it. I reached out to an artist friend to ask about her studio experience, and it all started to feel more attainable.

Steadily, a vision of what this new version of life as an artist could look like started coming together.

I continued refreshing my site, my bio, my artist statement, collector sheets, my prints - now with more intention.

I didn’t need any of it yet.But I created it anyway.

I was in a social media hiatus during this time, so I began thinking of my website as a place to share updates. That led me to start a newsletter.

I had no one to send it to yet, but I built it anyway.

The first newsletter went to family.The third went to actual subscribers—even if it was just one.

While refreshing my business, I was also reenergizing creatively. I began revisiting calls, experimenting with new mediums and got back to my morning sketch journal practice.

About a month after talking with my artist friend, she called to tell me about a nearby studio sublease. The timing felt uncanny. I visited the space and said yes. It was a short-term commitment, which gave me a chance to try it on. How could I say no?

Everything began happening at once—the studio move-in, responses to calls I had applied to, new work flowing out of my paintbrush. I was grateful that I had listened to my instinct to refresh and prepare before it was necessary. When opportunities started appearing, I didn’t have to scramble or build things on the fly.

For me, this refresh marked a commitment to treating my art as a full-time profession. My practice had evolved, my work was more refined, and my understanding of the business had deepened. My original brand no longer felt like me, and that disconnect subtly held me back. I needed my brand to reflect the artist I had grown into.

I'm sitting here now a year later, in that same familiar place of reflection and forward looking planning. I can see how much my simple refresh set in motion. 2025 unfolded in ways I couldn’t have predicted. It was a year of some of my strongest work, of unexpected opportunities, new studios, and new relationships—and it was only the beginning.