A dream coming true can can sometimes have the most unexpected results. I’ve always dreamed big – with the caveat that the Universe would ultimately give me what I needed, not what I wanted. Sometimes I get a gentle lesson and sometimes it’s a raw punch to the gut. The result, although I prefer the former to the latter, often turns out to be exactly what’s best for me.
Recently, I was over-the-moon excited to be entering a new adventure in the form of a community marketplace. A place where I could set up my art and products decoratively and add canvas prints displayed on a proper wall. I was excited not to have to move everything out of my basement, into the van, into the market, and out again. I would be divested of hundreds of pounds of tables, displays, and the effort of getting them from one place to another…at times more than one venue per weekend. I thought of the muscle power being saved (okay, my husband’s muscles because, let’s be honest, he does all the heavy lifting). I thought it was a dream come true. The collaboration of creator/producer minds coming together to make something great. The potential was unmistakable and at a cost I could afford. Monetarily, this seemed like the right move. Emotionally, as it turned out, not so much. What I saved on muscle, I quickly began to lose in heartache.
Sweat equity. There is no price tag on the love that I spent curating my collection and countless hours planning and creating my space, all the while thinking I was on the same page as the director of the market. In hindsight I realize I not only wasn’t on the same page, I wasn’t even reading the same book. Implied permission and non-communicated thoughts can lead to all sorts of assumptions, and we all know the idiom about the word assume. I had excitedly told anyone who would listen about this wonderful opportunity. I was excited for more of my fellow vendors to get on board and join the fun. Turns out I was effectively trying to sell tickets to the Titanic! Thankfully, none of them followed me into the ether. Whew!
The first month was rife with all manner of learning experiences. I thought I had the technical bits ironed out – I managed to figure out the in-house, more-complicated-than-it-needed-to-be method of business organization. Red flags started to appear but I shrugged them off as growing pains. As I started into the second month of operation, the store was virtually empty with no sign of additional interest in membership. I was told to stop promoting not only membership, but also to cease and desist promoting the other vendors in the marketplace in social media posts. The concept and power of social media marketing was lost on this individual. Quite frankly, I began to wonder which one of us was in the witness protection program. The red flags were getting bigger and by the end of that month they were waving like an apocalyptic cheer team. I had entered into something far different than the cooperative I had envisioned. I was ready to quit, but I had signed a contract. On the one hand, I was almost sure that should I just pull my products and leave the money behind, I could have done so with impunity, albeit bad feelings. On the other hand, two other vendors would have been affected, I was paid up for a year, my art had a beautiful place to reside, and I could happily spend Saturdays as I did in a regular market, greeting people and talking to them about my art, as well as the other products found in the store. We all had each other’s backs…or so my Pollyanna persona believed. Surely this venture would outlive the growing pains and as other maker/producers joined, the store would soon be filled with a variety of beautiful products to fill the soul and the belly. I would wait it out and hope for the best.
As I walked to the store one Saturday near the end, I realized that although I enjoyed simply walking over to work without the need to schlepp tons of stuff with me, I was missing the market vibe – my fellow vendors and the people who would stop to talk about all things night sky. I loved talking about my experiences and enjoyed listening to theirs. Selling my art has never been about the dollars that change hands – it is the sharing of my passion and the hope that I could instill the same passion in someone else. Finding someone who shared the same love of the night sky? The very best part. We could chat all day. If I only break even at the end of the year (which so far has been the case), the effort has been well worth it.
On the last day (that I did not know was my last), a mom and her daughters came into the store. They seemed interested in the night sky and I gave them my card. I received a message later asking about what I used for equipment and if I had any recommendations for a telescope. I wrote back giving her a bunch of info, and offering any help in the process – both before and after the telescope purchase. It made me feel good that being in the community marketplace could also provide me access to helping others discover their passion for the night sky, but I knew beyond a doubt I missed the steady flow of a vendor market. That was my AHA! moment.
I had already determined when planning on joining the marketplace, that I would still do one market a month to promote my art and the store. I had signed up for a market on an upcoming Sunday in February. It was the first since before Christmas and I was a little surprised how very much I was looking forward to it. I was excited to reconnect with all my fellow vendors and getting back into the market vibe. Then I discovered that I had been taken off the roster at the store for the last two Saturdays of February so that a work experience person could take over. This was questionable at such an early stage of our development, but, as I had already learned much to my chagrin, I had absolutely no say. My initial thought was that I would just go over to the store for a couple of hours on those days as I always advertised my presence in the store on Saturdays. It was made clear to me that I would need special permission to be there if I was not on shift (remember those red flags? They were now flapping hard enough to wind-power my house!). I was taken aback but, rather than go ahead and ask permission, I simply signed up for a Saturday market that I otherwise wouldn’t have been able to attend. And then it happened…
On February 6 I received a very short letter. My marketplace membership was effectively cancelled and I was to have my products removed from the store within 48 hours. A full refund would be sent to me upon packing up my things. The marketplace itself was to be closed till the end of the month for electrical repairs (again, questionable). I was both very hurt and very relieved…two diametrically opposite feelings that fought between my heart and my head. I have never had to move my belongings from a place I shared with an ex, but this experience felt every bit like that must feel. There was much that could have and should have been said, but the coordinator was content to talk about the weather, so the end of a dream was quite remarkably anticlimactic and took 20 minutes from start to finish. I truly have no idea what actually happened to bring about this sudden and final act, but I am eternally grateful for whatever it was.
Unfettered from the community market, I took stock of what I had learned and the direction I would like to head. I rallied at the thought of the market experience continuing, but the thought of once again schlepping my stuff to and fro was daunting. The organizational process of merging the stock from the store into my basement started to fill me with ideas and how to reshape my market experience. All the canvases I had hung in the store were hung on my walls, the framed prints and matted prints found space on shelving. I determined that while my traveling art gallery attracted attention, it rarely attracted sales of framed prints of any size other than the smallest, excepting the Christmas markets. What was 2 tables, 2 chairs, 4 panels of grid wall, 2 large wooden table displays, a large rotating jewelry stand, five crates, a smaller wooden display, easels, and assorted signs now became 1 table, the rotating jewelry stand, one panel of grid wall, 2 crates, and 2 bags. The need for everything to be on display and every choice given, gave way to practicality. I would encourage potential customers to look at my online store where I could fill their order on demand (usually within 24-48 hours) rather than try to guess what might be of interest at any given time. I am just as committed to my passion – just more frugal with where I spend my energy.
Would I consider a retail experience again? Absolutely. There was much wasted potential in this venture and I still fully believe in the concept. Operated differently, this could have been something very special. Given a lottery win, I would jump at the chance to create a cooperative with all the fantastic artisans in our community (emphasis on cooperative). It was an experience that carried a large dose of disappointment, but ultimately rewarded me with very much insight. Where I had begun to think of markets as drudgery, now came a whole new appreciation – not only for the opportunity it affords me personally, but also for those wonderfully supportive and energetic people who organize them and afford us makers/producers a place to shine. And of course, as always, my deep appreciation for those who stop by my table to have a look, or a chat, and perhaps make a purchase. I value each and every one of you.
At my first market with my new set up I was told, “I really like how you’ve scaled back…your table is much more inviting”. Yes, the Universe provides, in ways you’d least expect and I am forever grateful.
Keep on dreaming and never stop learning ❤️
Retirement and The Chase of the Lady Aurora 