When Sales Slow, Trust the People Who Stay

This year started off slow for my sales.

After such a strong first year, I found myself quietly panicking. I wondered if the momentum was gone. I questioned whether that success had been a fluke. I felt anxious — the kind of anxiety that makes you question everything you’re doing. There were moments when I genuinely thought about giving up.

I wasn’t sure anymore if I was creating for myself or creating for an algorithm.

Social media can blur that line quickly. One minute you’re painting from your gut, the next you’re wondering what will perform better online. That internal tug-of-war made the slow season feel heavier than it needed to be.

But I kept showing up.

I stayed consistent, even when it felt uncomfortable. And slowly, things began to shift.

I started selling again — not because my prices were low, not because something went viral — but because of people who already knew me. People I’ve met in real life. People who have watched my journey unfold over time.

Many of them found me through my job serving at the restaurant I work at. Conversations turned into connections. Connections turned into support. They followed my art online, asked questions, watched me grow, and eventually chose to bring my work into their homes.

That kind of support feels different.

It’s rooted in trust. In familiarity. In shared moments and genuine connection — not just a quick double tap on a screen.

This year, I sold my largest painting to date. I also had one collector purchase more paintings from me than anyone ever has — tied with my mother-in-law. Both of them now own five of my original paintings.

That still blows my mind.

So far this year, I’ve sold 15 original paintings. As a newer artist, that feels like a huge win. Not just financially, but emotionally. It reaffirmed something I already believed deep down — that my work resonates when people truly see me.

These experiences are exactly why I decided to open my own gallery and work toward that goal next year.

I’m confident in my path.

I believe in building community slowly. In showing up honestly. In nurturing real relationships instead of chasing numbers. I believe that art lives best when it’s shared person to person, story to story.

This year taught me that growth doesn’t always look loud. Sometimes it looks like a handful of people who believe in you deeply — and choose to stay.

And that kind of success is worth everything.