Sometimes the Win Isn’t a Sale

I recently returned from ArtiGras in Florida — my first time exhibiting there, but my second trip south on the Auto Train. At this point, I’m basically an Auto Train veteran.

Car loaded below, dinner in the dining car, and a little roomette for sleeping. There’s something oddly civilized about going to sleep on a train and waking up in Florida without having driven the entire way.

As for the show itself? Every art festival teaches you something.

ArtiGras wasn’t entirely the right fit for my work, and that’s okay. One of the things I continue to learn from doing these shows is that not every audience is my audience. Part of building a life as an artist is figuring out where the work connects — and where it doesn’t.

But something else happened that weekend that made the trip completely worthwhile.

My mom, my sister and brother-in-law, and a whole collection of cousins came to see me. We stood together in my booth, took pictures, laughed, talked and simply enjoyed being there together.

With my sister Jill and my mom, ArtiGras, 2026

That became the real story of ArtiGras for me.

It's easy to judge an art festival by the numbers. How many pieces sold? Did the sales cover the expenses? Was it worth traveling all that way?

Those questions matter. This is my business as well as my art.

But they aren't the only measure.

Sometimes a weekend gives you something you weren't expecting. ArtiGras gave me time with family, surrounded by the work I've spent so much time making.

Sometimes the win isn't measured in sales. Sometimes it's measured in connection.

And by that measure, I came home feeling pretty rich.

Back in Massachusetts, I shifted almost immediately into exhibition mode. My solo exhibition at the Wellesley Free Library had been a year in the making, and installing the work there reminded me of another reason I value showing outside traditional gallery settings.

People encounter the work unexpectedly.

While I was installing, library visitors stopped to ask questions. They wanted to know what they were looking at, how the pieces were made, and what encaustic actually is. Those spontaneous conversations are among my favorite parts of showing the work.

Next up is another first: I've been accepted into the Tephra ICA Art Festival in Reston, Virginia.

And so the experiment continues — new shows, new places, new audiences, and a little more information each time about where the work belongs.