The Day I Walked Away From 10 Galleries

There are certain times and places that quietly shape your life.

For me, one of them is the Round Top Antiques Show in Texas.

About 10 years ago, I made what felt like a very scary but necessary decision.
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I pulled my work out of the 10 galleries across the country that I was part of. Ten. On paper it looked stable. Respectable. Safe.

But I could see the writing on the wall.

Each gallery was adding more and more artists.

Solo shows, which once happened every year, changed to every two or three years.

That may sound fine to some people, but I was supporting myself fully from my art.
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Waiting two or three years between meaningful opportunities for sales wasn’t sustainable.

So I asked myself a question:

Where do the repeat buyers go?

The answer was interior designers.

And where did they gather? Round Top.

At the time, almost everyone went there for antiques. Not contemporary abstract art.
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Back in 2015 when I rented my first small booth and hung my paintings, people walked in, looked around politely, and walked straight back out.

That was humbling.

So I asked myself, “What am I missing?”

They weren’t there for abstract art. They were there for antiques.
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So I stopped fighting that and leaned into it. I bought antiques from dealer friends and staged my booth like a living room. My work on the walls. Antiques grounding the space.

Everything changed.

People could finally see it. Contemporary work alongside antique pieces.
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Suddenly it made sense. Not just intellectually, but visually.

Sales grew. Designers returned. My list of repeat buyers expanded. I even began selling the antiques at a profit.

It became a hybrid business model that supported me for many years.

But nothing lasts forever.

As my husband and I moved into our 60s, loading a commercial truck twice a year with paintings, sculpture, and furniture began to feel more exhausting.
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So once again, we pivoted.

That’s when I went all in on online education.

I took 40 years of selling, experimenting, failing, adapting, and building relationships and turned it into courses and a membership.
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At that time, very few artists were teaching online. It felt risky again.

But risk has a way of opening doors.

And now, here I am heading back to Round Top in March, next week in fact.
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Not to haul art and furniture in a truck. Not to build out a booth. Just to visit old friends, walk the fields, and hunt for antique frames that make my heart skip a beat.

The spring show runs from March 14–28 for most venues.
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It’s grown enormously since I left. Many more artists. Far more tents.

But I still see it as the place that taught me one of the most important business lessons of my life:

If people can’t imagine how your work fits into their world, show them.

If you ever have the chance to go, I hope you do. It’s a fascinating mix of history, design, commerce, and pure creative grit.

Now let me ask you something.

Where in your own career or in your life are you waiting for permission instead of building your own path?