
For this particular anecdote I have called on my trusty friend, the delete button, far too often, it may even at this point in the work find me rather clingy. No matter, because I find today’s anecdote to be a very important history to share. It is made up of equal parts of excitement and woe of a hard lesson learned. Without further ado, or cryptic codes I shall attempt to relay the details of the very first time I found myself taking a gamble and asking for a chance to take the first step towards becoming a professional artist and sharing my pieces with a larger audience than my bedside table.
The year was 2020, Co-vid had ravaged every last idea and plan that I had set for the upcoming year. I had just returned to Colorado and was delighted to have successfully secured myself a position with the local brewery in town, Vail Brewing Co. Stoked to be pulling taps once again I found myself tumbling about in the beast’s belly, slinging brews to what seemed to be the entire population of Texas and Florida who were swarming into town for some cooler mountain delights than what their home states were providing them in the heat of the summer. Eagle County, being one of the few Countys that had thrown their doors back open wide, found itself with many more visitors than had been previously invited or received. Local pocketbooks were happy for this influx of folk but perhaps us service industry workers as a whole were teetering a bit closer to the edge of a mental meltdown. Regardless, I was glad to be back in action.
This is the summer I decided to take the plunge into the icy lakes of creating a website, as well as my very first collection, creatively titled “the Animal Kingdom”. Though perhaps the title was bland the animals, were decidedly not. Instead, they were a colorful assortment of creative cuties tossed around in a delightful element of whimsy. This is the collection I showed to my co-worker and best friend who immediately began to encourage me to ask the owners if I could do an art pop-up at the brewery. We even went as far as secretly arranging one on a Saturday. I brought a basket of my animal friends and we put them out in front on the merch table to show them off while we happily poured the hoppy nectar for the crowd. It was the first time that I had ever had the audacity to try and show off what I had made. Though I was painfully awkward, with my blushes working overtime, Brooklyn chatted and told people more about my work than I could manage as I was actively pretending to not have brought the contraband to the table. Regardless of my shy demeanor and attempts at deafness I highly enjoyed the experience and began to wonder how I could do it again, but, you know, with actual permission.
Another one of my staple shifts was set on Sundays in the village. I came to find out that Summer Sundays were home to the Vail Farmer’s Market, one of the largest in the state. The fee to host a booth at this legendary market was (and is) astronomical, not to mention the difficulty to lasso a highly coveted spot. So the story goes, I continued to walk through the many streets of artisan and farmer hopefuls each and every Sunday on my way to provide these market goers with their beers of choice. I would find myself in the deep reverie of imagining my very own booth down in the throngs of wares. Never having participated in a farmer’s market I had yet to gain the knowledge that I, in fact, loath markets (though this is neither here nor there).
I am not sure when the idea found its mate in plausible action, but sometime after Fall, with the leaves buried in their crispy graves, I wanted to spring forth and lay it all on the line. The time had come, I no longer wanted to be a starry-eyed wimp, I wanted to finally delve into my Nordic ancestry and pull out the legendary Viking daring that lay dormant deep within. I was ready to set sails to the lands of the unknown and discover the answer to the question that I had held back for so long… “will you allow me to showcase my art on Sundays?”. As I am sure a modern-day Thor would have done, I proceeded to draft and delete an epic amount of emails that would have rivaled the “odyssey” in volume. Finally, the day came when I could delete no longer, and I found myself pressing the “send” button in a quick spastic motion that instantly made me want to vomit. What was done, was done, and so I continued on my merry way, waiting to receive a crushing blow to my newly minted hopes and dreams. My manager’s reply did not come swiftly, as the days snowballed onto each other I began to wonder if I had dreamt up the entire ordeal. My “sent mail” folder proved that I had not gone fuzzy in the head, though my inbox seemed to joke otherwise. Just as I was plummeting through the disgraced pit of despair, I finally found a response to my delicate question; “things were busy at the moment and we could look into the possibility in the new year”. Excellent, the date was set and marked in my calendar. New year= new potential.
I patiently waited for the new year to announce its anticipated arrival. It rolled through accompanied by the laziest spit of snow storms in attendance. I patiently awaited for the chat about the chance to showcase my artwork on Sundays. As January rolled into February and skipped its way into March it began to dawn on me that this discussion was not going to spontaneously combust. Once again, I must thrust on my Viking horns, with the battle cry of “SKOLL” flaring from my lips—only this time I knew I must plan to pillage in person... What a nightmare.
Many more days passed in fits of open and closed mouth motions, with quick pivots and awkward pauses that I’m sure had the manager wondering if my mental aptitude was slowly slipping away into the thin mountain air. I finally worked up the courage one day to stumble out enough words that more or less equaled to finding out about the odds of showcasing my work on Sundays in the taproom. My manager’s answer was fairly vague and non-committal which made me realize that if I really wanted this opportunity to take root I would have to water the tree. I needed to approach those that were directly in charge of the outcome—the owners. With much trepidation, I picked up my estranged relationship with the delete button and got drafting once more. This time when I hit the send button the recipients numbered 3 in total. My manager and the two owners that I had met and knew personally. This time I was prepared to wait for the reply as I knew they would have to discuss amongst each other to come to a united verdict.
I prepared myself for the inevitable scoff of “Hell to the no!” as I proudly patted myself on the back for the bravery of sending an email. Instead, I was surprised to receive the opposite, the owners decided to let me put up my prints and create a Sunday Market inside the VBC taproom in the Village. What joyous news! It’s hard to relate the immense pleasure that came from rendering this incredible opportunity. Not only would I be able to keep my regular Sunday shift, I also was able to partially participate in the largest farmers market around, from the shady, wind-free environment of the taproom.
For the first few markets I set up a small basket of prints over by the merch area on top of a decorative barrel. I found this to be difficult to keep an eye on them, feeling my focus fluttering about them instead of the job at hand, my beer-tending duties. Being given this opportunity I wanted to make sure I was the best employee on Sundays, giving it my all, to show that I would not be distracted by managing my art prints while on the job. This frame of mind made me realize that I would need to put the prints at the front by the register where it would be easy to take payments, answer questions and provide something to peruse and keep customers entertained while they waited for me to get their bubbling beer. This new set up worked extremely well, I felt began to gain confidence as people took interest in what I made but also was able to give my full concentration to the hard work that I owed the company.
I looked forward to each and every Sunday. It felt like a fairy tale. I would arrive at my shift an hour early to make sure that I had time to set up my market before clocking in and getting through my opening duties. Slowly, as the weeks and even years rolled by, I became more confident, and excited to talk to people about my artwork, enjoying the attention my prints were receiving. The amount of growth, and confidence I gained from this opportunity truly helped me more than I can possibly express. By seeing and interacting with people who got excited about my cowgirls, après collection, and mountain mamas I began to appreciate what I had created even more. People were incredibly kind, and I began to stumble into many more opportunities from having the exposure of my artwork up at the taproom. I was able to meet and connect with Ahmad and Jennifer and help be a part of the incredible East Vail Après Café by designing their logo, menu design and artwork. I also was able to link up with a family from Florida that liked my work and asked me to design the logo for their catamaran called Gratitude. These opportunities would never have taken place without the ability to showcase my artwork at the taproom, these connections would never have taken place without the blessing of the VBC owners, a fact that I will never forget.
As I previously mentioned, this tale is woven from very complex thread and so the honeymoon stage swept its way into familiarity and moved down to doomed detachment. As my confidence grew, I let my excitement get the best of me and began to leave prints hanging on days outside of Sunday. At first this seemed fine, I suppose I was testing boundaries. The day soon came when I got the first reprimand via text message saying I was not to have my prints up in the taproom on days outside of Sunday except for a specific side wall that was out of the way. Honestly, it was felt like a victory. Being able to have a few things showing while I was not there felt great. Not wanting to risk or anger anyone I made sure to adhere to the guidelines given. Being a complete novice, guided by excitement alone, I wanted to showcase as many pieces as I could instead of a select few. I began to overcrowd the wall, something that I did not realize at the time because I was fresh in the flight of fancy. Sundays were still the day where I had free reign to hang my prints all around the taproom to show them off, as well as a little display of mini prints at the front by the register. I adhered to 2 simple rules on Sundays: my bartending duties were to be my number one priority with my artwork being bonus work, and for each and every sale I made I would ALWAYS mention my gratitude to the owners of the brewery for allowing me to showcase my artwork.
The foreboding, dark, storm cloud began to rumble and roll in revealing itself in the form of miscommunication, or lack thereof, from both sides. Unbeknownst to me, the owners were getting a bit ruffled by the size of the market I was putting on each Sunday as my collections continued to grow in number. What started as a display of mostly my Après Collection and Animal Kingdom grew to show my Cowgirls, Mountain Mama, Snowboarders and Ski themed pieces. Though I believed that Sundays were free reign to create an art pop up the owners began to feel it had become too large but did not mention anything to me. I am not sure how long these worries festered but the day eventually came where I woke up to a message from the manager saying it was over-- I was no longer to hold any artwork in the taproom. Now, the fault is not on either side, and I know there was no malice behind either side either. It simply was two sides of the coin unable to express how they felt. I should have been checking in with the owners and making sure that what I was setting up and what I was doing was within their boundaries. On the same turn, they also should have been communicating with me where their boundary lines were. A simple conversation may have brought more understanding, but instead I did not take the initiative to check in and they did not tell me when I was bashing the pinata.
I know they had every right to stop my Sunday markets, perhaps they didn’t align with their vision. Regardless of reasoning, the joy of Sundays were entirely sucked out of my soul. I must of resembled quite the sad picture of Eore in his worst days the first Sunday I worked without my familiar colors and creations surrounding me. I knew that my time with the company had found its finale. Even after its curtain crashed down I still have an immense respect for the opportunity that I was given to share my art and take a step towards pursuing my dream. I’ll remember the giddy-excitement that surrounded each and every Sunday morning as I hung up little pieces of my imagination around the taproom walls and set up my stickers and prints in their eclectic arrangements. Lastly, I’ll always cherish the roads and pathways the opportunity paved for my art career, even if there are some emotions that have remained locked up in the gray.
Thank you for following along this novel of an entry. I am happy to share the world of my first daring adventure, as well as the lessons that reflection has had a way of revealing. I am enormously proud to bear this chapter of life and have enjoyed the chapters that have followed and have continued to unfold. I hope you tune in next Sunday as my daring adventures in “asking for what I want” continue.
As always,
Keep it offbeat!
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