An original book cover from my collection
There’s a moment when you decide to leave the safety of your little cave and show the world what you’ve created.
It’s a terrible idea.
Well… it usually turns out to be a good idea eventually. But during those first few weeks, your brain is determined to convince you otherwise.
You publish your first piece.
Five minutes later, you’ve refreshed your statistics three times.
Ten minutes later, you’ve convinced yourself the internet must be broken.
Twenty minutes later, you’re wondering whether humanity has always been this indifferent, or if everyone simply agreed to ignore you today.
Then something happens.
Someone sees your work.
One person.
And your brain reacts as if you’ve just been informed that you’ve won the Nobel Prize.
“They saw it!”
“Someone actually saw it!”
“They might even have blinked while looking at it!”
Then the waiting begins again.
For the next visitor.
The next favourite.
The next comment.
The next tiny sign that your work has, in fact, reached another human being.
Eventually, you realise you no longer run on oxygen.
You run on tiny digital notifications.
People tell you to learn marketing.
So you do.
You read books.
You watch videos.
You listen to podcasts.
You attend webinars.
Every other person seems to have discovered the secret to selling art online.
The third person has a different secret.
The fourth one sells an online course explaining why the first three are wrong.
And maybe none of them are wrong.
They’re simply telling the story of their journey.
While you’re still trying to figure out your own.
So you keep posting.
Instagram.
Facebook.
Pinterest.
Your blog.
Maybe somewhere else tomorrow.
The platform doesn’t really matter.
One post gets fifty likes.
Another gets a handful of lovely comments.
A third reaches hundreds of people.
And yet…nothing sells.
Then there’s social media.
The modern amusement park for artists.
You post something.
The likes arrive.
Comments appear.
New followers trickle in.
Your brain opens an imaginary bottle of champagne.
“It’s working!”
Except…this is where one of the biggest traps is hiding.
Many artists are followed mostly…by other artists.
They follow because they’re curious.
Because they’re looking for inspiration.
Because they understand the countless hours hidden behind a single piece of work.
And honestly…that’s a wonderful feeling.
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The problem is that it’s surprisingly easy to confuse two completely different things.
Recognition…and buying intent.
They’re not the same.
Another artist may genuinely love your work.
They may leave a heart.
Write, “This is incredible.”
Recommend you to someone else.
And mean every single word.
That doesn’t automatically make them your customer.
After all…they’re artists too.
They’re also trying to sell their own work.
Sometimes people aren’t even following because of what you create.
Maybe they enjoy your personality.
Your sense of humour.
Your behind-the-scenes posts.
The image you share of yourself online.
Those things matter.
They’re valuable.
But they don’t necessarily create sales.
And before you know it, you can spend months…or even years…living inside a strangely comfortable bubble.
Your audience keeps growing.
Your engagement looks healthy.
People seem to enjoy what you do.
Yet your sales barely move.
And that’s when the real storm begins inside your head.
That’s when the real storm begins inside your head.
“Maybe I’m just not good enough.”
“Maybe I’m talking to the wrong people.”
“Maybe I’m the only one who thinks my work has value.”
Those voices are louder than any marketing expert.
The truth is, there probably isn’t a single marketing book that works for every artist.
Every creator is different.
Every audience is different.
Every piece of art is different.
Which means every artist has to find their own path to the people who genuinely connect with what they create.
I noticed something strange in my own journey.
As long as life felt safe and predictable, I never felt an urgent need to find the perfect sales channel.
Of course I kept creating.
I kept learning.
I kept improving.
But there wasn’t that overwhelming feeling that I had to make a living from my art.
Then life interrupted.
A personal tragedy changed everything almost overnight.
Suddenly, selling my work wasn’t just a nice dream anymore.
It became a necessity.
Oddly enough, that necessity taught me something no marketing book ever could.
It didn’t teach me how to sell.
It taught me how to keep searching until I found my own way.
That may be the hardest part of the entire creative journey.
Not making the art.
Finding the people who are looking for it.
So we experiment.
Again.
And again.
Most ideas don’t work.
Most platforms disappoint you.
Most strategies quietly fade away.
Then, one day…something clicks.
A platform.
A blog post.
An image.
A single sentence.
You don’t always know why.
You simply notice that people are no longer just looking at your work.
They’re finding it.
Looking back, it all seems obvious.
As if the path had been there all along.
It wasn’t.
You simply had to get lost a hundred times before you finally found your own road.
Creative people are fascinating creatures.
We can spend weeks, sometimes months, crafting a single piece of work.
Then, the moment we finally share it, one tiny question takes over our entire mind:
“What if it’s terrible?”
And then…
one day…
someone buys it.
Your first reaction isn’t excitement.
It’s disbelief.
Maybe it was an accident.
Maybe they clicked the wrong listing.
Maybe they meant to buy someone else’s work.
Then reality catches up.
No.
They chose yours.
And suddenly, two completely opposite emotions move into your heart at the exact same time.
The first one says,
“I did it.”
The second quietly whispers,
“Wait… but I loved that one.”
Being an artist is strange.
You spend months creating something, hoping someone will eventually take it home.
Then, when they finally do…you miss it.
It’s a little like watching one of your children leave home.
You know that’s exactly what was supposed to happen.
You wanted someone to love it.
Still…the studio feels a little emptier afterwards.
Then, almost immediately, another strange thought appears.
“I wonder when it will happen again.”
Being an artist isn’t really a roller coaster.
It’s more like a roller coaster operated by an overworked squirrel, designed by an over-caffeinated pigeon, while the emotional control panel is managed by an overly enthusiastic goldfish.
And you know what?
Creating the artwork is sometimes easier than dealing with the voices inside your own head.
You can learn to paint.
You can learn to write.
You can learn design.
You can master new software.
But the inner demons?
They need convincing every single morning.
And for some wonderfully irrational reason…
we climb back onto that roller coaster anyway.
Every single time.
Continue the Conversation
If this story resonated with you, here are three more you might enjoy.
– The Secret to Success as an Artist? I Wish I Knew
Every artist searches for the secret to success. I eventually realized the search might be the real story.
– Why Do Artists Keep Creating?
Why do we keep creating when nothing seems to happen? I’ve asked myself that more times than I can count.
– Every Artist Is Secretly Waiting for The One
Every new piece feels like it might finally be the one. Somehow, we never stop believing.
Perhaps Your Story Is Waiting Too
Every writer knows the feeling of carrying a story that refuses to stay quiet.
When it’s finally time to share it with the world, I’d be honoured if one of my exclusive premade book covers became part of that journey.
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