The Con Days are Over

After Ten Years, I'm Saying Goodbye to Artist Alley

I spent most of my summer recovering from a serious case of burnout and depression, due in large part to the self-imposed pressure of doing too much.

My breaking point came as I was organizing a booth for a local Pride street festival and felt buried under logistics and the desperate need to make it a success, to the point of making myself sick.

Despite a decade of experience participating in exactly this kind of event, you’d think it would get easier. I should be able to do this in my sleep, right? The stakes shouldn’t be so high, and yet every event felt heavier, more difficult, and more important than the last.

This activity that used to bring me so much joy, validation, connection, and–oh yeah– money, had become absolute torture.

Like so many creative professionals right now, I’ve been pulling myself in too many directions: chasing ever-scarcer freelance gigs, pitching to publishers despite endless rejections, applying to more expensive conventions, organizing art markets, and (poorly) attempting to maintain a lively presence on social media, all while AI slop devours what little work remains and the country slides further into fascism.

(I’m sure you’re well aware, but it’s pretty tough out there.)

Every step was a struggle. I felt like I was failing at everything, and so frantic to keep all the balls in the air that I couldn’t see which ones were keeping me fed and which were bleeding me dry. 

Witnessing one of my late-night meltdowns over this particular event, my husband made the bold suggestion that if this was all making me so miserable, I could simply stop doing it.

The audacity!

The shock and relief at hearing this option, especially from my spouse, was truly revelatory. It was the permission I needed for a complete reset. And, frankly, I didn’t have the energy to resist it any longer.

So I set everything down for a while, canceled all my upcoming commitments, and gave myself space to figure out which pieces of my career I actually wanted to pick up again.

It turns out that conventions and art fairs were causing more stress, expense, and anxiety than any other part of my business, with the least amount of payoff.

The cost of booking tables, the stress of weeks of preparation, production expenses, shipping logistics, saving enough energy to stay cheerful and friendly through overwhelming crowds for 8–10 hours a day, several days in a row… all of it made me miserable, and I’d need weeks to recover after every event. Even when I made a profit, it was no longer worth the overall cost of the experience.

And forget about socializing. At this point in my life, I’m ready to collapse the minute the show closes. I don’t have the energy for “bar-con” or after-parties, so I’m not even enjoying the benefits of catching up with friends or making new connections.

Don’t get me wrong, I owe much of my career over the past decade to tabling at Artist Alleys across the country. I’m deeply grateful for the connections and opportunities these events have offered. I know many artists who thrive in this environment and make their living on the convention circuit. I admire the hell out of them.

These events are wonderful ways to build creative community and support emerging talent. I’m glad they exist, and I’m proud of the years I put in. But there’s value in knowing when to leave the party.

So I decided, with much relief, that it was time to close this chapter of my professional life. Instead, I’m shifting my focus back to original works, limited editions, and private commissions, all of which provide more creative fulfillment and greater financial rewards.

If you’re reading this, there’s a good chance we met at one of these events, possibly more than once. I’m grateful for your support and continued interest in my work. I’ll be leaning more heavily on my mailing list and online ecosystems (while they last), so I hope you’ll stick around.

You won’t see me tabling at the next Short Run or ECCC, but you can always find me online.

My work continues to evolve, and I look forward to sharing it with you.