The “Starving Artist”

In 1999 the Seattle scene was a world full of artists, creatives, dreamers, hustlers, and fringe society. This scene was like nothing I grew up with. I was 18 and mesmerized. I had just moved to the big city with my best friend, Angela, and we were enrolled as freshmen at the UW. We would be sharing a dorm that year on campus. We were excited, inexperienced, and wild.

For the first time, I heard people reference “organic” food, and “spring” water. It was cool to wear Doc Martens, Birkenstocks, and Chacos. We began to explore the city, we went to art shows, street fairs, and farmers’ markets. We met people who scoffed at social norms. We experimented with drugs and went to Burning Man in 2000. We didn’t say no to anything and I have zero regrets.

In 2001 I began to explore the idea of selling vintage clothing at the Fremont Market. I was inspired to be creative yet I didn’t consider myself an artist. I had been lead to believe an artist can draw and paint. These I could not do, but there was a desire to buy, sell, and make and I was willing to explore it.

I bought a 10 by 10 pop-up tent off eBay and I drug it around weekend after weekend to the Fremont Sunday Market. I would set up early in the morning and sell my treasures to treasure hunters. I was just 20 years old.

I spent countless Sundays learning how to sell, learning how to negotiate, and learning how to merchandise. Someone told me if I could mark up an item by 3 times what I’ve paid for it I was doing well. My knowledge was by word of mouth and hands-on experience. I had no internet to reference, no smartphone to research with, no virtual platforms to sell on.

The trap of the “starving artist” would continue to haunt me until I was 40 years old. Not until I rewired my thinking and placing value on work would I triumph and feel as if I had finally arrived.