Putting yourself out there as an artist often feels like walking into a room with your heart pinned to your sleeve, only to realize the room is full of people holding clipboards and red pens. In my studio, my work – from the quietly subversive Victorian women in my Antidote series to the exuberant, leaping figures of Joie de Vivre – exists in a safe space. Only a select few are admitted, and they are the sort of people who always say nice things.  But the moment those pieces leave the easel to seek a gallery, they potentially become subject to evaluation by a less forgiving audience. The art world is a snobbish one, and my work is not contemporary or serious enough to impress them, I often fear. To be an artist is to live in a state of constant vulnerability, exposing your most intimate expressions to the potential sting of rejection from cynical observers and the influential gatekeepers of the local art world who can dismiss years of emotional labour with a single snide remark.

The search for the “right” gallery is an exhausting odyssey that requires me to contend with a perpetual dilemma: work in seclusion, or get out there and sell work. I am, as many artists are, naturally introverted, finding my voice in my quirky world of paint and colour rather than in a sales pitch. However, the need to sell and show work demands I become my own agent. The work is no good to me or anyone else stacked up against a wall. I’ve had to navigate conversations with gallery owners and managers, often met with a disinterested shrug, or an apologetic “we’ll keep you in mind . . .” It is soul-crushing to speak to people who potentially hold the keys to my career but may not truly see or understand my work – do they get the nuance, the irony or the simple relatable human expression?

Effectively, as an artist, you are asked to sell yourself, which feels like anathema to the very soul of the creative process. It’s a delicate, often frustrating dance: trying to maintain your artistic integrity while attempting to bridge the gap between your internal vision and an external frame of reference that is frequently preoccupied with what is “marketable” rather than what is meaningful to you as an artist.

Despite the hurdles and the frequent silence from the establishment, I remain deeply committed to the journey. I’ve seen my work find its place in corporate foyers and pride of place in many homes, which reminds me that the right audience is out there. My art has found a warm reception and a home at the Hamilton Gallery in Cape Town.  Not every gallery will offer a chance to a new prospect looking for an opportunity for some wall space and the opportunity to sell work. I was also really lucky that the owners of the lovely Fortuna Gallerie in Vienna came across my work in Hamilton Gallery and bought a whole load of work for an exhibition in April this year! This is an opportunity I would never have had a shot at without the exposure my work has received on the walls of the Cape town gallery.

However Johannesburg is a where I have always lived, worked, and found my endless inspiration. I am confident that I will soon find a suitable local gallery right here in Joburg that feels like the right fit; a space that understands the joyful dance and subtle irony of my latest pieces and is ready to give them a home in the city that birthed them.