Becoming a 🦋

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about creative losses and the U-turns that may have pulled me away from my art and from my original dream of being a full-time illustrator or painter.

Back in middle school, I dreamed of becoming a Disney illustrator. I spent every summer pushing myself to get better at drawing so I could be accepted into the art magnet program of my high school. It took two tries, but I got in! I was so proud. But then came my first major creative loss: senior year, the most important year, I decided to quit the art magnet program.

Let me explain my crazy thought process.

At the time, I was involved in a cult-like church that had slowly brainwashed me into believing that my true calling wasn’t art or college, but church leadership. I was told I had to sacrifice my dreams for God and I believed it. You might be thinking, “What the hell were they thinking telling a young girl not to go to college?” or “What kind of church was that?” Oh yeah, that church deserves its own story — but for now, let’s put a pin in that.

At the time, I truly believed I was doing the right thing. I remember the heartbreak I felt when I told my teachers. They were confused and tried to persuade me to stay, but I didn’t listen. I thought I was following a higher calling. Still, deep down, I knew it was wrong because it broke my heart. I buried that moment for years. It hurt too much to look at.

In college, another chance at creativity opened up. I started meeting young artists, designers, photographers, and illustrators who like me were hungry to create. I launched a kind of art collective in Miami called More Than Art Group. It all started with a fundraiser event that featured emerging artists, a fire dancer, and live poetry. And guess what? I sold three pieces of art and I felt so alive! the same way I felt when I got into the art magnet.

The success of that first show spread quickly. I started meeting more people and getting offers for venues, along with discounts at restaurants and bars in exchange for bringing in artists and musicians. I organized fashion shows, live music events, and gallery nights. At one point, Miami Today featured my organization in a piece about how we were making it work during a time of economic turmoil. This was long before Wynwood became what it is today — back when the neighborhood was still raw and a little dangerous — but we didn’t care. We brought our art to any space that would have us.

But this isn’t a happy ending post, it’s about loss. I was about to experience the biggest creative loss of my life, one that I believe changed the course of everything — including how I saw art.

I decided to collaborate with a well-known local graffiti artist that had a similar oganization and was doing even bigger events than me. People kept urging us to work together, so we did. We decided to join forces and put on an event during Art Basel — the biggest and most prestigious art show in the world, originally founded in Switzerland. Miami had become one of only three global cities to host it, and artists from everywhere came to showcase their work.

We had big dreams, but we were in over our heads.

My partner was overwhelmed with her full-time design job, so I ended up handling most of the planning: finding venues, securing sponsors, selling wall space to artists etc. We were too ambitious. I wanted live bands and to build an outdoor gallery with tents and walls on a grass field. She wanted to host two fashion shows a day over four days. We pulled it off somehow but the cost was massive.

I remember us holding hands outside of the incomplete gallery two hours before the event, crying as if someone had died. We knew we had tried our best, and we also knew it was going to be a disaster.

We had to build the gallery walls ourselves, and the vendor delivered grass turf instead of proper flooring. We even forgot to print the artist labels, so their names weren’t displayed next to their work, at what was supposed to be the biggest show of their lives.

A magazine came to cover the event, but I had to ask them to leave since art was still being hung when they arrived. We didn’t sell as much as we hoped. We couldn’t talk to buyers interested in the artists’ work because there were so many things going on and fires we had to put out. It just didn’t seem like a serious event for buyers.

We let down the most important people of this entire affair: the artists who trusted us with their work.

They didn’t have their names next to their pieces. They didn’t feel seen. We took too long to send out commission checks. Some artists even asked for refunds since some of them bought wall space. We had become the kind of organizers we swore we wouldn’t be. I failed them. I failed myself. I became my worst nightmare — someone who takes advantage of artists.

After the event, I took out a loan to pay the vendors we owed. I shut the organization down and I stopped working with artists. My reputation was damaged. I lost friends and I lost my purpose. I made a fast plan to move to New York and never looked back.

I buried that story for 13 years.

I became a graphic designer and wanted nothing to do with that painful chapter of my life… until recently. Because now, another creative door is starting to open.

I’ve been dreaming big again, the way I used to. I’ve been meeting artists and creators here in Austin, and slowly realizing that I need to face my past. To unbury it. To own the heartbreak, the mistakes and maybe, just maybe, give it another try.

Yes, I’m 39, turning 40 next year. And yes, for many, that feels “too late” or “too crazy.” I haven’t painted in years. I haven’t run an art event in years. But something has been whispering to me and lately, those whispers are getting louder.

I’ve been organizing small art meetups with women who’ve been wanting to create again too. We’ve been meeting monthly, just organically, but now I’m thinking of making it more official, maybe even launching a new artist collective here in Austin.

Then, last Friday, came the final sign. A local talented artist organized an art fundraiser to help the victims from the flood in Kerr County. I volunteered to greet guests and collect donations, and as I stood there, I looked around and saw musicians, artists, poets and my friends’ art hanging on the walls. One of them even sold her first piece! And I felt it again, that same alive feeling I had being accepted to the art magnet and at my first ever art show.

It’s no longer a whisper. It’s a push. And it’s telling me: Start again.

So maybe these U-turns weren’t detours at all. Maybe they were lessons.

Maybe I’m meant to be back here — with more wisdom, more compassion, and a deeper understanding of what it takes to nurture creative communities. Maybe this time, I’ll do it better.

Is it really a U-turn if it brings you back to where you belong?

Only time will tell but I’m making a promise to my younger self: I’ll try again. And this time, I’ll give it my all. I will be better.