Seven Truths About Starting an Art Business

11 Aug

Messy magic, real lessons, and how to put creativity first

Five years into this art business adventure, I’ve realised I’m not the kind of person who always has things finished months in advance, but when it counts, I show up. And right now feels like one of those moments worth showing up for.

This is a milestone, not just because it’s five years since I first published my website, but because I’m finally ready to share the messy, magical, and occasionally mortifying truth of what this journey has really looked like.

If you’ve ever wished you had more time for your own creative outlet, maybe it’s painting, sewing, baking, writing, or whatever lights you up, I’ve got a free Creative Courage Kickstart for you at the end of this post. It’s a simple, one-page guide to carve out protected time for creativity and keep it safe from all the other demands.

Sandra Gale at the Brisbane Affordable Art Fair with her colourful collage art hung gallery wall style, and celebrating five years since starting her art business. — *Proudly showing my art at the Brisbane Affordable Art Fair*

It hasn’t been all paint-splattered joy and “sold out” stickers. There have been doubts, detours, and bank balances that made me gulp. But there’s also been magic here (real, messy magic), and I want to share that with you.

Back in 2020, amidst the COVID lockdowns, I was fresh out of the taxi-driver mum years, working reduced hours, and rediscovering the joy of making art for me: first with Procreate portraits on my iPad, then slowly returning to the hands-on mess of collage art in traditional media.

The secret dream I barely let myself whisper back then was this: Maybe someone would one day see my work and say, “That’s a Sandra Gale.”

Here’s what actually happened next, and if you’re nurturing a creative dream, what might help you, too.

Seven Things I’ve Learned in My Creative Business

1) You don’t need a perfect plan, but you do need a budget

I wish I’d known this from the beginning. I dove in headfirst, high on the thrill of tax-deductible art supplies and the fantasy of creative freedom. I spent far too much, too fast, and without a clear plan.

If I could go back, I’d tell past me: YES, have a dreamy vision, but also, PLEASE, have a spreadsheet.

2) Making the art is the hardest thing to protect

Sandra Gale in her art studio, working on a colourful collage, sharing five years of starting an art business lessons.

Markets, marketing, packaging, admin, everything competes with studio time. Once you turn your creativity into a business, everything else tries to steal your time. And suddenly, the thing you love most becomes the thing you do the least. That disconnect hurts.

I’m learning to schedule art first and guard that time like it’s sacred.

3) Connection is the unexpected treasure

From market buddies to collectors who become friends and cheerleaders, I love this beautiful community of colour-loving, bold-hearted people.

And yes, every single sale still feels like a miracle.

4) Shame is boring and growth is braver

Here’s the uncomfortable bit: five years in, my business still isn’t consistently profitable. For a long time, that filled me with shame (and still does sometimes).

But honestly? I’m getting bored of that shame story. I’m tired of apologising for being in the messy middle. I’m done pretending I have it all figured out. I’m proud that I’m still here. Still going. Still believing in this wild dream.

Now I’m choosing curiosity over shame and doubling down on what works.

5) Success can look like freedom, not just numbers

That road trip in my van? Working from caravan parks, exhibiting at an art fair 2000km from home, creating on the move?

That felt like success, and I want more of that.

6) There’s magic in letting go of perfection

Moving from digital art to creating with traditional media has helped with my innate perfectionism.

With no undo button, I’ve learnt to welcome the happy accidents, the wobbles, and splashes that can’t be erased. I love layering crisp, hand-cut collage shapes over inky marks, grungy textures, and loose, messy brushstrokes. I love the way order and chaos meet, mirroring the battle in my own head between perfection and fun.

Original art by Sandra Gale featuring two magpies chatting surrounded by Australian wildflowers in bold colours, a visual reminder to take a moment for the things that light you up and creative play — *‘Moments of Me Time’ A daily reminder to make time for you and the things you love.*

7) You’re allowed to take up space

This is the biggest shift. At first, I thought art had to be serious or perfect to be worthy.

But now I know that my art is meaningful because it’s joyful, rebellious even. It’s playful and messy and full of permission slips.

It’s a riot of colour that says, “You don’t have to shrink.” Joy is a valid meaning. Colour is a valid mood. Play is a valid practice.

And if I’m honest, I think Little Sandra has been guiding me here all along. She’s the little girl who was drawing and making up stories with her sister just because it was fun, who never questioned whether joy was enough. She’s the part of me that refuses to shrink, and she’s the part of you I’d love you to wake up.

A loving nudge for you (yes, you)

You might be wondering if it’s too late to start something new. Maybe you’ve got a secret dream that still makes your heart flutter.

Please hear this: It’s not too late.

Find your people. Let yourself play. Take up space. And maybe invite Little You, the one who created and played for the fun of it, back into the room.

Because this world needs more women who are unapologetically doing what they love.

Want a gentle push to get started?

I’ve made a free Creative Courage Kickstart, a one-page guide with five quick steps and one playful challenge to help you start (or restart) your creative dream this week.

It’s about carving out protected time for what lights you up and keeping it safe from all the other demands.

If you’re feeling stuck, it also comes with a bonus Just for Fun colouring page, a no-pressure way to pick up a pencil and play, even if it’s been years.

No guilt. No overthinking. Just a joyful nudge (and a little colour) to make space for you.