Hello World Changer!
I’m on the I-20 slow-rolling through thick Atlanta traffic. The sun is just starting to rise behind me, and I know I still have at least another 45 minutes of this crawl until I get to work.
If you asked me as a kid, “What do you want to do when you grow up?” I would have said, “color.” I’m living my dream job, where I get to color for a living. I get paid to be in a large art studio with other artists creating paintings for a market that serves home decor.
I have all the art supplies I could ever want. Monday morning, eight canvases are delivered to my work area, and my job is to get something pretty onto them by 5pm Friday. I have my own set of 84 Caran d’Ache crayons—that is my go-to technique for finishing my acrylic paintings. I truly get to “color” for a living. But I hate my job. I have worked here for a year, and I am miserable.
Of course I love that I get to create art and am paid a salary for it. But the drive from my small town near Athens to Atlanta each day takes a huge toll. It is 76 miles one way and takes a minimum of two hours. I spend four hours with myself each day in my car. Twenty hours a week are spent in the dangers and frustration of Atlanta traffic.
The lead artist that I work with in the studio is in her late thirties, hates men, lives alone with her cat, and listens to Dr. Laura and talk radio all day while we paint. The other artists have changed out a lot through the year and only the cat lady and I are the mainstay artists in this place.
Creating in a Minefield
The owner, Mallie, is Iranian with a terrifying temper. When she is upset, she violently throws things, slams doors, screams, and threatens anyone in her sight that they will be fired. If you protest anything or try to create a boundary, she says, “Don't let the door hit your ass on your way out.” The only saving grace is that she is gone a lot on the road selling art.
When she is around, I feel uneasy and constantly on edge. It feel the same as I did at 5:30pm when I was a teenager anticipating my dad coming home from work. I didn't know if he would be in a rage and start yelling and screaming or if he would be calm and nice. Now I sit quietly in my studio waiting for the sound of Mallie stomping around, bracing myself for her tirade.
Sometimes, she’ll meet someone, fall in love quickly, and stop selling art or coming in to work. It’s a nice reprieve, but then our paychecks will bounce. Every other Friday when we get our checks and 5pm hits, we race to the nearby check cashing place to be first to get cash out before the account is drained. All of her employees line up there.
If we aren't so lucky, we have to wait until Monday, go first thing to talk to the accountant downstairs, and get him to write us another check from a different account so that on our lunch break we can try to go cash it. Eventually we all get paid, but each time it leaves me feeling more insecure and wondering how long I’ll have this job.
A Glimmer of Hope
I’m friends with Gail from the office downstairs, who knows all the scoop on everything. She knows when Mallie is in love, when she gets dumped, when she’s on the road, and when she is getting back into town. Gail tells me about an art rep named Gary. She says he lives in Atlanta and sells some of the art that comes out of this place. I get his number from Gail and call him on my lunch break.
“Hi Gary, I got your number from Gail at Creative Fine Arts. I’m an artist here, but I want to go out on my own and am looking for an art rep who I can work with. I was told you are one of the best, and I want to work with the best.” I was shaking with nerves, hardly able to get the words out. But I was desperate to free myself from this insanity.
“Oh! You work for Mallie! What is that like?” Gary asked with a chuckle.
“Well, it’s not boring, but it’s the main reason I’d like to freelance.”
“Let’s get together for a coffee. I’d like to see your art, and I’ll see if it’s something I can sell.” I hang up with Gary and feel the joyful presence of hope return.
My studio mate has shown me how to take pictures of my art and create a portfolio book. After a whole year of eight paintings a week, I have a lot of art to show. She told me early on to take pictures of everything because I would need it in the future. I’m so grateful for this advice because I’m ready to meet Gary today and find out if I can be set free.
We meet at Caribou Coffee near the mall in Buckhead, which means I’m going to face the 85 going home. Gary is a handsome older man with silver hair and beard and bright, kind, blue eyes. I can tell immediately he is safe and honest. He has known Mallie for years. He sells her art when he can but mostly reps independent artists. He makes it clear immediately what kind of artist he is looking for.
“I only work with artists who don't get their ego in the way. You have to be able to take direction, hear critique, and above all get me a ton of artwork. I want new art each week.”
Gary takes my portfolio and places it front of him. “Let’s see if I can sell your work.”
I sit nervous and anxious as he flips through my book with little expression. He keeps flipping the pages, not looking long at anything in particular, and does not ask me one question. He closes the book and says, “As soon as you have 100 paintings to give me, I’ll start to work with you.”
I am elated! It’s the best news I could have ever heard. I have my ticket to freedom.
“Mr. Gary, I want to be able to quit my job. How much money do you think I will be able to make with you?” I ask, hoping I’m not turning him off.
“How much money do you need each week to make it?” he asks.
I think about my last job at the bank making $5.50/hr, the money I would save on gas without a commute and cutting back on everything I could, and how much John makes at his job.
“I need $200 a week to make it,” I tell him. I brace myself for his answer.
“$200? I guarantee selling enough to get you $200 a week. And If I don't, I will pay you personally.” He smiled.
I can't believe it! I am free! This is my big break! I could be independent. Work from home. Never drive to Atlanta again and be in business for myself. Gary just became my most favorite human on earth. I never have to listen to Mallie screaming again.
30 Days to Freedom
My long commute home along the 85 gives me plenty of time to plan my life. I have been listening to motivational tapes with all my time in the car and think about how I can do anything for 30 days. I don’t care if I sleep or eat or do anything besides paint for 30 days. I determine that 30 days is my target to get myself free.
I break down 30 days and 100 paintings into 25 paintings a week. I think through how I will be able to paint 25 paintings each week in addition to the eight paintings I have to paint at my job.
I get home from work by 7pm most days. I’ll paint from 8pm until midnight each night. I can make it on five hours of sleep. Then on Saturday and Sunday, I’ll paint all day and into the evening. I can get 30 hours of painting on the weekends and another 20 hours during the week. With the 50 hours each week, I can spend two hours on each painting.
Gary did not specify what size of painting he wanted, and he told me they needed to be on paper. Paper is faster than canvas, so I knew this was possible. I can offset some longer painting time on bigger paintings with shorter painting time on smaller paintings.
I spend that weekend planning out my 100 paintings into several series of landscapes, florals, simple charcoal line drawings of nudes, and other subjects. I plan out about 10 paintings per series in a variety of sizes and formats.
John said he would help me tape and prep my paper, and then spray and peel them each week when they’re finished. He could help me with meals and everything else so I could just paint. John thought it was a really difficult goal, but encouraged me that I could pull it off.
Each week I paint and paint and paint. I am in a constant, non-stop flow of working and creating. At first it is a bit of a shock to my system, but after a few days I am able to paint non-stop. Basically, if I’m awake, I’m painting.
I write out a power statement with things like: I AM FREE. I OWN MY OWN ART BUSINESS. I AM CAPABLE AND ABLE TO PAINT 25 PAINTINGS A WEEK. MY ART SELLS BEFORE THE PAINT IS DRY. I AM GARY’S #1 SELLING ARTIST. I tape my power statements to my steering wheel and say them out loud several times each day. I tape them to my easel at home to keep me focused and energized.
Nearing the Finish Line
My first week, I succeed in creating 25 paintings, and I know that I can do it. On the 25th day, I call Gary.
“Hi Gary, I have 100 paintings for you on paper. Can we meet next week so I can deliver them to you?” I get straight down to business.
“Hi, Elli? You are the one I met over coffee? You say you have 100 paintings for me? Are these old paintings or new paintings?”
“Gary, I have been painting 40 hours a week at my job, and 50-60 hours a week at home. These are brand new paintings, and they are better than the ones you saw in my book. You told me as soon as I had 100 paintings for you, you would work with me. You told me that you would guarantee $200 a week, even if you had to pay me yourself. I took you at your word and painted 100 paintings.”
I brace myself for his response.
“It’s okay. I remember, and my word is good. I’ll keep my promise to you; don't worry. Let’s meet next week.” My soul returns to calm, serene waters, and I can breathe again.
Mallie is in town, so I can give my notice at work. The two weeks will time out just right with Gary’s first check. That Friday, I walk into Mallie’s office and hold my beating chest behind my best attempt at lying I can muster.
“Mallie, I have some exciting news to share. John was given an incredible raise at work and makes enough money to support us, so we have decided to start our family and try for a baby. I greatly appreciate you giving me this opportunity to work for you, but this is my two weeks’ notice. I hope you wish us well in our new adventure.”
I don't even feel guilty or bad for my lies. This is survival. This is my only way out. Any other reason would send her into a rage, and she would tell me, “Don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.”
Mallie wants with all her heart to fall in love with someone and have a family. She jumps out of her chair, clasps her hands, and gives me a huge hug, saying, “Congratulations! We will miss you here, but this is the most important thing in life: to start your family.”
At my going-away party that Mallie throws for me at work with pizza and balloons, Gail and the other artist I worked with smile at me knowing what I did. They know I was working with Gary. They know that if Mallie knew the truth, she would unleash the hordes of hell on me. After all that I endured over this last year with her, I don't feel the slightest bit of shame.
Finding My Fortune
I meet with Gary and hand him the huge stack of paintings. He buys me lunch at a Chinese restaurant and tells me we will meet each week. He’ll bring me a check and a list of what he sold. I’ll bring him new paintings for the week and a list of titles and sizes.
The following week, we meet for lunch again, and I bring him 12 new paintings and a list. He slides a folded paper across the table. I open it, and inside is my first check. It is written for $350!
“You sold a painting!?” I ask.
“Yes. I sold one. I’ll sell more next week. But at least you can pay your bills.”
The next week, my check was $450. The following week it was $700, and then $1200, and $1500 the next. I never made $200, and Gary never paid me from his own pocket. I had tripled my income and was able to paint from home. I painted easily for 40 hours a week, and it felt like nothing. I didn’t have to wake up at 5am or commute to Atlanta. I got my life back and could begin to dream again.
One afternoon I sat with Gary at lunch holding a fortune cookie.
“You know, Gary, you changed my life. This is what I have always wanted. I can hardly believe I’ve already made it to my life’s goal. I can’t thank you enough.” I held back my tears. Gary felt like a dad any girl would have wanted.
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. After the coffee, I figured I would never see you again. I was shocked when you called me. You know, I just told you to get me 100 paintings to get rid of you. That usually scares artists off. They get so discouraged, I never see them again.
"When you called me only a few weeks later with 100 paintings, I thought, ‘Wow! This girl is serious! She’s a hard worker. I’ll never have to worry about a lack of inventory. Every rep’s dream is to work with an artist that is prolific, skilled, humble, and hungry. I’m thankful for you.’”
Gary wasn’t my boss; he was my partner. We both wanted the same thing. We wanted to work with honest, kind people. We wanted the art to sell.
We wanted our freedom.
What’s the biggest thing you’ve ever pushed yourself to do for your dream?
