Question: Should I go to art school or self-learn?

A curious soul recently asked: What is your biggest piece of advice for someone torn between getting a degree or teaching themselves art?

What a big, beautiful question -- one I've been asking since the beginning, as well. Although I certainly have an opinion, I turned to a group of AMAZING artists, some self-taught, some traditionally educated, some both, for advice.

My answer: I am extremely self-motivated and do well in the freedom (and sometimes chaos) that comes with self-teaching, and have been that way since childhood. But I know others who thrive in structured environments. Although I did go to college, and looking back wish I would've majored in something visual, there was no way for me to know I'd end up an artist. Years later when I found art, I could've gone back to school and taken out more student loans, but I weighed my options, got really honest with myself, and knew that self-learning would work for me.

But enough about me. Take a look at what each of these talented artists has to say. Be sure to give their website a visit and follow them on Instagram to show some love!

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David Esquivel, Painter
Education: Self-taught
Website: davidmesquivel.com
Instagram: @david.m.esquivel

Even though David is self-taught, he sees some similarities in the process of getting a formal education vs. doing it yourself. 

"I had to first realize what it was I wanted so say with my artwork. And that really came down to who I wanted to be as a person. ... The challenge of finding yourself by yourself is something I think all artists must go through at some point, if you went to school or not."

David says finding his voice as an artist was isolating, a circumstance he views in both a positive and negative light.

"I still know very little about artists and art history -- things I could have accessed to help me when I completely lost creatively. I think that has also helped me. I'm confident in my style and I know it isn't a derivative of someone else's work."

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Bec Kilpatrick, Illustrator & Photographer
Education: Formal graphic design education, self-taught artist
Website: beckil.co
Instagram: @beckil

Bec always knew she wanted to be an artist, and going to school for graphic design helped her gain knowledge and expand her skill set in a way that worked for her -- in a structured, disciplined environment.

"[Having an education in Graphic Design] has allowed me to question my practise, experiment and apply my work in different contexts. Having said this, this isn't for everyone, and there are many ways to expand your knowledge as an artist. Going to galleries, collaborating and experimenting in your own time and space can be more beneficial for some people who don't thrive in a more structured setting."

Her advice to new and aspiring artists: "Experiment. Don't be scared to make things you don't like; you might discover a new technique along the way that you love. You're never going to know what you love until you try something."

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Liz Flores, Painter & Illustrator
Education: Self-taught with a few high school art classes
Website: lizfloresart.com
Instagram: @lizitto

Liz says not having a formal art education has been a challenge to her self-confidence in the past.

"I felt and sometimes still feel like an unrefined artist who doesn’t know the ropes. When people talk about certain painting techniques they learned at school, or lessons in art history, I can’t relate and it feels challenging."

But as she's grown as self-taught artist, she's found her lack of formal education to have quite a bright silver-lining.

"I’ve started to realize the hidden blessing that is not going to art school, which is simply not having any preconceived rules in my mind of how to create art, sell art or be an artist. Formalities like needing gallery representation to succeed simply don’t exist in my mind, and have helped me carve my own path."

Her advice to new or aspiring artists: "Going to art school or not is your choice and neither is right or wrong. You need to make the right decision for you and your work and remember you are an entrepreneur too – Artrepreneur - so business skills matter. No matter how you acquire your skills and create your art, in the end what matters is the work and getting it out into the world."

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Lindsay Hollinger, Artist & Designer
Education: Bachelor of Fine Arts in Illustration
Website: lindsayhollinger.com
Instagram: @casajoshuatree

Lindsay values and views her art education positively, although if she could go back, she would change a few things.

"I was distracted by being 20 and did not take advantage of the resources offered to me. I didn’t understand their true value or comprehend the amount of money we (my family and I) were spending on my education... If I won the lottery, I would go back in an instant and do it all again. I would take every class, go to every event, and do as much as I could."

She also explains that she hardly learned a lick of business skills in art school, a side to art that is extremely important for aspiring working artists.

"Artists are entrepreneurs," she says.

Her advice for any new or aspiring artist going to art school: I would seek out and create more meaningful relationships with my professors and the graduate students. I would go to more events, join more clubs. I would take the classes that are hard to come by in “real life” without huge investment: metalsmithing, sculpture, ceramics, printmaking, weaving, glassblowing, oil painting, film photography. I would work harder, and value my time in the studio as the beginning of a very long journey. Savor the moment and be present.

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Nikki Frumkin, Mountain Artist, Painter, Illustrator, Climber
Education: Studied oil painting and art education in the Hudson Valley
Website: drawntohighplaces.com
Instagram: @drawntohighplaces

Even though Nikki no longer oil paints, she says her art education gave her a foundation and the skills to evolve as an artist.

"In some ways it is a nice balance. I am a self-taught watercolorist which means I am bound to make mistakes, take risks and try new things (because it is all new). But my oil painting background means I have a framework for doing that."

Nikki also sees great value in focusing on the business-side of art while learning.

Her advice to new or aspiring artists: "Teach yourself by practicing as much as you can. Try new things and make lots of mistakes. Take risks. Find a mentor who has been doing what you want to be doing. Develop a relationship with them. Don't give up, you've got this!"

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Emily Kelly, Designer & Artist
Education: Formal
Website: Land & She
Instagram: @landandshestudio

Emily stands by her decision to get a formal art education, although she had no idea that she would one day open her own illustration and print-making shop. 

"I was so focused on graphic design that it was hard to see a bigger picture of what might have been possible for me."

Still, art school helped expand her vision and opened her to a range of art forms that she might not have been able to experience without it.

"It challenged me in so many ways, but mostly on how to take criticism and always revise until I can create my best work. It also made me very humbled in the process of making art."

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Jamie Smith, Painter
Education: BFA from University of Victoria
Website: jamiesmithstudio.com & thriveartstudio.com
Instagram: @jamiesmithstudio

Jamie says getting her art degree immersed her in the art world conceptually -- she learned how to think and talk about art, as well as experience critiques. Where it lacked, she explains, is on the technical side.

"I should have been forced to draw and paint all the time. We were left on our own to figure it out. It was very much a conceptual education, which is important to know, but not super useful out in the world."

Her advice to new or aspiring artists: "Take business classes if you want your art practice to feed you... Another important aspect is making really great work, practice and practice and find your voice as an artist and then worry about the education bit or the business bit."
 

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And there you have it. I want to say a huge thank you to all of the artists here who took the time to answer these questions. I hope their collection of answers might help anyone on the brink of making the decision -- to go to art school, or not?

What's your greatest takeaway? Are you in art school now and experiencing some of these lessons? Feel free to comment below; I'd love to hear from you.

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PSST: Have you entered the Spring Art Giveaway? Enter HERE by April 1 at 8pm MST!

How to care less.

If there's one thing I've learned over the past three years of being self-employed and working as an artist, it's that the process can be a rollercoaster of emotion. You'll have days or weeks when you feel unstoppable and filled with inspiration, yet there will always be moments when you question everything and wonder if it's all worth it.

I came into this week fresh off my first climbing competition, which was supposed to be just for fun. But after feeling like I was flailing (creatively and professionally), the last thing I needed was to feel that way on the rock, too.

The climbs were hard. I fell into the comparison trap. And I snapped on a friend. 

Not a shining moment.

A work in progress from this week: Cactus lady.

After putting some warm food in my belly, unwinding with a cup of tea, and getting a good, long sleep, I wrote this down in a journal on Monday morning.

Goal for this week: Care less. How can I care less???

Maybe you read that and wonder, "Why would you want to care less?" Seems kind of depressing, so let me try to explain.

After years of investing in my creative business, I care a whole damn lot, which can translate into seeking control. Control over people's reactions to my work. Control over sales. Control over likes and follows and analytics. Control over outcomes. Which, of course, is not only impossible, but also exhausting and fairly pointless.

So when I say I want to care less, it really means I want to find an ease and lightness of being, the kind we have as children or when we are beginners. We don't have so much invested, and that frees us to enjoy whatever may happen without the need to control.

A partial answer to this question came on Saturday morning at a coffee shop in downtown Denver, where a group of local and visiting artists met to exchange stories and sketchbooks.

We sat at a large table with coffee cups as big as our faces, and each person pulled out a worn, clearly-loved sketchbook filled with vibrant watercolored mountains and scribbled-notes about grocery items and dreamy road trips. Holding those papers in hand, seeing the artists' observations and ideas tangibly in front of me, I found myself desiring a sketchbook of my own.

My first piece of art ever sold (circa 2015), with quite the story behind it. Read here.

I haven't had a sketchbook in over a year. Part of the reason why is because I've been so focused on the business-side of things. There is a delicate balance that all working artists must strike -- being business-minded (caring about outcomes) while maintaining a sense of play (enjoying the process).

 To me, that's what a sketchbook represents: play; process; ideation.

That's why I've decided to pick up a sketchbook practice again. Perhaps my new goal isn't to care less, but to spend more time and energy embracing, being in, and enjoying the process.

“How you climb a mountain is more important than reaching the top.” 
-Yvon Chouinard

Do you have a sketchbook? Are you considering starting a sketchbook practice? I would love to hear your thoughts on what that might look like for you. And if you'd like to share any work from your sketchbook, please feel free to post images!

Making small attention shifts.

I've been thinking a lot about time, focus, energy, and attention. Where do you put most of yours? Where would you like to place yours? Is there a difference? For me, there is. And I easily know where I'd prefer to put mine.

Where I put most of my attention:

• My business
• Email
• Instagram
• Climbing

Where I would like to place more of my attention:

• Creating (actually making art, not just thinking about making art)
• Learning
• Real-life communities

It isn't so mysterious, my situation. It's very simple, and I am sure others must feel the same way.

Above is a collage I've been working on this past week. Not done yet!

I'll admit it. I pay attention to the Internet WAY too much. Spending so much time consuming, admiring, and getting inspired by other people's work can really make me critical of my own and how it is/I am received online.

As I said before, this isn't surprising, and it's nothing special. The Internet is the new rat race. It's especially easy for artists to get caught up in it; we are idea people. And the Internet is all ideas. Visions. It's sometimes even imaginative. You can have whatever you'd like. You can be whatever you'd like. And when you close your computer and realize your life looks like none of those things, it can be hugely disappointing.

Although the idea of quitting the Internet cold turkey -- placing extreme boundaries on my daily browsing habits -- sounds oh-so effective, I know myself enough to know that it's not. For me, true changes that stick will only come from small, daily decisions and shifts.

While I'm inspired by folks like Heather Day, who spends 9 hours a day in her studio painting, I know that I can't just spend 9 hours in my studio tomorrow and expect the practice to stick. It must happen gradually. One hour here. Two hours the next day. Until it becomes a natural inclination.

That's why I've started to place "1 hour: Art" on my daily to-dos. That's why I decided to brace the teen-temps one evening this week and attend a local art lecture instead of curling up on the couch with a cider and Sex & The City. That's why I've been turning my phone on silent while I work. 

These small initiatives will snowball into larger practices. And without even realizing it, you're spending less time on Instagram drooling over someone else's life, and more time creating your own.

Here's a look at what I've been working on in my hour-long art sessions each day this week. Often these will spill over into another hour, and have me wanting to return in the evening after I've finished up other work. 

What are you working on? Do you have any attention shifts you'd like to make now?

Above and below is a digital collage I am working on using a photo I took atop The Chief in Squamish and a scan of one of my paintings. I love all the blues, but I'm always striving to pull back and simplify. It's so easy to over-do a piece; it's harder to know when to stop.

Pop the damn champagne.

Last Christmas I was sent home from a party with a bottle of champagne. I decided not to open it until I had something very special to celebrate. Soon after I began preparing my application for an art residency and planned to save the bottle popping until I got into the program (a bold statement, indeed). I placed it lovingly on the bottom shelf of my fridge and eagerly awaited the email: “We are thrilled to offer you a spot in this year’s program!” 

So I saved the champagne, and I waited.

I had applied for the same residency a year before while living in New Zealand (and shortly thereafter, got rejected). When I got the email politely saying, ‘No, we don’t want you’ I hauled up in bed with a pint of ice cream, some sappy movies, and had a good day or two of tears. It felt like the universe was saying ‘no’ to my dreams. I questioned my art and my business. I thought about giving it all up. I eventually got back on my feet, but it took a while.

This year when I got the same rejection email, I slumped in my chair a bit, took a deep breath out, shrugged it off, and got back to work.

Not so ironically, that day I launched a new collection of artwork. I sold a painting and a bunch of fine art prints. I also joined a group called The Creative Collective, lead by one of my favorite artists, Elle Luna. I had plans to go on a weekend camping trip with my best friend and our pups. Turns out... it wasn't the end of the world.

There was a huge mental shift from last year’s rejection — my life, happiness, and perceived ‘success’ did not revolve around this one decision. Sure, there are tough moments, and sometimes it can feel like a slog, but I’m doing it. I’m giving it all I’ve got. And that’s worth more than any outside approval. That’s something to celebrate.

Most likely your dreams won’t just happen to you. You’re gonna get a thousand ‘no’s before one ‘yes’. What counts is what you do with the time in between. Do you wait, and stash all your hope in the one ‘yes’? Or do you keep after what you love anyway, choosing to wake up every day and take another step?

I’ll answer that for you.

You walk on. You celebrate the little victories. You choose not to mourn the so-called losses, because they’re really just setting you up for an even greater gain. You believe ‘no’ is really ‘yes’ in disguise. You choose to show up fully today. You don’t wait for someone else to validate your dreams.

You pop the damn champagne.

Later that week as I packed up my van for our weekend trip to the mountains, I grabbed the bottle of champagne off the bottom shelf. It was time to celebrate what I should’ve been all along — the courage to show up, the grit to do the work, and the gumption to not give up.

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**PRINT GIVEAWAY!**

In eager anticipation of the upcoming September art launch (stay tuned for that!) I'm giving away TWO signed prints. It's easy to enter: Go over to my Insta post HERE and tag an #atwildwoman in your life who will receive the second print if you win! Winners will be picked at random this Friday morning.

In case you're wondering who the #atwildwoman is, here's a bit about her:

She’s happiest in the mountains or by the sea. She doesn’t run from her heart, she listens to it. if you burn her to the ground she will rise from the ashes every time.

She’s in no hurry but can be restless. Her hair is usually messy and heart so big. She will never beg you to stay. She knows everything will be okay.

Her real home is deep in the forest. She takes her coffee black. She’ll wake before the sun one day and dance until it comes up the next.

She searches for truth. She doesn’t need your validation. She can be a loner, but if you see the fire within her, she’ll be the most loyal companion you could ever find.

Tag a friend and enter the giveaway HERE!

Remember why.

Almost every time I'm out in the mountains there is a moment of pain or exhaustion when I ask, "Why?".

Sometimes I even say, "I'm never doing this again" or "I'm never going back there". 

Yet every time, without fail, my body recovers and I find myself yearning for it all once again. And I remember why. 

I'm movin' out! [of the studio]

I want my own art studio.

That's been the dream for years. I've painted on virtually every floor in my apartment, on hotel room tables, in the van I lived in for 8 months, on dirt back roads, and in my friend's metalworking garage. I've accidentally splattered paint on furniture and once even ruptured the top of a tube, leaving a splotch of teal on my studio apartment ceiling (goodbye, security deposit).

But oh, to have my own art studio — what a dream!

Me n' Dew, first day in the studio!

I finally realized this dream recently when I moved into my first ever art studio in Denver. It had everything I'd hoped for — high ceilings, lots of natural light, white walls, and cement floors that wouldn't mind the mess.

All this, yet I moved out a mere 2 months later.. with an open mind and no regrets.

Here are 6 reasons why.

Art = business? 

I had a mindset shift after moving into the studio. Suddenly my art (which, don't get me wrong, I love to sell and make money from!) became more of a business. I've tossed this notion around a lot in my mind. It could be an upper limit problem (ie: I am not allowing myself to turn my art into more of a money maker), OR it could be that it just wasn't the right time, OR it could be that I simply don't want to put pressure on my art to provide for me financially in any capacity. All I know is I didn't like the way it felt. Creativity comes much more naturally to me when it's free from any expectation. I am still trying to figure out the balance and what works for me, and in the meantime I will simply pay attention to what feels light.

Money.

I'll be honest. At this point, I simply don't feel comfortable spending that percent of my income on an art studio, especially one I am not in love with. I believe in abundance but also in being responsible and realistic. I could pick up another side job to afford the studio, but I don't want to do that. The predicament felt constrictive, and I didn't want to be worried about making rent every month.

Simplicity's sake.

This might sound silly, but I've noticed that my state of mind is often closely related to the number of keys on my key chain. At the time I had five sets of keys — my van, apartment, art studio, coffee shop job, and my cousin's apartment where I would pet sit her dog a few times a week. I was running around constantly, going from my apartment to the studio to my cousin's to the gym to my boyfriend's house, all in one day. I prefer to take every day slowly and feel rooted. By eliminating a few 'keys' I've found a pace that lets me breathe.

Community.

While everyone at the studio was super nice and welcoming, it wasn't the environment I was looking for. Almost every time I went into the studio it was empty. I would prefer to be in a more energetic, collaborative environment where artists are also business-minded, because strategy and vision gets me going, too.

Inspiration.

Like many artists, I often find inspiration striking at random times. While I live by the quote "Inspiration is for amateurs — the rest of us just show up and get to work" (Artist Chuck Close) I would also like to be near my tools during those inconvenient moments, like at 3 a.m. or in the shower. That's why I think a home studio might suit me better.

Office vibes.

I know this is totally on me, but the studio quickly felt like office, probably because I spent 9-5 there nearly every day. This circles back to the money. I wanted to make sure I was taking full advantage of having the studio and not wasting it away — another reason why a live/work space might better suit me. I like having the two blend seamlessly so it doesn't feel like work work, if that makes sense.

I say all this not to dash your own dreams of moving into an art studio, but to realize that sometimes reality does not match up to our expectations, and that's okay. It's okay to change your mind. It's okay to go back on your plans. And, perhaps most importantly, I think it's okay to have expectations and to be excited about what you think it could be.

Life, and art, is one big experiment. You try something new, you notice how it feels, and you keep going or you pivot. There is no shame in pivoting, rather, I think it should be celebrated! You are evolving and learning, and that is kind of the whole point of this life, isn't it?

I am still open to moving into another art studio one day. And next time I will know what is important and be able to make a more informed decision thanks to this experience.

I would love to hear about your dreams, plans, or realizations. Do you have a studio? Do you want one? Feel free to share in the comments!

The life of an artist.

There is a whole part to being an artist that we don’t talk about much.

The feeling, the opening, the brutal joy and pain behind the colors, the lines, the strokes. A creative life is just as much about feeling as it is about making.

I’m slowly learning this vicious, gorgeous cycle:

Live. > Feel ______. > Create. Repeat.

For me, during those "feeling" times I have to allow myself to go inward and not create. Instead I have to protect and myself to process so I can leave my heart on the canvas (or paper, or google doc).. when I'm ready.

Problems arise when I don't take the time to feel. I get blocked, sick, and sometimes depressed. You HAVE to feel. You must sift through whatever muck is inside you. If you want your work to be real and vulnerable and have the chance to heal you and the world, this is the only way.

You have to live. You have to feel. It's going to suck sometimes. Let it suck. Let your heart feel pain. Offer it some tea and a place to sit for a while. Exist with it.

Take the time you need. Let your pens get dusty. Be around people who love you. Let them take care of you. Let them cook you dinner. Drink wine. Eat pizza. Listen to music and do that really ugly violent cry. Sit in your apartment staring at the wall asking "Why?".

Do whatever you need to fully feel whatever it is.

While you're in the throes, know that it will get better. You will stop crying. You will be able to leave your house again. You will start to see a little bit of light, but you'll still be raw. And that is when you go to the canvas, put your pencil to paper, and create. You leave your heart on the table.

You live, you feel, and you create. This is the life of an artist.

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new original work available in the shop!

A land you learn to love slowly.

“It’s a land you learn to love very slowly.”

I jotted this quote from Francis Mallmann down one night while watching his episode of Chef’s Table (for, like, the 20th time).

..a land you learn to love slowly.

I paused the show and let the words sink in. They felt like warm vanilla. Comforting and familiar, yet something I've yet to experience during my 27 years on this earth.

I moved a few months ago. Same city, new apartment. That felt weird. I’m used to moving a bit farther — across the country or an ocean. I have a knack for starting over. For burning it all down. I’ve never stayed for long, never rooted, never fought for love.

It's not that I'm bad at staying. I'm just really, really good at going.

But here I am, in the same city, flocking to the mountains a few times a week with the rest of Denver while Francis’ words echo in my head.

..a land you learn to love slowly. 

It’s easy to be inspired when you’re in constant movement, when things are fresh and new. It’s also fleeting, and I find myself looking for a new kind of inspiration, one that’s rooted and real and connects on a deeper level. One that can only come with time, with tears, with being willing to look again and again at the same person, place, or thing and see a new layer of beauty every time.

I want piles of canvas and papers around my apartment, all works in progress. I want inside jokes and a local coffee shop. I want my house to feel like home. I want a book collection and red wine with the windows open after a long day. I want a favorite crag, a backroad, the long way, becoming so familiar that I can anticipate every turn and twist, like the lines on his face and the backs of his hands.

I know how to burn it down. I’ve done it over and again. I believe newness has its purpose, its beauty. But I’m ready for something different.

What’s curious, what’s interesting to me.. is staying. Is being a part of something bigger than myself. Still seeing the world, being exposed to new ideas, different cultures, appreciating foreign lands, all while staying rooted in a place that grows on me, and I with it.

..a land you learn to love. slowly.

All things van life Q+A

I spent last week in Florida visiting my mom, where van life all began. Almost one year ago I bought a '97 Toyota Previa, ripped out the carpet and seats and installed some wood paneling (because #vanlife) and a bed, and hit the road indefinitely.

Over the past year you've asked some great questions on everything from where to park, to working while traveling, to what it's like being a solo woman on the road, so I've put some of my answers in one handy place for you.

Feel free to ask any additional Qs in the comments below!

A memorable night in Bellingham, Washington

LOGISTICS 

How did you make your van livable?

It really doesn't take much to live. A decent bed (although mine is way too small and I'd recommend building a wider bed instead of a long skinny one). Some storage room. A portable stove. A water jug. And even some minor elements like a plant (yes, a plant.. in a van), candles, and essential oil air freshener. All of these bits made the van feel more like a home.

Where are the best places to meet people and camp?

Climbing crags, for sure. If you're not a climber, any campsite in a small community will at least put you around people. I find it hard sometimes to be super outgoing, but it's up to you to make the sometimes painful small talk to meet new friends! People are nice. Just say hi, and I guarantee you'll be roasting s'mores and laughing over a beer together almost instantly.

Did you keep track of expenses/materials when building? If so, can you please share?

I did.. at first. Toward the end I got too worn down to keep it up, but I did create one post here about the basics — stripping the van down and installing insulation. If I had to guestimate, I'd say I spent around $500-700 on the build-out alone.

Do you have power in your van? If so, what do you use?

I do not have power in the van. If I did, I would probably use a solar setup. I've heard good things about GoalZero.

What's the best option for someone seeking van life, who wants fresh veggie storage? Do I need a solar panel and battery setup?

Yes, you will need a power supply if you want fresh veggies readily available, and an electric cooler or fridge. Or go to the grocery store every 1-2 days. Not having fresh food was one of the biggest challenges for me on the road. But I eventually got into the habit of shopping every couple days, and it wasn't the end of the world.

What's one thing you wish you had in your van that you currently don't?

Headroom! I wish I could stand up in the van. I think it would change the entire experience of living on the road. Maybe one day I'll upgrade to a larger van or install a pop-top... 
 

FINANCE/BUSINESS

Do you have any advice for getting freelance work?

Oh, do I! This should be its own post, really, but my biggest tips would be to consistently put your work out there — on your website, Dribbble, Behance, Instagram, etc.

Create something every day, even if you aren't sharing. The more you produce, the closer you will get to finding your niche, voice, aesthetic. Nothing substitutes for showing up every day and doing the work.

How do you stay caught up on your work load?

On the road I love to set aside full days for one particular activity. Maybe Monday and Tuesday will be work days, where I'll buy a few coffees and work at Starbucks for 8+ hours each day. Then Wednesday will be a travel/driving day. Thursday and Friday will be outdoor days, where I'll explore a new place or go for a hike or climb.

The schedule will change every week, but I've found this is the best way for me to stay focused and really soak up all van life has to offer.

Is it hard to do artwork in the van?

Yes. While I was on the road I hardly made any artwork, especially paintings. Most of the creative stuff I did was digital, because it was easy to contain and didn't take up much space. 
 

THE INTERNAL JOURNEY

Have you faced any difficulties along the way?

Absolutely. More than I could even describe succinctly. Loneliness; depression; anxiety.. I am a highly introverted person, but by living in my van alone I discovered that, for me, life is meant to be shared (and not just virtually or over the phone) and the desire to feel loved and a part of a community does not make you weak.

How did you deal with the hard times?

I did a lot of internal work around self-compassion and empathy. Toward the beginning of my 6-month trip I viewed loneliness as a sign of weakness. It took almost the entire trip for me to realize that it is okay for me to feel.. any way I feel. Instead of judging my emotions, I learned to let them be. Consequently, their grip on me gradually began to soften.

What's the best part about solo travel?

For me, it's the deep lessons and realizations I have about myself and the world that I wouldn't experienced otherwise. There's no running from yourself when it's just you on the road

How did you feel most of the time? 

To be honest, it was a rollercoaster. One moment I was driving down the coast, windows down, feeling good and free, and then next I'd be alone parked in a strange neighborhood, looking through photos of my old cat and crying. Van life was not all rainbows for me, but I know it was exactly the experience I needed to have at that point in my life.

When I get back on the road, I am confident that it will be different because I am different.

Would you consider yourself a solitary person?

Yes! I am definitely an introvert, although since being in Denver for the past four months I've realized how important real-life community is to me. I am happy to now call Denver my home-base.

What was the main reason behind deciding to do van life?

My long-term boyfriend and I had just broken up and I was moving back to the United States from New Zealand. I didn't have a real place I felt was 'home' or where I belonged, so being on the road seemed like the perfect way for me to explore new places and get my feet back on the ground again.
 

AND, FINALLY

Do you have any general thoughts or advice for someone considering van life?

Have no expectations. Photographs alone make van life look lovely, and it is — sometimes. But try not to be a romantic about it. You could take to the lifestyle and absolutely love it, or it might not be for you. Let the experience shape you and take you where it wants. Just go with it!

Also, on a more logistical level, remember that van life is not actually about living in a van. It's about the experiences that living on the road can afford you — nothing tying you down; being able to see new parts of the world whenever you want; waking up in the outdoors; meeting new and interesting people and learning from them; spending more time around campfires and out in nature than most people get to in their entire lives.

This is for you when it's 1 a.m. & you’re in crisis mode.

Last night a good friend video called me from New Zealand. It was 9:30 p.m. in Denver, 5:30 p.m. in Wellington. I sat in bed under a thick down comforter with a cup of tea, while she was still wearing a striped summery top after just getting off work. Her hair was much longer than last time we Skyped — almost seven months ago — but the conversation picked up like we’d seen each other yesterday, as it always does.

The only photo Sophie and I have together.. clearly we need to jump on the selfie train next summer.
Photo by Jasmine Gibbins.

We had a purpose for our call — to plan a trip for next summer. For almost a year we’ve talked about a backpacking/climbing adventure of some kind, evident by our Trello board filled with photographs of dream destinations like Patagonia, the Yukon, Peru, Norway, links to relevant must-read books and must-see movies, and potential dates.

It took us about five minutes to decide. Greece, August and September 2017. It will take some planning and a lot of saving, but we are confident and thrilled. I stayed up until 1 a.m., lying restlessly in bed, reaching for the phone to text her every time I pictured us high on the monoliths of Meteora, deep water soloing over teal Mediterranean waters, exploring the country’s ruins, and eating our weight in Baklava and fresh olives.

Then. Came the anxiety.

How am I going to afford rent and this trip? Could I end the lease and live in my van for the summer to save money? I pictured parking in someone’s driveway or out in the woods alone, driving up the coast and maybe spending the summer in Squamish.

The anxiety kept building. I remembered the loneliness, the depression and anxiety, the stress of running my business on the road, the yearning for community — for some kind of rooting and space that felt safe.

I became mad. Mad at myself and the universe for coming back to this feeling I’ve felt so many times before.. paralyzing anxiety. When will this be over? When will the stress go away for good? What will it take?

I fully reverted to crisis mode — the way I’d existed almost the entire time in the van. I began sussing out details in my spinning mind, still in the dark on my bed alone. My breath quickened and I tossed back and forth. Eventually I fell asleep, but in the morning the same nagging fear greedily grabbed at my heart.

I made a pot of coffee and sat on my bed and cried, disappointed that I again arrived at this place — not knowing what to do, frozen by anxiety and fear, worried about being alone on the road again and feeling lost and sad.

That’s when I realized it doesn’t have to be this way. Just like in climbing, the fear will never go away. And it’s silly to think that one day it will. Instead, to move forward and fully be in any experience, you have to shift perspective. 

Anxiety, stress, fear — those feelings will always surface as long as you are growing, reflecting.. living. And that’s a good thing. Maybe if I saw these emotions as a marker for evolution I could be less traumatized by them.

Instead of the goal being to rid myself of fear and anxiety, what if I instead tried to diminish its effects, finding healthy ways to cope and feel the feelings, fully aware that as long as I am alive, there will be discomfort at some point?

Stress isn’t special.

Isn’t that a relief? Remember that every time fear or anxiety peaks into your consciousness. Instead of panicking, greet it like an old acquaintance. Oh, you again. Okay, how can we work together this time? Maybe then, when we can be compassionately accepting of its presence, we will actually begin to strip it of its power.

---

The Winter Collection is LIVE. Order your prints by Tuesday, December 20 at 12 noon MST (2pm EST/11am PST) to get 'em in time for the holidays.

A poem: Awake in the desert.

The winter desert bites.
My right hip juts in the sleeping bag,
thinning what little fibers cover it anyway.
.
So small, we rest under a towering red earth
Red like blood, like rosy cheeks, a too-ripe peach
Like so many things, it is and we are, too.
.
Freezing temps, tears, and a thumb nail cut too short
shake me out of the dream’s belly
that anything is ordinary.
.
I’m awake! I remember!
to love truly, to ask questions
to live in a state of miracles
to lie on the floor next to you
and say how we are.
.
Isn’t it spectacular?
Alive and seeing each other, finally
It takes a nip from the desert to remember.
.
Wonder is here, or near, and strung together
by the knowing that it never stays
It fleets — the cold, the tears, the arid love.
.
I eventually fall back asleep.

Happy birthday, #atwildwoman. Here are 24 things she's taught me.

Exactly one year ago I rode my awkward old Raleigh two-speed bike to the Wellington Library. Despite it almost being summer, the New Zealand capital was cold and windy, and I ordered a flat white while staying bundled in my big down jacket and scarf.

I sat at a table in the library cafe and pulled out a drawing pad. I had no idea what I was doing — just playing around with pen and paper, like usual — and sketched the first-ever #atwildwoman.

This is her! The first #atwildwoman. My, how far we've come.

In case you are unfamiliar, here is a bit on who the #atwildwoman is:

She’s happiest in the mountains or by the sea. She doesn’t run from her heart, she listens to it. If you burn her to the ground she will rise from the ashes every time.

She’s in no hurry. She can be restless. Her hair is usually messy and heart so big. She will never beg you to stay. She knows everything will be okay.

Her real home is deep in the forest. She takes her coffee black. She’ll wake before the sun one day and dance until it comes up the next.

She searches for truth. She doesn’t need your validation. She can be a loner, but if you see the fire within her, she’ll be the most loyal companion you could ever find.

After that first drawing I felt a huge personal shift. I pictured what it'd be like to travel solo. I took it upon myself to explore the outdoors without my boyfriend. I spent 30 days drawing the #atwildwoman in different shapes and sizes and discovered she wasn't just one person, but a spirit of gumption and wildness that lives in all women. And I learned her existence may not be apparent, but she’s there, perhaps covered under layers of stories, half-truths, and fear.

So much has happened since that day in the library. I moved back to the US, became single again, built out a minivan and lived in it for half the year, dealt with depression and anxiety, and continued uncovering my artistic voice.

I don't think I've fully realized the impact of the the last year. Surely I will be unpacking the lessons for months and years to come, but..

Here are 24 quick bits I've learned over the past year of creating the #atwildwoman.
 

1. When something makes you feel, follow it no matter what.
2. Some friendships aren’t meant to last forever.
3. Never feel embarrassed for being ‘too much’. Be proud to go all in.
4. Internet and long-distance friends are lovely, but a real life community is crucial.
5. Death is inevitable, and truly living is optional.
6. You don’t have to quit your job or constantly be on the move to live spectacularly.
7. There is no shame in depression, anxiety, or any other mental issues. Awareness and acceptance will help them lose their grip on you.
8. You don’t NEED a man (or woman), but it’s okay to want one.
9. Don’t waste your time forcing what isn’t flowing.
10. You don’t have to be afraid to be a woman alone in the world.
11. Trust your instincts about everything, especially people.
12. Be careful projecting your hopes for a relationship onto someone. They are not necessarily that person you're hoping for.
13. It’s okay to work less and earn less. You can also work less and earn more.
14. Lots of little things turn into big things. Just start.
15. Keep at least one art form ‘sacred’ — don’t focus on profiting from it. Just do it for the love.
16. Visualization is one of the most powerful practices in crafting a life you love. Do it every day.
17. Fear lives under hate. Dig deeper.
18. Ego isn’t to be fought, but embraced.
19. It’s important to have relationships and conversations with people who aren’t just like you.
20. You deserve to realize that you can do the thing you want to do.
21. Trust is essential to happiness.
22. Holding on is a kind of poison.
23. You can’t always think your way into the right decision. You’re going to have to just start at some point.
24. Burning things down is easy, building them up is hard.

I would love to hear if you've been following along since the first #atwildwoman. What does she mean to you? Has she impacted your life in some way? Feel free to share below.

And as always, thank you so much for your constant support over the years!

With Love,
Amanda