Lessons From My First Fiber Arts Exhibit

 This morning, I drove out to a farm in Maryland to pick up my fiber art pieces after my first-ever holiday artisan exhibit. The works—eight Maedeup necklaces and two Jogakbo handbags— had been displayed as part of the Countryside Artisans Holiday Art Tour.

When I arrived, the farm owner and organizer of this exhibit, Bev, greeted me warmly. A gentle smile gathered in the creases of her weathered face as she said to me, “No sale. If I may give you some advice, your pieces are so beautiful, but they need black backgrounds to show their beauty. Don’t be disappointed. Another artist who couldn’t sell for the past two years sold all this year. It’s all about display.” Then, she handed me my pieces, all carefully re-packed in the same bag I had dropped them off in a few weeks ago. 

Her comment stayed with me far longer than the disappointment of the moment. As I drove home with my bag of unsold work beside me, I realized: this experience gave me two lessons more valuable than any sale.

1. Display Shapes Perception—in Art and in Life

Bev’s comment reminded me that in art, presentation is not decoration; it is communication.

A piece can be beautifully crafted, full of intention and skill—yet still go unnoticed if the setting doesn’t allow it to breathe. A black background might seem like a small detail, but it frames the work, gives it contrast, and lets colors and textures speak more boldly. In a barn full of visual stimuli—wood, light, shadows, holiday crowds—that small adjustment could be the difference between blending in and standing out.

Isn’t this true beyond the gallery? A well-written idea can be overlooked if poorly delivered. A person’s strengths can be hidden if not given the right environment. A dream can stall simply because it’s presented before it’s ready. We display ourselves constantly—our work, our intentions, our values. Are we giving them a backdrop that allows them to shine?

2. Persistence Is the True Currency of Creative Work and of Life

Walking out with no sales was not the ending I imagined for my first exhibit. But Bev’s story about the other artist—two years without a single sale—was the reminder I needed.

That artist needs to try again. And again. And again. Until one year, the combination of persistence and a simple shift in presentation transformed the outcome.

Art careers aren’t built on a single moment of success. They are mosaics of resilience—formed through showing up in barns, galleries, community centers, and online spaces where our work might not sell at first… or at all. This exhibit was my starting point, not my verdict.

Driving back from that quiet Maryland farm, with winter fields stretching out under a pale sky, I felt something settle in me—not discouragement, but clarity: This was never just about selling pieces. This was about learning the landscape of the craft world. About meeting people who know the rhythm of these things. And about committing to the long path ahead.

Because in art as in life, no sale doesn’t mean no value. It means keep going—adjust, refine, persist. 

And perhaps that is the real artistry: the willingness to continue creating and living.