Desperation and Destiny: The Gift I Never Wanted - Part 2

I just finished my very first art class with 15 women my friend Diana brought to my brand new studio—a building on my property that was just finished two days prior. We were down to the wire and spent several long nights getting ready for the first workshop. Teaching people mixed media for the first time was exhilarating but also nerve-wracking.

I officially have my first workshop under my belt, so…now what?

I need to keep running classes to actually have a school. I can't teach just one class and tell myself that I followed the divine plan dropped into my spirit at my kitchen table four months ago. I have to actually give it my best effort to launch a legit art school. But I have no idea where to begin.

I decide to email my friends on my personal email list and tell them that I just opened an art school and have room for a few students who want to learn mixed media painting. Diana already told me that she wants to keep learning and plans to come to my next class. I’m happy I have at least one student.

I hit “send” on my email telling my friends that they should come to my studio from 6-9pm on Wednesdays, and I will teach them how to create mixed media paintings for $50 a week, all supplies included.

That was it. Words. Not even very specific or descriptive words. I didn't know how to make a proper offer back then. I assumed everyone would feel fine coming for three hours indefinitely to learn how to make mixed media paintings, whatever that meant.

I didn’t show them any pictures. I didn't describe the mediums like collage, textures pastes, acrylic, spray paint, etc. I didn't tell them what skills they would learn. I gave no guarantees, I had no Q&A, no buttons to click—just a simple call to action of “Email me back if you are coming.”

Collage and Chaos

I’m happily surprised when seven people email me back right away saying they’ll be there! I have a real class!

I get some canvases and materials together, and I’m ready for class on Wednesday. I plan to teach collage the first night, thinking they can start three canvases and work them all together. The idea is to prepare three canvases each and get them all going. I always work that way and don't like the idea of them banking all their success on just one painting. I don't have source material for them or ideas of what to paint. I’ll leave that up to them.

I explain to them that we’re going to start with collage paper and then move on to acrylic washes, add some mark making and spray paint, then finish the pieces with oil, working all three pieces at the same time.

They look at me terrified.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Well, it seems like a lot. I think we feel a little in over our heads,” my friend Diana explains to me.

“Oh! You do? It’s ok, you’ll be fine. I’ll show you what to do. It will be ok,” I encourage her.

“Think about the subject you want to paint and try adding your collage in a way that works with your subject.”

I get a lot of blank stares. I realize I didn't prepare them or tell them to bring photos of what they want to paint, and I have nothing to offer them. We are truly winging it. I start to feel uneasy and unsure that I can break down what I know in a way that will help them create a nice piece.

We continue on these three paintings over the next few weeks, and into our fifth week they finally have their paintings finished. But I haven't prepared for what’s next, so I tell them we should start three more paintings and keep going.

By the following week, I’ve lost two students and gained none. The class is down to five, but we keep going week after week on Wednesday nights.

When my class drops down to three students, Diana gets her husband to come. I often ask them what they want to learn, and they sort of look at me unsure, so I just keep going. I’ve emailed all my friends, and I figure the only ones who want to learn art are here. There really isn't much word of mouth with my three or four steady students, so I have no real way to grow. I feel unsure about everything.

Running on Empty

It's the end of July now. I’ve started to really dread Wednesday nights and get a pit in my stomach when I think about the students coming. I don't feel like I’m bringing them much value. I don't know what to do with them. I don't know how to stretch them or make them grow and progress. I’m completely stuck.

I decide I’m probably the worst art teacher that has ever walked the earth and begin to think this art school was a terrible idea. I am miserable and just want to do my own thing without the stress of Wednesday night or losing students or not being able to get new ones. I just want to paint guilt-free.

Now that I’m an “art teacher,” I’ve agreed to help Beverly with a weekend seminar. She is going to teach about purpose and destiny, and I’m supposed to lead them all in an art project. She picks me up and asks, “You excited!?”

“Not really,” I say glumly.

“What?! Why? You sound upset.”

“I don't want the art school anymore. I think I’m going to quit,” I tell her.

“That doesn’t sound like you,” she says. “What’s going on?”

“I just dread teaching. I only have three students all year. They still make so-so art. No one is progressing or growing. I don't know how to get more students. I’m just basically a bad teacher, and I don't know what I’m doing.”

“Well, that's no reason to quit!” she tells me.

“Beverly, what do you mean it isn’t a reason to quit? I’m terrible. I can't do this. I don't know how to have an art school. I think I only have the three students I have because they are friends and feel sorry for me. I’m not made for this. This wasn't even my idea.” I don't like the way the conversation is going.

“Look, first of all, you are right this wasn't your idea. I remember it being God who told you to open an art school. I don't think his plan for you is to fail or quit. I think his plan for you is to change. All you have to do is change what you are doing.”

“Like what?” I ask.

“How do your classes go right now?”

“My classes? You mean my one class with only three people in it? They come every Wednesday night from 6 to 9, and they just work on their art, and I try to help them.”

“You mean there is no start to the class or end to the class? There is no specific project that when they are finished they feel accomplished and know exactly what they learned? Well, I don't think I would come to your class either. Do you have a website?”

“No.”

“No website? You don't actually have an art school to quit from then. You need a website. On your website, you need to have pictures of a project or piece of art they will make. You should have a written description of the skills they will learn and the materials they will use. You should write out the step-by-step process they will learn and give them handouts when they come.

"Take lots of pictures, get feedback after the class, and post the results for everyone to see. Find a super social extroverted friend, and tell them to come to your art class. They will love what they paint and tell all their friends.”

I feel a small light begin to flicker in my mind and dispel the self-doubt and frustration. I start to realize I really didn't go about things the right way. I didn't give myself a fair shot at this art school thing. A tiny seed of hope begins to take root, and I see possibilities.

Planning the Pivot

“I want to teach artists, not just friends that want to expand beyond scrapbooking. How do I find artists?” I ask.

“I don't know. Where do artists hang out? Where do they gather together?” Beverly asks me.

I realize the best place to find artists is at artist groups, guilds, and communities. The Phoenix area has tons of them. Every senior living center has art groups with tons of retired artists who have plenty of time and money for art classes.

My mind starts to explode with ideas. I could organize the classes according to medium. I could teach oil classes, acrylic classes, and drawing classes. Instead of trying to teach them everything I know in three paintings, I could create classes that specialize in just one technique. I could practice the technique so I’ll have a sample painting and advertise the sample so they can see what they will learn. Then I would for sure know how to teach it, because I just did it.

I think Beverly can sense I’m starting to open up to the idea of change.

“Look, there is no way God miraculously gave you that building and told you to start an art school without having a plan to help you succeed in it. But you have to change your attitude. You have to partner with God and ask for help and ideas, and know where you need to change. Something like this doesn’t come easy without personal growth and relying in God for everything.

"Elli, in all the years I have known you, you are NOT a quitter. You are fighter, and you don't give up.”

She’s right. I take all her words to heart and decide that my first step is to shut down Wednesday nights and tell my three students I’m reopening in September with new classes. That Monday at the end of July, I determine I’ll give myself a month to build a website, practice with sample pieces, and contact artists’ guilds to relaunch in September.

I commit to three different classes a week that will run for two or three sessions one week apart. I fill my website with a schedule that runs through Christmas and have fun thinking up all kinds of different classes and making all of the samples. I spend the whole month preparing.

From Empty to Abundant

I relaunch at the end of August and ask all my friends to help me get the word out. I contact all the artists’ guilds and email as many artists as I can find in Phoenix from various artist rosters. I’ve probably contacted more than 1,000 artists and invited them to join art classes at Milan Fine Art, which is the name of my website.

To my shock, all of my classes fill up in the first month and are already paid for online. I can't believe that I have more than 100 students just like that! Suddenly I love the idea of teaching and have all my steps figured out for each project. Now teaching is fun! I enjoy meeting all the new people, and they love their classes and their finished pieces. I have repeat customers and start to add even more classes because people complained they couldn't get in.

I get invited to speak or demonstrate at a bunch of artists’ groups and guilds, which brings even more students! By Christmas, I have more than 300 students! I manage to balance my own painting with the scheduled classes, and John and the kids help me stretch canvases for the classes and organize art supplies.

One year later, a dream comes true, and I start an art supply store within the studio. My deep love for art supplies and getting to have as much as I want is realized by just opening a wholesale account with an art supply distribution company. Countless artists are inspired and have their zest for life renewed by taking art classes.

Fuel for the Future

Over the years, this school has touched many people’s lives, freed many from a full-time job they didn't like, and brought many into a life of destiny and purpose. But in my moment of crisis, I had no idea the future consequences of wanting to quit. I had no idea that there would be repercussions. I was just frustrated, buried in self-doubt, and lost my vision and my hope. Quitting seemed easy.

What if I didn't tell Beverly that day? What if Beverly didn't talk straight to me? What if she had just empathized and told me, “Yeah, it's hard and frustrating, and I understand why you want to quit.”

Quitting can cause some of the most dire consequences. Quitting is truly robbery. It is death to destiny.

Quitting, giving up, throwing in the towel, are all signs of a complete loss of hope. Hope is the fuel in our tank. We must keep watch of how much hope we have and continuously foster and nourish it so that it grows. As hard as it might get along the way, your destiny is worth it—for you, and for those who will come after you. Whatever you do, never let your hope tank go empty.

What is something that has filled your tank with hope?

Share your story in the comments below!