Nine No’s and a Tribute to Greece
What an Artist Residency, a Goat Herder, and Apollo’s Oracle Taught Me About Listening
The Yes After Nine No’s
In 2023, I got the kind of email every artist dreams of: “Congratulations, you’ve been accepted.”
What I didn’t share at the time was everything it took to get there. Before that yes, there were six rejections. After it, three more. Nine in total—one shy of my goal of ten (because if you know me, you know I like a tidy arc).
Each rejection made me wonder if I even had any talent as a painter. Each application forced me to dig deeper. And when the yes finally arrived, it was for an artist residency on the island of Skopelos, Greece.
Seems the Europeans like me better than the Americans. Honestly? I can’t say I don’t feel the same.
What Do You Paint?
The first thing people always ask: What do you paint?
Seems like an easy question, right? Not for me.
As a scenic artist, I’m used to replicating exactly what I’m given—renderings, reference photos, mood boards. My job is to create what’s in front of me and make it look real. I get paid to bring someone else’s vision to life, and I love it because it’s storytelling through paint.
But when the residency application asked me: What do you paint, and why?—I froze.
Because my own work? That’s a different story.
The Bet
The truth is, I didn’t even get back into painting for myself until 2015. My husband handed me a photo he’d taken on one of our road trips across the U.S.—a broken-down red Ford truck in front of a shuttered antique shop in WaKeeney, Kansas.
“I bet you can’t paint this big,” he said.
He knew me too well. The surest way to get me to do something was to tell me I couldn’t. So I painted it. And it became a weekly ritual: he’d bring me one of his gorgeous photographs and say, Bet you can’t paint this. And every week, I did.
The photos below: The ones on the left are his images/designs. The hand painted image I did is on the right.
It was kind of a Warhol move—he liked seeing his photos blown up, and I liked making him happy. Which made me happy.
Then he was diagnosed with stage four cancer.
The disease consumed everything—his body, our time, our creativity. He died within five months. I didn’t pick up a brush again for almost two years.
When I did, it was to finish the last photographs he had left for me, starting with Your Smiling Buddha. Eventually, I ran out of his images. And that’s when I found myself obsessed with navigation. Compasses, maps, unknown space. Obviously, I was trying to find my way through life. Painting those symbols became therapy.
It was those navigational paintings that ultimately got me accepted into the Skopelos residency.
I love when life circles back like that.
Packing & Planning
I’m the classic “if I’m already here, I might as well go there too” traveler. On a map, it all looks close, right? So I tacked on a week at the beginning and end of the residency.
The plan: fly into Athens, ferry to Milos for a few days, then Santorini, then on to Skiathos, and finally out to Skopelos for the residency. The mainland would wait for the tail end of the trip.
A Month on the Island
It’s impossible to capture a whole month of life in one post, so I’ll give you the highlights.
Skopelos was all blue and green and donkey paths. Every morning, I hiked the trail to the studio, breathing in thyme and sea air. For the first time in forever, I had nothing to do but paint.
In three weeks, I made over 40 pieces of art. A book. A ridiculous bra-and-sock-rigged time-lapse. I sold postcards to travelers. I met monks, beekeepers, potters, taxi drivers who doubled as tour guides. I wandered the island and shared a moment with a 93-year-old goat herder in the mountains that I’ll never forget.
It wasn’t glamorous. It was real. And it changed me.
Back on the Mainland
Leaving Skopelos for Athens was like walking into another frequency. Islands have their own clocks, slower, quieter. Athens pulsed and hurried.
I checked into my hotel and glanced at my phone—there was a message from my Russian friend, the one I’d first met in Alaska and last saw in Romania.
“Are you in Athens? I am too!”
An hour later, we were drinking wine, laughing, reminiscing about Alaska, life, and everything in between.
The next morning, I finally visited a place I had dreamed of for years: Delphi.
Delphi: The Center of the Ancient World
Delphi isn’t just ruins on a hillside—it was once considered the navel of the earth, the place you went to ask Apollo himself what to do with your messy, complicated life. (And believe me, I had questions.)
Back then, people trekked across mountains and seas to consult the Oracle—the Pythia—who was basically the original “let me check in with the universe for you.” She spoke in riddles, priests spun her words, and kingdoms rose or fell based on her prophecies.
Today, what’s left is the Temple of Apollo, a theater, a stadium, and a view that convinces you the gods did hang out here.
Standing there, it didn’t feel like a ruin. It felt like a reminder: sometimes you already know the answer—you’re just waiting for permission to listen.
Coming Home (The Real One)
Here’s the thing: I dabble in all things metaphysical and holistic. That’s not just philosophy—it’s how I live, how I create, how I navigate.
When I think back to Skopelos, to the donkey paths and thyme-scented mornings, to Delphi’s silent stones, and even to that serendipitous glass of wine in Athens with my Russian friend—I realize this trip wasn’t just about making art. It was about remembering how to listen.
Rejections, grief, residencies, oracles—they’ve all been breadcrumbs on the same crooked path. And the truth is, I don’t think we’re ever really “lost.” We’re just recalibrating.
For me, metaphysical is the North Star, holistic is the map, and the compass is how I keep turning toward what matters—even when the terrain doesn’t make sense.
Skopelos gave me stillness. Delphi gave me clarity. Coming home gave me practice. And together, they reminded me that every detour, every pause, every yes and no, is just part of finding my True North.
And maybe that’s the real work: not figuring it all out, but trusting the compass inside us to point the way.
Here’s my advice: stay true to your North—even if it looks a little skewed. You can’t mess this up, because it’s your path, and it was made for you.
Curious about Greece? Don’t ask the Oracle, ask me. Post your questions in the comments.
A Photo Montage for my Paid Subscribers
Below is the visual journey through Athens, Santorini, Milos, Skopelos, and Delphi. I like to think of it as a highlight reel because I took so many photographs and videos. I hope you enjoy!