Even though it’s exactly what I asked for, it’s still one of the hardest things to accept.
Most of the year, it’s just me in my office. Drawing cartoons. Painting wildlife. Wrestling with video software. Digging around for licensing leads. Sending cold emails to marketing departments already drowning in submissions. I know damn well that the first round (second, third, fourth) won’t get a response.
I try to game the subject lines, choose the right images, write the right words. Not too short, not too long, not identical to the last ten pitches they skimmed before clicking delete.
Rejection is part of the job. Silence is even more common. You don’t know if anyone even opened the email, so you drop a reminder in the calendar and move on until the alert pops up months later telling you to try again.
I write posts like this one, see the subscriber numbers, take some comfort that I have a very good open rate. Comments are rare, but emails trickle in after each edition of A Wilder View. It’s a slow burn, just enough air and heat to keep the embers alive.
Then I show up at the Banff Christmas Market or Calgary Expo, and suddenly the whole thing flips. Real people in real time. Compliments, conversations, connection, an inferno compared to the barely glowing coals of my daily grind. I never feel ready for it, and part of me is looking for a fire extinguisher in case I can’t keep up.
I see familiar faces. People who come back year after year, or just stop by to say hello. The other day, two people I recognized walked up while I was inviting someone to subscribe to A Wilder View. One of them jumped in to say she should sign up because she enjoys the emails as much as the artwork. That meant a lot. And they were carrying the Otter tote bag they bought at Expo earlier this year.
It was great to see you again, Sydney and Craig. Thanks for sticking with me.
I never quite get used to seeing the same people returning for more. Gregg, who first followed my work from Regina and now lives in Canmore, still buying calendars for himself and his adult kids. La and Brandon, who sent me a photo earlier this year of my Otter tote bag sitting with them on the banks of the Seine. Sally in Australia, who often places her sizeable order in the fall, and I cross my fingers it arrives for Christmas (got there in plenty of time this year). And new people like Marianne, who practically emptied one of my tabletop print bins last Friday so she could take prints, coasters and tote bags back to Louisiana.
In the first draft of this post, I listed dozens of names, people I now know because they’ve allowed me to make a living doing this. But it read like a conference roster, and the more I wrote, the more I worried about who I’d forgotten.
As my email list grows and more of you discover my art each year, I can’t remember everyone’s name, and it honestly bothers me if I have to ask you again when I see you. I worry it’ll look like I don’t appreciate the support, even though several of you waved that off over the past couple of weeks, saying nobody expects me to remember every name.
But I’d sure like to.
So, I hope I’ve made it clear, in person and here, how much I appreciate that so many of you spend your hard-earned money on my funny-looking animals. I’m glad they make you happy, or at least give you a smile when things feel heavy.
Because you do that for me.
Cheers,
Patrick
