Seashells, Fridge Magnets and Dog Portraits
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I was six when I painted my first collection. We'd come home from a summer at the beach with a bag of seashells, and I decided they could be more beautiful than they already were. I painted over a hundred of them in acrylic.
When my aunt saw them, she couldn't believe it. "Maira," she told my mom, "you should sell these at the flea market! You could make good money!" My mom brushed it off. I remember wondering why. It was the first time I thought about what other people saw in my art, and what it might be worth.
The fridge magnets
In first grade, my art class painted in the style of Henri Rousseau. Mine came out so well it ended up printed on fridge magnets and coffee mugs. I asked if we could sell them. Mom hesitated again.
Looking back, that's when it clicked: make something more beautiful and it becomes worth more. Shiny things get noticed, and I liked making shiny things.
Art or business?
A teacher pushed me into a gifted and talented arts program, where I learned perspective, color theory, pointillism and still life. By high school everyone wanted to know what I was going to be. Some days a chef, some days a private detective. When it came time to choose, I turned down one of the best art schools in the Southeast and went to business school at the University of South Carolina on a scholarship. When life gives you green lights, you hit the gas.
I don't regret it. Money and art were always my two loves. People at church said money was the root of all evil, but we still needed it to fix the leak in the bathroom ceiling. My parents worked hard for every dollar, and that stuck with me.
Art kept showing up
I minored in art, and it leaked into everything: my presentations, my branding, the way I talked to people. Then the pandemic hit, classes went online, and I painted more than I ever had. New themes, bigger risks, a style that finally felt like mine. Some of my best work came out of those years.
My first real sales were dog portraits for family and friends. I still think about them. They were proof this could be more than a hobby.
Nesquik and whole milk
I don't see art and business as opposites anymore. Art makes things worth looking at. Business gets them in front of people. ACARRi is where the two finally meet, like Nesquik and whole milk: fine on their own, but together you get something rich and chocolatey, made purely for the pleasure of it.