Lately, things at the shop have felt full in a way that isn’t easily labeled as good or bad. Just full.

We’ve expanded into new product lines. We’ve brought in new artists. Classes have grown in ways I couldn’t have predicted a year ago. At the same time, some long-tenured vendors—people who helped shape the early days of the shop—have chosen to move on.

That combination alone brings a lot to the surface.

What makes it harder is why some of those departures happen.

The shop is doing well. In fact, we’re doing significantly better than we were this time last year. But not every product moves at the same pace. And for some makers, their work simply isn’t selling the way they hoped.

That’s a uniquely painful thing in a creative business.

Because these aren’t just products. They’re ideas someone believed in. Skills they spent years learning. Things made by hand, with intention. When those pieces don’t find buyers, it doesn’t feel like a slow sales month—it feels personal.

And then there’s the contrast.

Seeing the shop and studio thrive while your own work sits can create a quiet ache. Not because anyone did anything wrong—but because success, when it’s visible and close, can unintentionally amplify disappointment.

I hold a lot of empathy for that.

At the same time, there are moments that force reflection. Recently, a neighboring business expressed frustration with how well our classes have been doing, suggesting we should pull back, raise prices, or cancel certain offerings to make room for others.

I understand where that fear comes from. Small business is personal. When things feel tight, it’s natural to look sideways instead of forward.

But it’s also where things get complicated.

When we moved into this space, we were intentional. We committed to not competing directly—and we’ve honored that. We don't carry the same core products. The products in our shop are handmade and our vendors do not sell in other stores in the mall. We don’t teach the same core projects. We don’t replicate formats. We built something different on purpose: a place where people can try new mediums without intimidation, learn from the ground up, and feel welcome even if they’ve never picked up a tool or brush before.

Our classes didn’t take off because we undercut anyone. They have taken off because we offer many different classes at price points that are not prohibitive for people to learn something new. We work hard to keep them affordable and we pride ourselves on that. They have taken off because our instructors are the best. They are inclusive, welcoming and they don't gate keep. When people show up they feel comfortable. They learn. They come back. They tell their friends and family about us.

And still, I find myself sitting with the tension.

How do you grow while holding compassion for people whose work isn’t moving?

How do you honor relationships without shrinking the very thing you worked so hard to build?

Where is the line between being a good neighbor and abandoning your own momentum?

I don’t have clean answers yet.

What I do know is that this space exists to support creativity—not just in selling, but in learning, experimenting, and evolving. And growth, even when it’s good, can be uncomfortable when it brushes up against someone else’s struggle.

I’m still sitting with that.

More soon.

Jen