As I prepared for the art market, choosing which prints to bring felt almost impossible. I had no idea what would sell — or if anything would sell at all.
It had been several years since my last market, but I was excited to be back. I packed my car at 7:30 a.m., unsure if a single person would buy my work. Still, I showed up.
My first sale was electrifying.
It was a photograph I captured in Australia — a group of young Black teenage boys standing along the Great Ocean Road, framed by miles of ocean and steep cliffs. The image holds so much for me: freedom, culture, presence. Seeing Black culture reflected in a place like Australia felt powerful.
When someone stopped, studied it, and chose it — it meant something deeper.
We talked about the ocean. About travel. About how rare and beautiful it is to see yourself represented in unexpected spaces. They connected with it. They felt it. And then they bought it.
That is why I do what I do.
Photography, for me, isn’t just about capturing a moment. It’s about sharing my experience — and watching someone else see themselves inside it. It’s about human connection. Conversations with strangers. The vulnerability of placing tangible pieces of my photography on a table and hoping someone values them enough to take them home.
I sold seven prints and one framed piece today.
Honestly, that surprised me. At art markets, you’re lucky to sell one or two. But the energy was different. The conversations were rich. People lingered. They asked questions. They wanted to know the stories behind the images.
One of the most meaningful conversations I had was with a woman named Courtney — a retired Air Force nurse who radiated both warmth and sharp business insight. She was explosive with ideas and encouragement. She purchased a print of an African headpiece I photographed years ago. That exchange felt bigger than a sale — it felt like alignment.
By the end of the market, I was exhausted — physically drained from standing, talking, and being “on” all day. But the adrenaline of connection kept me going. I didn’t want to pack up.
Selling prints is different than posting photos.
When someone chooses your work in person, it’s intimate. They hold it. They imagine it in their space. They ask about where it was taken. They invest not just in an image — but in the story.
And it changed how I see my photography.
My work isn’t just meant to live on a screen. It’s meant to travel. To sit in someone’s home. To spark conversation years from now.
This experience reminded me: art markets aren’t just about selling.
They’re about showing up.
They’re about connection.
They’re about allowing your story to meet someone else’s
