A trip to Santa Fe became the beginning of a tradition: seeking out local art while traveling and bringing home pieces that hold the memory of a place. That experience still shapes how I think about art marketing. Sometimes people connect with a piece not only because of what they see, but because of the place, memory, or feeling it helps them return to.

Years ago, when I worked at Good Morning America, I tried to pitch behind-the-scenes segments because I believed viewers would love seeing what happened beyond the cameras. I couldn’t convince anyone at the time, but later, when the show did more of it, people loved it. That experience still shapes how I think about artist marketing: people are curious about what happens behind the curtain, and artists have some of the best behind-the-scenes content.

After one month of focusing on my art marketing practice, the results were not dramatic or viral. But they were real: more followers, more views, more interactions, and less dread about showing up. Sometimes the first signs of growth are small — but small signs still mean something is happening.

When artists start showing up more consistently online, more people can find them — including the wrong people. Scams aimed at artists feel especially cruel because they mimic the very thing artists are hoping for: genuine interest, appreciation, and opportunity. But the lesson isn’t to disappear. It’s to keep showing up with more discernment.

A sustainable marketing practice is not built on never taking a break. It is built on knowing how to return. Whether you are coming back from vacation, illness, injury, or a busy season, the first step does not need to be big. It just needs to help you begin again.

For a long time, I imagined marketing could feel more like studio time. But I’m starting to think studio time needs to stay studio time. Marketing may become more sustainable when it has its own place in the practical rhythm of life — so it supports the art practice instead of stealing from it.

Exercise teaches us that consistency does not happen by accident. It takes structure, support, encouragement, and a rhythm we can return to. Marketing our art works the same way: not as a magic trick to master, but as a practice you build over time.

Pricing our art is rarely as simple as choosing a number. Costs, materials, market context, audience, career stage, demand, and confidence all play a role. This post explores why there may not be one perfect pricing formula — and why starting thoughtfully, paying attention, and adjusting over time may be the better path.

Pricing your art is not just a calculation. It is also a strategic decision shaped by your goals, your market, your confidence, and the value of the work itself. This post explores why pricing is part of your marketing practice — and why a thoughtful price matters more than finding one perfect answer.

“How long did that take?” can feel like a simple question, but for artists, the answer is rarely simple. The value of original art is not measured only in hours. It also includes skill, process, materials, meaning, decision-making, and years of practice. This post explores how artists can help people see the value behind the finished piece.

Showing up can feel hard not just because of the task itself, but because of the emotion attached to it. This piece explores why artists often avoid marketing—and how repetition can slowly make it feel more manageable.

A workshop with the Durham Art Guild gave Sue Pendleton a thunderbolt of clarity: artists aren’t just struggling with fear around marketing — many are searching for the easy button. This reflection explores why ENSOhello is shifting toward helping artists build a sustainable marketing practice, one small guided step at a time.

Selling art can feel far more vulnerable than making it. In this essay, we explore how connection can serve as a bridge between creating and selling—and why leading with love, story, and shared meaning may make sharing art feel easier.

What if spring cleaning is less about getting rid of things and more about seeing clearly again? In this essay, our founder reflects on the creative habit of reassessment—and why spring is the perfect time to ask what no longer fits.

Tax season has a way of making things real. In this reflective piece, Sue explores what it means to take stock as an artist and founder—and why, for creative minds, the numbers are only part of the story.

What if spring break did not mean going anywhere at all? In this reflective essay, Sue explores the quieter kind of break creative minds may need most: a slower morning, a view of the trees, and enough stillness for thoughts to rise on their own.

Spring can feel beautiful, energizing—and strangely overstimulating. In this piece, Sue shares how she’s borrowing a little deadline-driven structure from her television career, then softening it with creative-minded supports like “handrails,” “palette cleansers,” and visible progress.

That feeling when time disappears and ideas connect isn’t accidental. Psychologists call it “flow”—a state where the brain quiets self-criticism and enhances creative thinking. The more we understand what creates flow, the more we can design our work and our environments to support it.

Before stepping into the next phase of ENSOhello, I decided to try something different. Instead of ignoring my fears, I wrote them down—logical, illogical, rational, and irrational. What I discovered surprised me. The fears weren’t about failure or capability. They were much smaller and far more human. And once I could see them clearly, I could redesign my week in a way that actually worked with my creative mind instead of against it.

If your newsletter is suddenly landing in spam, you’re not imagining it. Google recently changed how it evaluates newsletters. Since it handles most email worldwide, those changes matter. This is a gentle overview of what artists should know and a few things worth checking, without getting technical or overwhelming.