Why We Support Small Artists (And What It Means to Me)

Three Rivers was radiant.

Maybe it was the touch of cool in the morning air.

Maybe it was the crowds drifting past like migrating birds, each one carrying a story.

Maybe it was the way Covington itself seemed to exhale magic: buildings humming, trees leaning in, the whole place whispering, “Yes, yes, come on then, let’s see what you’ve brought with you.”

Or maybe it was simply this:

Every time someone stopped at my booth, it felt like a small miracle.

There’s something almost mythic about art festivals. You build your little world: prints, books, tarot decks, bags, wall hangings, dreams stitched into fabric and paper, and then you open the door and step aside. You let strangers enter. You let them wander. You let them decide.

It is an act of courage every single time.

And at Three Rivers, you all showed up. You stepped into my world, touched the strange and whimsical things I made, and said, yes.

Not always in words. Sometimes with a smile. Sometimes with a story.

Sometimes with money exchanged in a way that quite literally keeps the lights on.

Supporting small artists isn’t just a transaction.

It’s a little resurrection.

It says, I see you. I see the work you did. Please do more.

And goodness, does that matter.

Because when you support a small artist, you’re not feeding a machine. You’re feeding a person, one who stayed up too late editing colors, one who wrestled with Imposter Syndrome in a very public grocery store, one who carried strange worlds on their back until they could finally lay them down in ink.

When you support a small artist, you’re helping them tell the next story.

And speaking of new chapters, this coming week is a beautiful, chaotic parade of markets:

🌙 Thursday: The New Moon Market at The Smiling Dog

A cozy gathering under a sky that always feels like it’s listening.

🐘 Friday: The Pink Elephant for White Light Night

A place where the surreal meets the delightful, and where the unexpected happens just often enough to feel intentional.

🌳 Saturday: City Park, New Orleans

Under ancient oaks that remember every promise ever made beneath them.

If you’ve ever wanted to support small artists during the holiday season, this is the moment. We aren’t corporations. We’re people standing in the cold with thermoses of questionable coffee, hoping our art finds its way to the right hands.

We’re grateful for every glance, every purchase, every “your work makes me happy.”(And if you’ve said those words to me, believe me, I remember.)

Thank you, Three Rivers, for reminding me why I do this.Thank you to everyone who carries a piece of my work home.

And thank you, in advance, to everyone I’ll meet this week.

You are the magic that keeps the art alive.

And I can’t wait to see you again.

Meet Madame Claudette

For decades, Madame Claudette was one of the most respected mediums in the French Quarter, all velvet, candlelight, and quiet confidence until the night something answered her séance that wasn’t a spirit at all.

She retired after that, or tried to.

But when other parlors began going dark and something started hunting the city’s mediums, Claudette ran straight to the Krewe of the Morningstar, carrying a fear she couldn’t name and a debt she never meant to owe

These days, she keeps a low profile, but don’t let the soft voice fool you. Madame Claudette has seen what moves in the quiet places of New Orleans, and she’s one of the bravest souls in the Krewe.