My friend Millie told me a story awhile back that I want you to hear.
She went to an event at a community space in Bilboa. It is not a gallery. It hosts events for expats, mostly English speakers. The woman who ran it had been talking about how the space was new and they were still figuring out what they want to do with it. They were open to ideas.
Millie said, “I was probably the drunkest I’d ever been.”
This is my favorite detail. She wasn't operating from a professional script. She is standing there, tipsy, listening to someone describe an opportunity. And instead of nodding politely and going home, she opens her mouth.
“I was like, oh, would you be interested… what about hosting or doing an art exhibition?”
That is the entire move. A question. Millie is an artist and she merely asked a question.
The woman running the space said yes. They scheduled a meeting to talk about what it could look like.
Millie told me later, laughing, “So drunk me is on top of networking.”
I want you to sit with that. So many artists think they need to present themselves perfectly before they can ask for space. Rooms full of possibility pass by because they never make the ask.
Millie made the ask in a state that was far from polished.
They met. She explained she would be in the United States over the summer, so the exhibition would have to wait until fall. September became October. October became November. It shifted more than once.
When the date finally arrived, the conditions were not ideal. Because it is not a dedicated gallery space, they had the venue for less than a day. They set up a few things the night before. On the day itself, they could not start installing until 3 p.m. because there was another event in the morning. They took everything down that same night.
“It’ll be a line on the resume and it looks very official,” she said, “but at the same time it was very young.” She admitted, “We didn’t put that much work. It could have been cooler.” Then she paused and corrected herself. “No, it was pretty good though. It was chill.”
Here is what matters. People came.
“It was huge,” she said. “It was really nice.”
It was a joint exhibition, so their networks overlapped. Friends brought friends. Strangers wandered in. She met people she had never encountered before. Conversations happened that would not have happened if she had stayed home waiting to be invited into a more formal gallery.
Afterward, she realized something else. “I should have been telling people to follow me on Instagram or something.”
That awareness is part of growth. Hosting your own events teaches you where the gaps are. Next time, she will have a sign-up sheet. Next time, she will think about documentation in advance. Next time, she will approach the room with a clearer strategy.
This is how you build your own opportunities as an artist.
You look for spaces that are flexible. Community centers. Cafés. Hybrid venues that are still defining themselves. You propose a specific event. You offer to handle the programming. You promote it yourself. You treat it as legitimate. It is.
I know you are waiting to be asked.
You are waiting for someone to decide that your work deserves a platform. That someone else will assemble the room and handle the logistics.
Millie did not wait. She heard, “We’re open to collaboration,” and treated it as a door.
You will not always feel ready. You will not always be at your most articulate. You may be slightly drunk. That is not the point. The point is that you spoke.
Making your experience is choosing to move from passive participation to active creation. It is understanding that a creative career is built through repetition of this pattern: propose, schedule, execute, document, refine.
If there is a space in your city that hosts events but has no formal art programming, email them this week. If there is a bookstore that does not run readings, suggest one. If you and another artist share an audience, design something together.
You do not need ideal circumstances. You need a question.
“Would you be interested in hosting a reading here?”
Say it.
