Why I Didn’t Apply for the 2025 or 2026 Art Gallery Paint-In

I’ve been experiencing unresolved conflict with the Art Gallery of Greater Victoria since 2024.

In 2023, The Island Illustrators Society reached out to me. After 30 years of operation they had decided to close their doors. Knowing the society would soon dissolve, the society itself and two of its long standing members offered to use the remaining funds to help me put on an art show. They felt my story and work needed to be seen. With their help and guidance I applied to a gallery space and my show application was accepted. In April of 2024, I had my first-ever solo art show: The Wisdom of Wonderland.

Leading up to it, I did cold calls to police stations, a bunch of local mental health and addiction non-profits, Island Health, local high schools, recreation centres, news channels, and government officials, to both promote the show and to collect mental health and addiction resources so that those who came would know places they could turn to for support. My show was not for profit. Its primary goal was to encourage conversations around mental health and addiction. I gained sponsorship to pay for costs and enlisted volunteers to help me put up posters as well as to have emotional support available at the public talks I did (thank you to everyone who helped out—I couldn’t have done it without your support). I had a memorial wall at the show as well for those who’d lost loved ones to mental illness and/or addiction, so that we could honour them. At the time I also contacted the Art Gallery of Greater Victoria asking for support (not money). They ignored me. Later that same year, they turned down my application for the Paint-In.

At that time, I’d been a professional artist and mental health advocate for 13 years in Victoria. I’d only ever been turned down from the Paint-In once before and then I got in on the waitlist. I know some people think I took it too personally, but after everything I’d been through leading up to 2024, it stung. What stung worse, however, was knowing that organizations like the Art Gallery of Greater Victoria gladly profit off artists like Emily Carr, Frida Kahlo, and Vincent Van Gogh. I put out a blog at the time which prompted a huge conversation, including information coming down the pipeline that the musicians who preform at the Paint-In get paid while the visual artists pay to have a spot.

What’s now known as the TD Art Gallery Paint-In is Victoria’s largest art event. Since it’s beginning, artists in the Paint-In were discouraged from selling their work. There seems to be a long standing belief in our society that art is not to be made for monetary purposes—that there’s a selfishness in wanting to be paid in anything more than exposure for the work we do. I was grateful to hear that some thought this year’s Paint-In was too commercial as artists have a right to make money. We often have to print products or find other creative ways to monetize our work as (depending on the art form) it’s rare that selling prints, cards, and originals is enough.

After feeling ignored and then turned down from the 2024 Paint-In I decided that I wasn’t going to do it anymore, that I would not support the Art Gallery in profiting off me. I updated my will to include those changes: The Art Gallery of Greater Victoria may never own nor profit off my work or story.

My main income has been provincial disability since I was 18 years old. I’m not at a place where I can financially support myself off my artwork alone. I net $2000 last year. I’ve only been doing well in my recovery since 2023—since getting off the drugs, alcohol, and psychiatric medications, and I’ve still got health issues I’m working through. My life experiences have left me decades behind my peers financially. I don’t expect pity or support in that. Every day I go online and I see women being violated with no justice being served, fires destroying peoples homes and livelihoods, animals becoming endangered or extinct, and wars slaughtering innocent civilians. None of us have the capacity to care about every single injustice or pain that’s currently happening. The wars, the suffering, the hatred, and discrimination… it’s too much. I learned long ago that no one was coming—I had to save myself.

On the Saturday that the Paint-In was on I spent some time downtown. I made sure to give myself a meaningful day. I know some people think I value myself too highly, and I’m tired of organizations profiting off the suffering of artists like Van Gogh while offering them little to no support while they’re alive. The streets are filled with living Van Gogh’s trapped in mental anguish, addiction, and/or poverty.

For years I’ve watched people sell programs that can help others process or heal their trauma and I never understood it. If I actually had a way to ease the suffering of others, I wouldn’t sell it to you. I couldn’t. Everyday, here in the West, we see horrific broadcasts then ask “What am I going to have for dinner?” We see mass deaths or incarcerations then turn our attention back to the sports game. And, yes, it’s infuriating. It’s infuriating that so much pain and suffering are happening in this world because so much of it is unnecessary. It’s rooted in an economic system that prioritizes profit and consumption over people and the planet.

From a young age I suffered with very little help outside of psychiatric medications. Fortunately, I’ve also had parents who could afford to pay for monthly therapy and acupuncture appointments, yet a lot of what I’ve learned has still been on my own—it’s come from my desperate desire to be well. Having a family that can afford to provide me with therapy helps, and there’s many celebrities (amongst others) who’ve had a lot of money at their disposal and are no longer with us. I still had to get me here, and, yes, I’ve had many people support me in that, for which I’m grateful. I didn’t do this alone and I’m still not, I just didn’t get to where I am through the conventional system: Rehabs, 12-step programs, etc.

I can’t do what I do, as publicly as I do it, and not have people reaching out to me seeking a listening ear or some kind of support. It’s a package deal. I sell art—not recovery. And most of the time I sell nothing at all. I’m not in this for the money. The support work I offer, and have offered for 15 years, is free because it’s wrong to sell hope. It’s wrong to profit off the suffering of other people.

If my work and story can help ease someone else’s load then I’m grateful for that, and I acknowledge that we all need money to live as well. If we’re not supporting people to get out of poverty, which includes having their basic needs met, then we’re not supporting mental health and addiction recovery.

Over the years I’ve noticed a theme from both the arts community and the non-profit sector of mental health and addictions. Some non-profits offer the exact same services I do: Public speaking and one-on-one peer support, but they won’t hire me or support me unless I don’t mention my art and story because I’ve repeatedly been told that the work I do is self-serving. The term for that is “Virtue Signalling”, as it’s not actually about the work being offered, it’s about the label: ‘non-profit’. The executive directors and every single staff member of a non-profit organization still get paid.

Over the years I’ve learned that art organizations are equally hypocritical. So many don’t support other artists in making money as they consider it “self-promotion”, as if it’s the tiny entrepreneurial artists that are society’s most greedy, selfish, money-seeking people.

Naturally, our society is not set up to support entrepreneurship. When I briefly worked as peer support in healthcare I quickly learned that I was trained to be a replaceable cog in the wheel, just like every other staff member. We live in a society where giving to the poor is seen as virtuous but where creating a world that doesn’t need non-profits is seen as horrifically socialist or communistic, as if genuinely caring for our fellow human beings, other life forms, and the planet itself is an inherently heinous act.

Everything I do—everything I create—everything I share—is because I’ve suffered. I turned my Art and Advocacy into a “business” in 2011, when I was 25 years old, because I didn’t want others to suffer alone like I had. I felt ashamed and outcasted. I had to start talking about it, no matter how vulnerable it was. It was too much to carry alone.

My early days of advocacy were just like they are now: I shared my art as well as my writing, much of which was laden with pain, darkness, and sexual content. I also shared a lot of content from other people, as I was (and still am) continuously shaped and inspired by the works and creations of others. Some feel that this approach is selfish of me—that I’m using other people’s work to make myself known. I believe this a projection on their part; that it’s them who seek fame so they project their desires onto my name. I can only share and write what I know. From a young age I felt alone. I was prisoner of my own mind. When the Greyhound Bus Murder happened in Canada 2008, I knew I had to start speaking up. Now, I study the psyche. I’ve got two good friends who experience Dissociative Identity Disorder, which was previously known as Multiple Personalities. I’m in love with consciousness and thought—philosophy, spirituality, theology and psychology (though I’ve never formally studied any of it). It’s been a gift and an honour to meet all the beautiful minds that I have and do through my Art & Advocacy. All my work falls under the umbrella of “The Mind of Amy Frank” because I’m a philosopher. Facebook keeps telling me I can monetize my content but I won’t because I do share a lot of work that isn’t my own. I choose not to profit off the work of others as to me that would be unethical.

Every blog and writing piece I posted in the early days of my advocacy was like feeding my soul to the wolves (some still are). I’ve chosen to keep going because I began to receive an abundance of gratitude: Positive feedback on how my vulnerability was helping others feel less alone in their pain and experiences.

After working in healthcare for two years, I burned out. It was like being in an abusive relationship—the more I spoke up about feeling mistreated, the more of a problem I became. After I quit, I was amazed by how many professionals told me: “That’s just how the system works, Amy. It’s the whistleblowers that get punished. You don’t go up against the system.” I learned from that experience that I only have so much time and energy. In the early days of my advocacy I tried to respond to every DM, email, and phone call. I’d meet with every person who wanted to meet up for support or connection. In these later years, as I became single and the steps I took towards healing began to impact my physical appearance, men began harassing me. This taught me to implement boundaries around my time, availability, and what I was willing to reply to or engage in. I learned that compassion without boundaries is self-destruction—that I have to be able to say “no”. And I acknowledge that hearing “no” can hurt. Learning to set boundaries has been counterintuitive to everything I once embodied as a mental health advocate, which was to have endless compassion and tolerance no matter how somebody treated me.

I understand the pain of hearing “no”. When I was in active addiction and emotional struggle I interpreted the words “boundaries” and “standards” as cruel and judgmental. When I still smoked cigarettes and I’d meet people who didn’t want to date a smoker, I’d think “How dare you discriminate against me like that! You don’t even know me!! 😡” Other people’s boundaries and standards reminded me of the pains and struggles I was experiencing that I felt I had no control over. I didn’t understand that people had a right to choose what traits, behaviours, or qualities they’d like in a romantic partner, business connection, or even in a friendship—that this wasn’t discrimination. I also didn’t believe that I could change or recover. From a young age the system enabled my illness instead of supporting my healing. They taught me and others that love meant enduring harm instead of teaching me that I had the power to change my life, addictions, and behaviours. As I’ve pursued healing over symptom management, I’ve learned that I can’t abandon myself for others like I once tried to—that I have to protect my own energy and peace (to some degree) or I’ll burnout again and that burnout was scary.

After working in healthcare for two years, by 2025 I’d reached a place of apathy—as many of our healthcare workers have. Being apathetic was terrifying and dangerous as I didn’t care about the struggles or suffering of others anymore. I didn’t have any compassion left to give. I’m still healing from that burnout. I’m still deeply hurt by how I was treated by my old workplace. Humans are a communal species. We’re meant to live, work, heal, and play within community. Being in community is as much a part of our survival as food, shelter, and water. Burning out while feeling unsupported, bullied, and gaslit by coworkers and an organization that claimed they supported mental health was a brutal lesson in why it’s so important to fill my own bucket first and then to give to others from the excess.

I had a gallery reach out to me last year, personally offering me a space to do a solo show with them. In time I stepped back from the offer as it became evident that they didn’t actually value me or my journey—they were looking to profit off my name and story. There are many organizations and people who would gladly do the same—who don’t actually value the journey I’ve been on to be where I am and who I am today.

There are artists who create for money and then there are artists who create because it’s the only way we can keep on breathing. Our pages and canvases are filled with screams because it’s a means of survival. We willingly share our work because we’re just grateful that someone wants to look.

For the general public—it’s good. I want to help people. I’m grateful that so many find inspiration in my story. Nearly everything I post is public. I don’t expect reciprocity, that’s not why I’m doing it. I sell art—not recovery. And most of the time I don’t sell anything. Most of the time I’m ready to pack it in, to pull down my website and social media and vanish. I yearn it… I don’t crave being in the spotlight. I don’t crave fame and fortune—I crave safety, healing, health, and belonging: Having friends and a community that value and respect me, as I do them. As I heal it’s been disheartening to learn that seeking emotional safety (which for me means beings friends and colleagues with people who don’t engage in harmful gossip; don’t scream, belittle, name-call, ghost, threaten, avoid, or fawn during interpersonal conflicts, and instead can name, regulate, and communicate their emotional experiences in constructive ways) is akin to being a pipe dream.

Every time an election happens I watch political parties run smear campaigns. These are the people we choose to lead our country. I learned in kindergarten it was wrong to treat people that way. Meanwhile our schools run anti-bullying campaigns. Most adults in our society don’t know how to cope with their emotional experiences, let alone how to engage in disagreements and conflict in ways that strengthen our connections instead of breaking them, as most of us have never been taught nor modelled these skills. Emotional numbing is the norm: Drinking, drugs, sex, shopping, overeating, under-eating, self harm, television, gambling, pornography, video games, the internet, external validation, and smart phones. Workaholics do the best in our society, no matter how their avoidance style still harms them, their lives, and/or relationships. These vices can also be used to give us a sense of control in times when we feel we have none.

In 2019 until 2021 I went through what I believe was a spiritual awakening. It was a marijuana-induced psychosis that became a life altering journey. It was both magical and humiliating. Ultimately, it led me to where I am now: Off the drugs (including marijuana), alcohol, casual sex, other harmful vices such as shopping and overeating, as well as off of all psychiatric medications. It’s my spiritual journey that won’t let me pack it in. Each time I’m ready to throw in towel someone shows up expressing how grateful they are—how much they need me, my blogs, my art, my posts, and presence within their life.

I’m grateful that so many find my work and the things I share inspiring. That’s why I do it. That’s why I’m still here. It’s how I’ve learned to take my pain and suffering and transform it into meaning, which has aided me in my healing. For others though—for people who hold influence and power, who’ve been able to work all their lives and have a lovely home and cushion of money to lean back on—when those people also look me up, taking my hard-earned, excruciatingly painful lived experience and begin applying it to their own lives or services while not offering me any credit, support, or financial payment, then yes, that’s angering.

What I’m doing isn’t unique. We all know the healing power of art and there’s a lot of science that supports gut health and lifestyle medicine; I just happen to be on the pioneering end of the movement because of my lived experience. I had to find another way as I couldn’t keep living the way I was. The medication side effects were destroying my physical health to support my mental. Unfortunately, they ended up harming both as my mind, emotions, and body are interconnected—what I do to one impacts all of them. I had to find another way forward. And I still believe there’s room for both modalities. There doesn’t need to be a war between Western and holistic medicine—both have a needed place in healthcare.

Art is different things for different people. For some it’s beauty—purely aesthetic. For others it’s their livelihood—illustrations, graphic design, movies, music, fashion, books, and television (they’ve found a way to monetize it—Good on ya!!! 😍) Then for some, like me, it was (or is) the only way we know to keep breathing.

Long ago I learned that no one was coming to save me, that the only person who was going to save me was myself. As I’ve healed I’ve learned this is one of many harmful beliefs that our society has bestowed upon us—it’s an “every person for themselves” mentality that only benefits a select few despite the fact that we are a communal species. And many others have still bought into it because they’ve either been able to fit into the system—it’s worked for them—or no one came and helped them when they needed it so why should they help anyone else?

When Covid lockdown hit in March 2020, we saw the world implement impossible things on a mass scale. It’s not that changing the system and the way we live is impossible, it’s that those who hold the money, power, and influence aren’t willing. Those choices may be backed with excuses of how hard it would be or of all the reasons of why it wouldn’t work, and that doesn’t change that it remains an unwillingness, not an impossibility.

I’ll be okay no matter what. I trust I’ll find my way for my faith is in my own wings, not in the branch. Even if I died tomorrow and every piece of work I’ve ever created was destroyed I already know I’ve succeeded in all I came here for. I’ve laid the foundation whether I’m the one who’s building on it or not. I’ve planted the seeds—seeds that don’t require mine or anyone else’s tending to keep growing and spreading. Just like animals, plants, and trees, they know what to do without human hands having to guide them.

I understand that what happened with the Art Gallery of Greater Victoria probably wasn’t personal. To them, I’m a nobody. My emails may have been lost and the Paint-In always has a different jury. I know they have their own polices and procedures as well—standards they seek—just as I’ve come to have standards in business, friendships, and romance. What it comes down to now is that I’m no longer interested in applying for shows or spots in events. I can’t even apply to most art shows as I haven’t created large sellable/frameable works in years and everyone wants current stuff. Even if I did, I’m not interested in continuing to compete for the same reason that I won’t go back on internet dating: Because I’m public in my journey and have been around long enough. I trust that those who value me already see my worth.

Am I the most talented, inspirational, writer and poet?

No.

Am I the greatest visual artist?

Not even close. 😂

I’m not perfect (far from it) and I’ve worked hard to reach the level of self-love and self-respect that I have. I’ve crawled through the bowels of hell, yet on that journey I found the light—I found hope.

This isn’t only about the Art Gallery, of course. This about the art that changes our lives. It’s about the outcasts, the rebels, those who will never be on trend, who historically have gone against the grain and suffered deeply in their lifetimes for that, while in modern times we praise them. This is for the Van Gogh’s, the Emily Carr’s, the Frida Kahlo’s and so many more. This is for the female artists that were locked in insane asylums, whose names were erased from history, or painted over by more prominent men. This is for every artist who suffers or is currently suffering—whose pencil or pen or paintbrush is literally the only thing they have left to cling to, to keep breathing.

Every time you see a person experiencing homelessness, drug addiction, or is in a state of mental anguish I want you to think of me—of who I am right now. I want you to remember what’s possible when the right supports are offered. And, most importantly I want you to remember that much of the suffering that’s currently happening on this planet is optional. There's enough food and resources for everyone, but it’s not evenly distributed. When we deny people their basic needs—which include safety and belonging—instead, choosing to keep them in survival mode (be it physical or emotional)—we’re consciously choosing to create criminals amongst an array of other ailments. That’s the natural cause and effect of our current societal choices.

At a young age I was told that I sick, that I had an incurable mental illness stemming from brain chemistry, and that I would be sick for the rest of my life. I was told that all I could do was take medications and that hopefully that would manage the symptoms. What they didn’t tell me was that I was having a perfectly normal reaction to the experiences I was living through and to the world I was living in, based on what skills and supports I had at the time.

I sell art, not recovery, and these days I don’t sell much of anything. I don’t expect support but I do expect to continue turning every setback, detour, and bit of hate or negativity that’s sent my way into lessons and fuel for my growth. And You—You can expect to keep seeing me use my voice and whatever skills I have to build a better world for not only our future generations but for all life forms upon this beautiful planet that we call Earth.

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If this blog impacted you, please share it. And please note that I've sent it to my contacts at the City of Victoria as the City's been contracting me to teach art for them since 2024.

Just as I did last year when I wrote the blog: Why I Left My Job In Healthcare, I acknowledge that this blog moves into activism. For my own integrity I feel it's important I keep the City abreast on what I'm doing, especially if they're going to continue contracting me (which so far they've expressed that, yes, they'd like to when they move into their new temporary facility).

As always I send a lot of love, hugs, and healing to everyone. We're in this together. 🫂

Another Blog you may find worthwhile: The Mind of Amy Frank

Love,

~Amy (and Saba)