We recently connected with Heather Rison and have shared our conversation below.
Heather, thanks for joining us, excited to have you contributing your stories and insights. We’d love to hear the backstory behind a risk you’ve taken – whether big or small, walk us through what it was like and how it ultimately turned out.
As an artist, I’ve had a few day jobs over the past 15 years — jobs I felt I needed to pay the bills, but that also taught me skills related to my craft. What I really want to talk about, though, are the risks I’ve taken each time I decided to quit those jobs and pursue art full time. I’ve done this three times in 15 years, and it’s terrifying every single time.
Taking the leap away from stability is filled with dread and fear of the unknown. Sprinkle in anxiety, obsessive over-planning, and the crushing belief that you’re not ready — not good enough — and you end up burning yourself out, forcing things that aren’t flowing. Fear convinces you to hold back from approaching galleries, entering shows, reaching out to collectors, or trying something new like starting a YouTube channel or simply talking about your art online. You overwhelm yourself trying to do everything at once, and you end up doing nothing at all.
I want to talk about taking a real risk — a leap of faith into the unknown. In today’s society, choosing to live without a backup plan or a roadmap to some guaranteed destination is radical. You have to survive the judgment of other people, the pressure of appearing productive online, and the quiet, gnawing feeling that if you’re not making sales, you’ve already failed. Making your own path isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s for the courageous, the rebellious, the artist who feels a part of themselves slowly dying inside — suffocating under the weight of conformity and stability — rather than doing the harder, scarier thing and jumping off that cliff into the mist.
The first time I left my day job, it was a rough landing. I started working for another artist, which imploded within two or three months. After that I was doing odd jobs for friends — restoring vintage dressers, painting rocks around a pool, driving Uber when all else failed. Then I got kicked out of my house. I ended up in Hawaii for two months, house-sitting and watching a friend’s cat while they were away. From the outside, my life looked like a total disaster. Honestly, it kind of was — and it was making me feel like I was losing my mind.
But I had jumped off the cliff, and I was flailing, desperately trying to control the fall. The universe, it turned out, had a completely different plan. It seemed like everything had to come crashing down so that I could finally let go — surrender control and step into something greater than anything I could have mapped out for myself. I had to release fear. I had to shed a version of myself I thought I needed to be in order to succeed. I got to see every way I try to force things to happen. I got to face my fear of not being ready, of being truly seen. I stared down the terror of running out of money, of being homeless, of living in my studio — and I survived it. I landed on my feet. I learned that I am enough, that I am supported by something far greater than myself, and that no matter what, things have a way of working out.
I was living off savings, credit cards, and Uber rides. But one thing led to another, and I found myself working for another artist for the next two years — until, once again, everything collapsed at once. My relationship of two years ended. I got fired. My lease was up, and I couldn’t afford the apartment without my partner. Another crossroads. Another chance to take the risk I’d attempted before but had been too lost, too confused, too afraid to fully commit to. This time, it was time to truly go for it.
Months passed after I moved in with a friend, months spent just trying to bring my nervous system back to baseline — grieving the relationship, grieving the job, adjusting to a new living situation and the chaos of starting over. It probably sounds like an absolute disaster. And in many ways, it was.
But if I hadn’t risked losing it all — if I hadn’t let every one of my fears come true — I would never have discovered what I’m actually made of. The growth has been seismic. I stopped caring what I looked like or sounded like on camera. I stopped being afraid to be seen. I stopped hesitating at gallery doors or shrinking away from shows. I stopped believing the lie that I wasn’t good enough. The fear of not having enough money to eat or keep a roof over my head? Gone. I reached out to a gallery — and got in. I applied to five different art festivals — and got into all five. I started putting myself and my dreams first, instead of letting fear run my life.
I’m still a work in progress. But I know with absolute certainty that without risk, without failure, without the courage to keep going anyway — I would never have built the confidence to truly go for it. I would rather live a life full of wild ups and devastating downs, constantly growing and forging my own path, than die slowly at a nine-to-five, never once moving toward my dreams.
As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your background and context?
I have always been creative, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve been utterly fascinated by the human form and human expression. Maybe it started with Barbies when I was a little girl, or maybe it was the fact that my parents were completely comfortable with nudity — normalizing the body long before I ever picked up a brush. I’m not entirely sure where my obsession with people began, but music has always been woven into it. I loved music in high school, and to this day, I find myself drawn into a painting by a single lyric.
I’m naturally pulled toward subjects that challenge me, and the figure is one of the most demanding, humbling, and rewarding things an artist can attempt to convey. I started painting people almost accidentally — capturing strangers at the music festivals I frequented in my early twenties, trying to freeze a moment of pure human energy on canvas. Something clicked. At 25, I made a decision that would change everything: I packed up my life in Sacramento and moved to Salt Lake City to study under the remarkable artist Jeff Hein. That was 2011.
Sixteen years later, I’m still in the beautiful, relentless process of finding my artistic voice. But look closely at the body of work behind me, and you’ll see I’ve always had something to say — visually, emotionally, undeniably. The only thing that has truly changed is the precision of my hand and the confidence of my execution. I still paint my interpretation of life through my own lens — my struggles, my hopes, my hard-won realizations — and I hope that somewhere inside each piece, other people can find a version of themselves looking back
Have any books or other resources had a big impact on you?
Here are a few people and books that have helped me a ton as an artist. There are many more but here are just a few that I think are important to follow, read or listen to.
James baldwin- an artists struggle for integrity on YouTube
Dan Koe- on substack or YouTube
Creative minds YouTube- YouTube Channel
The war of art by steven pressfield
The creative act, a way of being by Rick Rubin- This book really changed my mentality and my confidence, it’s a must read for any creative!
What do you think is the goal or mission that drives your creative journey?
I believe I am a channel — a vessel that uses my unique perspective and expression to convey universal themes that help others reconnect with themselves. The word channel confuses some people, so let me explain: to me, it means a direct, unfiltered connection to self and to something greater than the self. I wasn’t raised in any religion, and spirituality wasn’t something handed to me — it’s something I found, built, and claimed entirely on my own terms over many years of living, failing, creating, and listening.
My mission, at its core, is to connect people to a higher power — or at the very least, to nudge them closer to themselves. To create a moment where someone pauses, feels something they can’t quite name, and allows that feeling to crack them open just a little. I want my work to give people permission to go to the places inside themselves they usually avoid — to express what they care about most deeply, to find beauty in their own complexity.
The truth is, most people struggle to express themselves. Going inward is uncomfortable. Vulnerability feels dangerous. But I believe it is the sacred duty of the artist to hold up a mirror — to surface the truths, the shadows, and the ideas that mainstream culture isn’t quite ready to face yet. To push. To provoke. To gently but boldly dare the viewer to look at their own reflection and reckon with what they see. That is where real change begins.
Art is not a passive experience. At its most powerful, it is deeply personal, completely individual, and quietly transformative — different for every single person who stands in front of it. That is exactly what makes it one of the most powerful forces in the human experience.
Contact Info:
- Website: Www. Risonart.com
- Instagram: @risonart
- Linkedin: Heather Rison
- Youtube: Risonart
