We were lucky to catch up with Kate O’Neill recently and have shared our conversation below.

Hi Kate, thanks for joining us today. The first dollar you earn is always exciting – it’s like the start of a new chapter and so we’d love to hear about the first time you sold or generated revenue from your creative work?

The first dollar I ever earned as a creative is probably not truly the first dollar, but I had a lot of early artist “growing pains” trying to get into galleries and artist collectives as an emerging artist. I grew up in South Florida around so many talented artists that when I moved to Philly I was excited to learn the scene- but immediately realized I had underestimated how easy it would be to simply ~get in~ to a gallery. After many dead ends and cold emails, I partnered with a small group of artists in Old City, Philadelphia where I got to hang up, sell and take down at once-a-month pop up shows. One day as I was packing up after a night of not making anything, trying to shove a whole bunch of canvases into the back of my Honda Civic coupe (God, do I miss that car!) someone walking down the street saw my work from inside my car and asked if I was the artist. Of course, I sheepishly responded yes and was just expecting a ”that’s neat!” but the man offered to buy the piece off of me, offering me triple what I had priced it at in the gallery pop-up. I asked if he’d wanted it packed up- I had like, two sheets of bubble wrap and a dream at this point- and he politely refused and marveled at the piece as he walked away. He caught up with some friends at the corner and was like, “guys- look at this!” and that was the last I’d heard from him. Back in those days I used to write my email and website on the back of pieces, and I’ll always wonder if he knew how much that purchase meant to a young, slightly disappointed artist and how incredible it made me feel to be able to stop someone in their tracks on the sidewalk with my work.

Kate, before we move on to more of these sorts of questions, can you take some time to bring our readers up to speed on you and what you do?

My name is Kate O’Neill, also known as K. O’Neill, and I’m an emerging abstract artist from Fort Lauderdale, Florida. I moved to Pennsylvania for college and live in Philadelphia now, but will never shake the roots of South Florida (and why would I? 954/561/305, baby!). I began painting by taking art classes at Coral Springs Art Museum when I was 11 and got the chance to meet some incredible artists while I was there (I met Romero Britto when I was 12 and there’s a very embarrassing picture of me to prove it). I’m currently halfway through a doctorate in psychology, but my own mental health issues have really fueled my art. I like to think it’s like a voice for the voiceless, and as someone who has a hard time talking about her feelings (yes, I realize the irony), my art is where I reclaimed mine. My work is a lot of emotive faces, powerful manifestations of feelings I, myself, have tried to express in words and have failed time and time again- it’s one thing to say to someone you’re angry, and another to show the complexity and power and vulnerability associated with it on a 36” x 48” canvas (you feel me?). I’ve enjoyed my time being an emerging artist- I think in a way, I’ll always be “emerging”. I hate the concept of getting too comfortable and not pushing boundaries, but right now I’m just trying to do my best to explain how I feel, what I’ve felt and what I want in a language so overwhelming that I can’t speak- but I promise I can show you instead.

I’ve had a couple shows in the Northeast (NJ, NY, PA), but I’m excited to finally have my artist homecoming in South Florida from October – December at Art Fusion Gallery in Miami.

What do you find most rewarding about being a creative?

So this is a really personal response to a pretty tough question, but the most rewarding experience I’ve had so far happened during my first solo show at this tiny gallery in Philly. I set the whole shebang up, the show itself was titled “Lift Me Up” and it was such a pain in the butt to pull off. Not because there was a lot of work in setting up, but because the show itself was created to be this massive “FU” to my experiences of trauma across my lifespan and really be this like, victory to celebrate against my own mental house struggles and battle with PTSD. Sound good, right? Well here’s a minor issue my brilliant psychology-major-in-undergrad (this was before I took it fifteen steps further and sold my soul to grad school) didn’t consider- trauma, doesn’t just “go away” when you decide you’re tired of not being able to sleep or jumping at the slightest sounds. Sure, you can conquer battles but what I hadn’t considered was that healing isn’t linear – I’d thought I was doing fantastic when I proposed the show idea, only to get into a car accident and send myself ten steps back in my own mental spiral and boy, did I spiral. So here I was, in a room full of people who came out to see a show about resilience and victory over trauma, having an anxiety attack. Yes, a full blown anxiety attack about being an imposter- being a fake artist who is not as healed as she thinks she is, putting on a show for people who think she is. Yea, I know. So, anyway, while I’m standing in the corner thinking about how my entire life is a sham and I’m the worst person imaginable, wondering if the people who have shown up can see my sweat or the shaking in my hands, a woman walks in and up to one of my biggest pieces, “Cassandra”. I’m standing near her, falling to pieces because I suck at hiding my poker face when I’m panicking, and she just starts crying. Crying. Like, tears- crying. And I’m like, “hey, are you okay?” – immediately pulled out of my head because like, wow I didn’t think my work was bad but, like, maybe this woman was like, “this is garbage and I walked all the way here to see this”. But no, she turns to me and is like, “I feel this. I know this feeling. I haven’t met the artist but I saw online a description of her show and saw this piece and knew I needed to come and see this piece” and God, did I f*cking freeze. I introduced myself and told her exactly how I was feeling, the sh*t I’d been going through, and how terrified I was and sorry if I let her down. Can you believe this random woman just hugged me and thanked me? She said that she hadn’t connected with a piece like she had with mine in a long time and thanked me for the vulnerability. So yeah, nothing will ever, ever too that moment. Easily the most rewarding experience of my entire career is being able to connect with people in a way deeper than words alone can do. It’s incredible to see anger, hurt and complex blends of emotions all thrown together in a piece and I will cherish this ability to share my work for the rest of my life. It’s one thing to be talented, and another to be an artist. This experience changed me forever, I often think of it as the day I became an artist.

What’s a lesson you had to unlearn and what’s the backstory?

So I’d be inauthentic if I didn’t take a moment to inform readers not to fall to the same sh*thole logic that I did- sure, this isn’t art related but chances are if you’re reading this, you’ve experienced something that has changed you (and maybe some of you, something that has changed you not for the better). Maybe something that impacted your mental health and made you question if you’d ever feel like “you” again. And maybe here’s the part that might get me blacklisted from ever being interviewed again (worth it) but you probably won’t be the version of you that existed before the bad thing that negatively impacted you, before the trauma. We don’t like to talk about it but you might be a version of you that you might not recognize, that might feel like putting on clothes that are too small or too big and scared of a world that didn’t help or protect you. Trauma doesn’t mean you need to be the best at something or look your best or feel your best so you can “win” or “heal” or “beat” whatever trauma happened to you. I wish I’d figured that one out earlier, it would’ve spared me a lot of feeling powerless all over again when I started to spiral. All you can do is your best, all you can do is be patient. You might not be the same person, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t healing. But mind you, as much as we want it not to be, healing is an active process. Take account how you feel, pay attention to yourself and your thoughts, and give yourself the power to ask for help if you need it. You don’t need to push yourself to ruin to conquer an experience that has hurt you. You just need to be brave enough to admit when enough is enough and change your approach.

If you or someone you know is having thoughts of hurting or ending their life, the national hotline is available 24/7 and totally free: 1-800-273-8255.

Contact Info:

• Website: koneill.art