We were lucky to catch up with Sara Tabbert recently and have shared our conversation below.

Hi Sara, thanks for joining us today. Are you happier as a creative? Do you sometimes think about what it would be like to just have a regular job? Can you talk to us about how you think through these emotions?

I would answer yes to both questions. I love the creative challenge of what I do, and I love the control and choice that I have over how I spend my time. I am learning, always, to work with the financial challenges of what I do. In some ways I am glad that I have never known what it’s like to have a full time “straight” job, salary, benefits. In addition, I have spent the past 23 years living with someone who is also self-employed. Sometimes it has felt like we are engaged in a high stakes game of chicken, but neither of us want to ask of the other what we’re not interested in doing ourselves. And we are lucky to live in a place where we can dial our lifestyle down when we need to in ways that doesn’t happen much elsewhere. Still, as we both get into our 50’s, and watch friends start heading into a phase where their lives involve a lot more security, travel, relaxation, retirement possibly on the horizon – it’s hard not to wonder about the path not taken. We’ve been responsible, but it will never be easy and absolutely not luxurious. At the same time, yesterday I took two hours in the middle of the afternoon to go for a bike ride on our winter trails. All we ever really have is the moment at hand. You can’t be endlessly indulgent in pursuit of this idea, but you also can do everything “right” and still end up in trouble.

Awesome – so before we get into the rest of our questions, can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers.

I am a studio artist working in my hometown Fairbanks, Alaska. I became interested in art midway through college, highly inconvenient, but thankfully the unlikely decision seems to have stuck. A seasonal job in Denali Park lured me back north while I was in graduate school in the Midwest, and after a stop for a couple of years in Montana I decided to keep moving north. I figured at that point I still had time to turn around, but I’ve been here since 2000, so I think I’m committed.

My work is based in observation and imagination, fueled by an interest in materials and a commitment to making beautiful objects. I’m a printmaker by education – and I always will make work on paper – but I am also very interested in working with wood and wandering around in a more sculptural space. I am also, by necessity, a small business person, exhibiting my work with galleries, selling work on my website, and recently, experimenting with a small in-person space that is open a couple of days a week. The last part is very new, and I can draw no conclusions yet, but recent response is encouraging. I am also an instructor, teaching workshops regularly with a local organization that offers classes to the community. Although I am something of a solitary creature I also truly enjoy working with other people and seeing them learn and grow creatively.

Everything I make, large or small, expensive or affordable, is done by hand, takes time, and is an original piece of art. I am, quite possibly against my better interests, committed to keeping it that way.

Let’s talk about resilience next – do you have a story you can share with us?

The past two years have been an exercise in staying upright in adverse conditions. In the fall of 2021, I lost my studio in an e-bike battery fire (note to all – this happens! Never charge batteries unattended!) The studio was a standalone building, built, outfitted, and paid for over many years of hard work. In one afternoon everything was gone – building, equipment, tools, work, my collection of art by other people. With a lot of help from the community, friends, and family (and thankfully, insurance) I was able to rent and outfit a workspace for two years while my partner Brandon, a builder, rebuilt the structure. It has been a mindbending experience and not one that I recommend. I knew that if I didn’t get back to work in the studio quickly, there was a good chance that I never would. I resist the expected story arc of “all things happen for the best” and that I’m “coming back better” – not true, either one – but you do learn useful lessons out of adversity and I’d be foolish not to pay attention. The fire has given me some freedom to restart and pursue changes in my work, as in, (quite literally) what do I have to lose? I am more aware than ever of how fleeting the lives of things we make can be, and I’m pretty unconcerned with the idea of a legacy. There’s something freeing about being able to say out loud that I might as well focus on enjoying all of this, make the things I want to make and I believe in, and help some others along the way. That’s ambition, that’s enough. The chances that anyone 20 years after my life ends will be interested in anything I’ve ever done is vanishingly small. You can view this as depressing or liberating, and I’ll take the latter.

We often hear about learning lessons – but just as important is unlearning lessons. Have you ever had to unlearn a lesson?

Contact Info:

• Website: www.saratabbert.com
• Instagram: @saratabbert

Image Credits
Artist photos by Brandon McGrath-Bernhard Artwork photos by Sarah Lewis and JR Anchetta