SCARLET REAGAN WAS MEANT TO BE

by Kristi Kennimer

The truth is, I hold artists in such high regard, I have trouble calling myself an artist. Even after selling my artwork for more than 20 years. Even though I know I feel very in my element doing what I do. It's just that, when I see amazing art, I think to myself, "Now THAT'S an artist." Me, I'm just a hyper-creative quasi-inventor/designer/doer with an eye for style, creative patience, an abundance of inspiration, darn good technical skills, more ideas than I know what to do with, a penchant for meticulous quality, a deep understanding of color, lots of vision, and a true passion for design. A creative, maybe. But an artist? I wish. This is a such a good thing- it keeps me reaching higher.

Looking back, I can see that my current career is a mixmaster of my past experiences. I worked at a photography studio in high school, waited tables at a comedy club in college and painted on the side. I loved my post-college ad agency life, attempted the stay-at-home mom thing, but then found myself always taking commissions for set design, prop making, custom oil paintings, murals, interior design, commercial design, branding work and marketing materials. I love to work hard. And manual labor is in my blood.

I knew I was different in elementary school. My friends and I all found out whether we were left-brained or right-brained, but mine came back as whole-brained. I guess that's why I loved math. It comes in handy now as I run my gallery- I use that left brain to calculate scale, develop processes and run a business. And the right brain handles everything else. But none of my brain knows time. That I can't seem to conquer.

From fourth grade onward, I was lucky enough to be part of a gifted and talented program called SAGE (and later called TAG). My first SAGE teacher, Deanna Allison, changed my life. She taught me to tune in to -and value- the way my brain thinks.

I sold my first painting 20 years ago, but I had so many other passions. Advertising. Boys. Set design. Inventing. And eventually, momming. I hobbled through the 2001 and 2008 economic downturns and learned that no one buys art during a recession. Then I limped through a divorce and went on a quest for knowledge about happiness. These experiences enriched my character and prepared me for my eventual purpose.

To my surprise, I survived these valleys and many other failures along the way. As humiliating as they were, I eventually spoke directly to failure: "Bring it on." Now I look failure in the eye, fearless. It's actually all just the way you look at it. Failure is just a word that means you're not finished.

My life changed when I began to prune the bottom 80 percent. Of everything. Toxic friends, lucrative projects that didn't align with my vision, emotional baggage, and negative thoughts (thanks to Mo Gawdat's Solve for Happy). And that's when doors opened.

Soon after that, it became clear to me why I exist: to leave this world better than I found it by inspiring others through art. I didn't choose my purpose. It chose me. It's my duty to serve that purpose.

I never set out to own an art gallery. I have never felt comfortable in an art gallery. I saw them as sterile and pretentious. Gallery owners encouraged me to snobify my life. I would not. I often envisioned a more inclusive, familial art world where people would buy art they love without regard to what others like.

So when the opportunity came up for me to lease the space I have today, the business plan just poured out of me. Twenty years of thinking just synthesized in a moment.

It's been four years now, and the brand is growing. We recently opened a new store on Lovers Lane at the tollway in Dallas, and we are rolling out new product offerings one after another—I'm a missionary for my purpose. With a will like you wouldn't believe.

But I'm not doing this for me. Otherwise it would be called Kristi Kennimer Gallery. This is for future generations. There isn't enough time for me to grow this brand into what it will become. I'm just here to tee it up for the kids and for their kids. They're already working, actually. They know their shopkeeping duties, they create and assemble art, listen to guidance, accompany me on buying trips, edit videos, post, and so much more. I am so proud of their dedication. They will fly far beyond my reach.

This is why I do what I do.