A Year Of Trust

The creative path is non-linear, and I persist.

Welcome to Multilayered, where I explore our connection with the living world, the quest for home, and the interplay of imagination, identity, and intuition. In this installment, I reflect on one year of being on Substack, sharing insights about social media, the realities of living and working as an artist and mother, the challenges of mainstream marketing, and the path forward.

Commissioned by Rebecca

It's been nearly three weeks since I logged off Instagram, and in that time, I've experienced deep healing, profound synchronicities, and a calming regulation of my nervous system. After eight years on Instagram, the longest break I took was during a 10-day Vipassana retreat and a week in 2018 when I was back home, hiking through a nomadic village in Bosnia, far from any reception. This time, however, feels different—more intentional, more aligned. 

Relying on Instagram for my livelihood and business no longer feels right. While I'm deeply grateful and privileged to have nurtured such a beautiful community there, I sense a significant transition unfolding in my life. Although this is just a break, I know the era of daily shares and dependency on Instagram is ending.

I feel so incredibly held and touched by all your support. Being here on this platform feels like a breath of fresh air—a true homecoming.

I've been carrying some fear and worry lately, as my sales have been low, and my little art business is going through rocky times. This past year has been the most challenging yet. Sometimes, I wonder what I did wrong—a habit, a response learned from a young age, where I feel everything is my fault. But the truth is, I've taken so many leaps, as is my nature, to "hurl myself into the abyss." Although there have been times when I've landed softly on feather beds, this time, I'm still finding my footing, suspended in that liminal space, searching for where to root.

So many leaps in such a short time. I launched The Meadow, my membership space that I dedicated two years to crafting while embracing the profound shifts of new motherhood. Yet, within just a few months, I had to close it. It no longer felt aligned; I lacked the capacity and support to sustain it. I also transitioned my artist name, known to nearly 300k people, back to my birth name, which profoundly impacted my sales and visibility. My fervent support for Palestine stirred strong reactions, resulting in refunds and backlash. And then there is the algorithm. 

In the midst of these transformations, I moved back to Canada after a series of relocations from Joshua Tree to Oregon to Joshua Tree again. We finally settled in Toronto, guided by hope and trust in our community and the universe. Just as we were about to resign ourselves to the difficulty of finding the right home for our family, a house in my favorite neighborhood emerged—a sign to stay, ground ourselves, and cultivate a space where we can envision and nurture a grander dream.

As someone with high PTSD, I require a lot of silence, calm, and alone time—none of which life on the road, motherhood, and the current state of the world provide. I have, however, fallen in love with life more than ever this year.

I’ve learned to trust the intuition of my body with strong and satisfying clarity. I've met incredible people, many guardian trees, plant allies, and other-than-human kin. I've made art that I love and haven't shown to anyone—art that came from the deepest places within and asked not to be sold, seen, or commodified. I've experienced maturity, compassion, and service only mothers know, and a love uninterrupted by anything else when I curl up next to my son. The leaps in motherhood are giant, too: three years of full-time breastfeeding, no bottles, only direct nourishment from my breasts, non-traditional education, communication, co-sleeping, and full-time everything. No full sleep for three full years. I'm treading this uncharted path with only my intuition as my guide. I appreciate my ancestors, honor their journey, and trust that I'm here to forge something very different from the familiar winding roads they walked.

We cannot expect to create, live, and love in the same ways we did just a few years ago.

It dawned on me that this is why I changed my name from Merakilabbe to Vanja Vukelic: to be myself fully, unreservedly, raw, and embodied. This version of me will not compromise my truth or dilute my experiences to appease a target market, follow formats that work for others, repeat mindless cultural iterations of proven methods and hacks, or chase numbers. I refuse to fragment myself into pieces just to fit others' expectations.

This past year has been a profound exercise in cultivating presence, a deliberate effort to liberate myself from the constraints of systems designed to extract and conform. Divesting from Instagram's grip on my career and life will also be a process.

It's been a bit over a year since I published my first letter here. I've considered making all my posts available only to paid subscribers in an effort to support myself as a writer. My publication hasn't grown significantly in a year; the numbers have remained steady. Every time I post a letter, nearly the same amount of people unsubscribe and subscribe simultaneously—it's fascinating.

My art, whether visual or written, has always been the core of my nourishment.

I owe my deepest gratitude to you for sustaining it and inspiring me to keep moving forward. Your support cannot be overstated; it's crucial to the creative process. Artists often find their vision and connection to the world through the mutual aid of their community. We rely on each other.

Many small businesses and artists are struggling right now. Times are tough, and support is crucial. Speaking this truth is both challenging and relieving. Investing in artists strengthens local economies, enriches public imagination, and fosters endless possibilities for creative expression. Whether through financial contributions or thoughtful encouragement, every gesture makes a significant impact.

It's difficult for many artists to voice this need, as we fear being seen as sales-driven or begging. But if we don't speak honestly about our struggles, how can we hope to change the fabric of society? Our hardships are not of our making; they result from a capitalist system designed to perpetuate inequality. Through our collective truth, art, and solidarity, we can begin dismantling the systems that confine us.

After much contemplation, I've decided not to put my letters behind a paywall for another year. This choice goes against the advice of many business advisors, Substack accounts, and marketing specialists I've consulted. I need a different approach. It's precisely why my business is struggling—I don't align with conventional business advice. I haven't yet found a creative or business coach who embodies the feminine, genuine, and nurturing qualities that truly support the intersection of business, art, and community.

The mainstream insists that we must create urgency, spark desire, and engage with you in ways that keep you constantly craving—catchy titles, perfectly balanced and lengthy articles, rigid posting schedules, and cliff-edge paywalls, all strategies designed to capture your attention, all while writing only for a niche. I find myself constantly grappling with this: How do I inspire you, share my stories, and resist conforming to approaches that don't resonate with me, while still maintaining integrity in receiving your attention?

Commissioned by Rebecca

Even when Multilayered was featured on Substack last year, it wasn’t for my writing, which left me feeling let down instead of proud. The highlight was for importing my subscribers to their site—a good reminder that these platforms are ultimately driven by metrics and money.

That’s why we need genuine human interactions and connections—both on and off these services—to counteract the relentless pursuit of metrics and the urgency they promote. I believe in the power of people and creativity, which is what makes online spaces rich with possibility and connection.

I also find the term "target audience" strange. My experiences with war and the current genocide of Palestinian people make me uncomfortable with the military connotations of "target." I prefer to think of you as "dedicated readers," "beloved circle," or "community."

Because 20 dedicated readers mean far more to me than 200,000 who expect me to remain frozen in the past, or worse, who subscribe, but don’t read at all.

I'm not here to offer you a list of ways to succeed, 5 tips for making art, or 10 manifestation points. I'm a storyteller, both in my art and my words. I write when I feel spacious, not bound by the prescribed “post at the same time, same day” formula. It took me years of trial and error, and sometimes stumbling along the way to reach this understanding. What I know now is the result of patience, practice, and the willingness to follow my own path, even when it wasn’t clear.

Here, you will find parables of sorts—personal stories and reflections with implied meaning. If you're dedicated and interested enough to read the entire piece, something might resonate, stir a feeling, or inspire you in a way only your heart can truly recognize. There will also be updates, more art shares, moments where I promote myself as an artist, share my photography, and anything else I want. 

After all, I get to be human, and I get to be human here with you, embracing all my imperfections, explorations, and the ebb and flow of life.

With love,

Vanja

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• My boy turned 3!! We celebrated with thirty of our closest friends, family, and neighbors in our beautiful, teeny home. It was SUCH a magical day!

  

• I worked on two very special commissions: one for a Dutch client building a new home for her family, and another for a US client honoring her late mother, who loved Linden trees and Passion flowers. Working with you in such an intimate, open, and creative way is awe-inspiring every time. It reminds me of what’s essential: our stories, relationships, and our love for life.

• This Art From The Heart Photography and Art Exhibit showcasing the poignant moments captured by local Photographers and Artist in protest against the Genocide in Palestine over the past 10 months. I’ll go on Friday, see you there?

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