Sometime around 2020, I got an idea.
When I get that kind of idea, I like to say it “sets my brain on fire.” I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop talking about it. I dump my thoughts into notebooks and documents, research obsessively for months, and start making websites, logos, and marketing materials—basically, all the things.
But inevitably, I push past my limits. I burn out and drop the idea just as quickly as I picked it up. It’s a painful cycle that leaves me drained, depressed, and questioning my worth.
I didn’t want to do that to the idea I had in 2020.
So I grabbed a notebook, scrawled a message on the front with a big black Sharpie:
Jeanette’s Big Idea – Write it down, think about it, but for the love of God don’t act on it until you’re ready!
I did let myself take one small step: I talked to a few people around town to get their thoughts. Honestly, I was hoping someone else would run with it so I could enjoy the results without doing the work (yeah, right).
I spoke with someone who loves helping startups and asked if Montrose had enough of an artist community to support the idea. His response stuck with me:
“It’s not really about whether the community exists—you just have to build it.”
That hit hard. I knew then I didn’t have the capacity to take it on. Starting a brick-and-mortar business, building a community, finding seed money—it was too much. So, I put the notebook on a shelf and walked away.
But what was the idea?
An art center. A creative space where I could teach, make, and support others in doing the same.
Back in 2020, I had no creative space at home. The local Makers Space had shut down during COVID, and I desperately needed somewhere to be artistic. I even asked a new creative business owner—who’d taken over the Makers Space building—if I could rent a room in the back as a studio. But realistically, I couldn’t justify the extra expense at the time. That’s when the dream started to take shape.
As a kid, I attended art classes at the Ah Haa School for the Arts in Telluride. Those classes—color theory, pottery, painting ceramics—were formative. The big open classrooms, the tools, the feeling of belonging—it all left a deep impression. I felt at home there. I still do, just remembering it.
But over the years, I let myself believe that being an artist wasn’t practical. That it was just a hobby. And still, my love for it never faded.
So in 2020, without space to create, I began to dream:
What if I opened a space with a classroom and rentable studios? What if it had a small makerspace? What if I could spend my days teaching, making, and helping artists grow? I imagined classes, hourly makerspace access, studio rentals, an art supply store, even a members’ gallery.
But I tried to let the dream go.
Until this year.
In February, I ended up in the ER. I was an emotional wreck. The doctors gave me a sedative, and I wept for hours. During that breakdown, I heard a voice within me say:
“You are meant to create.”
That moment shook me. I realized I couldn’t keep pushing my creativity aside.
So, I started breathing life back into this website. I focused on my creative offerings again. I opened myself to possibility and said to the universe,
“Okay, fine. I’ll stop running. But seriously—what do you want from me?”
I work part-time for the City of Montrose, and my boss was excited to hear about my artistic background. Since then, more and more creative projects have come my way. One of them? Reviving the downtown Art Walk.
While meeting with a building owner interested in hosting a pop-up shop during the event, she gave me a tour of her empty storefront.
And just like that—lightning struck.
This was it. This was the space. This was the moment. I knew I needed to open the school.
So I asked myself:
How can I make this happen?
Here’s the plan:
Start with arts and crafts parties and pop-ups.
Build excitement. Save money.
And in a year (or hopefully less), open the school.
After decades of telling myself I can’t—that it’s too hard, that someone or something would stop me—I finally believe:
It’s already mine.
I can do this. I’ve been building the community. I have the skills. There’s a need in Montrose. This is it.
So, I’m starting The Crafty Coven.
I wanted the name to be playful and a little magical. I first considered reviving my old business name, Brainstorms—but it didn’t feel quite right. Lately, I’ve been having crafty get-togethers with some of my witchy friends and always joke that we’re not The Craft movie witches—we’re “The Crafty.” I even made a terrible movie poster.
That’s me: crafty, silly, and full of ideas.
Welcome to The Crafty Coven.
Let’s make something beautiful together.
With Love and Lots of Color,
Jeanette
