Failure? Or simply failure to grieve?

Winston Churchill was once quoted as saying – “Success is stumbling from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm”

I think it’s fair to say I’ve stumbled a fair bit these past few years, and I can’t blame that wholly on my love of Malbec. Trying to get any business off the ground is no mean feat at the best of times, but one borne from the ashes of grief in a time of relative poverty was never going to be straightforward.

When dad died in 2016 it was a shock. Although he had spent the past 30 days in intensive care, hooked up to multiple wires and associated beeping machines, we all fully believed he’d pull through, he was a fighter. The day before he passed, he was sitting up and completely lucid. The intubation had been removed, and he was trying to rediscover his voice. With a twinkle in his eye he beckoned me over and rasped into my ear “growly, growly, growly”

Those were his last ever words to me, and despite the sadness of the finality, the memory makes me smile.

For the first few years following his death, his paintings sat untouched in the spare bedroom. I knew that one day I would want do something with them, but I didn’t know what, or how. Life continued on until Covid hit. Suddenly, my husband and I were without our business and without an income, just an awful lot of time on our hands.

That was our first attempt at Batiki. I built a website, I joined Etsy, I tried crowdfunding, I experimented with different materials and suppliers, I dreamt up grand plans for world domination. Suddenly, out of nowhere a work opportunity arose, an opportunity so unexpected and unbelievable, I couldn’t turn it down. The hours were long and relentless, the stress high, but in return  it offered an incredible experience and a less than shabby salary; and so, along with the paintings, the website sat untouched for another couple of years.

In Autumn 2023, I found myself again, with a lot of time on my hands, and so begun launch attempt number two. This time I hired a professional photographer, I redesigned the website, I created intricate spreadsheets working out supply costs to the penny. I ordered greeting cards and paper prints, I mocked up multiple iterations of batik filled rooms. And then suddenly, again, out of nowhere, a work opportunity demanded my attention, leaving little time for a ‘side-business’.

More entrepreneurial types might have managed to juggle both with early mornings, late nights and dedication. If I'm being honest with myself, I welcomed the distraction, an excuse to not have to try and build a business, or move my life in a whole new direction. An excuse to not look at old photos of a family unit that no longer existed. If I was too busy with life, I wouldn't have to face the past or deal with paintings drenched in sorrow and sentimentality.

Now I find myself in 2025, the wrong side of 40 and when the latest work venture ended, there were no unexpected opportunities knocking at my door; when I went knocking, no-one was answering, thus began launch attempt three.

I am not ashamed to admit that this latest attempt was partly borne from a place of need, but also a desire for independence and stability, a final push to find life satisfaction. This time however, unlike before, it has come with emotion and feelings that I am ready for, with memories and melancholy that make me smile rather than cry. It feels more personal, more important, more right.

On a business and professional level, I feel ready. In the nine years since dad’s death, I have grown and learned and failed and succeeded at so many things. I am more mature, more business savvy, more patient, more learned, more everything.

On a personal level, I feel like it’s taken this long to process my feelings. People deal with grief in different ways. When multiple deaths of loved ones and life changing events fill your life, it’s easy to become numb, to shut down. We stop living life, and just endure it. No highs, no lows, just existing. I’ve since learned that these are all hallmarks of depression, which could be a whole blog post in itself, but the point is, finding the energy and passion to create something from the ground up is made that much more difficult when you can barely find the energy to shower.

This time around the landscape looks very different. When we tried our first launch back in 2020, Ai and Print on Demand had yet to permeate the market. I needed funds I didn’t have to buy materials, to recreate the art, to have tangible, sellable stock. Today, my entry to market is so much easier and more accessible – multiple Facebook adverts every day tell me that I can sell the prints to 30 countries, all without having to wrap and pack a single batik myself.

Ready printed, framed, and sent directly to the customer – it should be a no brainer right? Well actually no, not for me. Not now. Whilst from a ‘business’ and cashflow perspective, it makes total sense to 'Print on Demand' (an option that would have fit me to a tee in 2020)  2025 me says no thank you.

This time around, I have actual, physical prints to sell, I cannot wait to wrap and ship them myself. I can’t wait to see that Claire from Oxford will have Apache in her house, or that Raj in Knightsbridge will have Tiger in his home. I can’t wait to print, frame and pack each and every single painting. I don’t want my customers to be part of a spreadsheet I get sent once a month, I want to see and read every single order. I want to know that every single batik is in pristine condition, perfectly wrapped and lovingly posted.

Myopic? Quite likely. Sentimental? Definitely. Good business decision? Most probably not! Feels right? Yes. Without. A doubt.

If it turns out that third time's a charm, then maybe my feelings will change in the future, but for now I’m happy to build slowly, take the time to appreciate our customers and enjoy the process of sharing dad’s work with the world.

Whether or not the past few years can be considered a failure is debatable. I may have failed to build Batiki into the business I'd envisioned all those years ago, but that doesn't mean I can't now. I'm healthy and happy, I have a wonderful husband and a loving, supportive family, and I have my whole life ahead of me. Right now, I'd call that a success.