Tasty Niches

Komodo dragons, the biggest lizards on the planet, are equal parts terrifying and fascinating. Living on the Indonesian islands, these oversized reptiles have eating habits that would make even the messiest eater look dainty. They can take down prey much larger than themselves, thanks to powerful jaws, knife-like teeth, and a venomous bite that delivers a gruesome cocktail of toxins. And get this—they don’t even bother chewing. They just rip off giant chunks of meat and swallow it whole, occasionally pausing to flash a toothy grin that seems to say, “Yes, I really am this hardcore.” These eating machines can chow down up to 80% of their body weight in one sitting, making a buffet run look like amateur hour. To top it off, they digest practically everything—bones, hooves, the whole kit and kaboodle. It’s a pretty good strategy, really—no waste, maximum efficiency. Kind of like an artist who’s managed to find a niche and milk it for all it’s worth.

What food would you say is your specialty?

After owning a café/art gallery for about a year now, I’d say I’ve developed a few specialties. If I’m being humble (and why wouldn’t I be?), I make a mean bacon and egg roll, my Reuben sandwiches could bring a tear to your eye, and my Thai Green Curry might actually change your life. Sure, people rave about my coffee too, but let’s be real—it’s not a food group.

Speaking of specialties, what’s yours as an artist? Is it watercolors, oils, pen and ink? Or do you get even more specific, like watercolor dogs? Or, better yet, watercolor dogs swimming underwater? Maybe you’re the pen-and-ink person who sketches bombed-out cities, because nothing says “thriving artist” like bleak, post-apocalyptic landscapes. It’s the eternal struggle of niching down. How far should you go?

Do you want to be that artist known for dot paintings of baby birds nesting in clouds? Because if you do, then congrats—you’ll definitely become the go-to for people who want that very specific type of art. And you’ll be hailed as a master, a genius, a true specialist. Or at least, that’s what your mum will call you.

But here’s the thing: Artistic niches don’t have to be forever. Just because you’ve built a massive body of work in one niche doesn’t mean you’re contractually obligated to stay there forever. You can pivot. You can make a whole new body of work or create an exhibition in an entirely different niche. Look at Andy Warhol—sure, he’s synonymous with Campbell’s soup, but he did a lot more than just painting cans. That’s what makes him Andy Warhol and not just “that soup guy.”

Of course, changing styles or niches is risky—especially if you’re already doing well in your current lane. Why mess with a good thing, right? But I think a key trait of a thriving artist is the ability to shift between mediums and art forms without losing their essence. If you were a company, they’d call it your “personal brand.”

Take Apple, for example. If they suddenly started making cars, you’d still know it was Apple. It would probably be called the iDrive or something equally obnoxious, and it would come in a sleek cardboard box that you’d feel irrationally compelled to keep forever. The box would likely end up outliving the car, but that’s beside the point. The point is, you’d still recognize Apple’s style, no matter the product.

In the same way, a thriving artist can adapt their niche, style, or medium and still be recognized. So, channel your inner Komodo dragon—be ruthlessly efficient, don’t be afraid to swallow your art whole, and digest the bones if you have to. It’s about finding a way to thrive, even if that means occasionally shaking things up (or tearing them apart with your bare teeth).