The Nightmare Art Retreat No One Prepared Me For

I’m at the Leda Hotel Resort in Pelion, Greece leading 12 other artists on an art retreat. It's the first night, and I’m sitting in a little cafe about to have dinner after a long drive from the Thessaloniki airport. I am distracted from the conversation as I look around and see my four small children are missing.

“Mom! Where are the kids?! You’re supposed to be watching them.”

My mother puts her glass of wine down on the table. “They were just here. I don’t know. I’m sorry. I, I, just got distracted. The ladies were talking with me.” She nervously gets up and begins walking all around the restaurant looking for them.

I go outside and start to look. I walk down the pathways calling for them. It's dark, and I am unfamiliar with what is out here. I keep walking and can hear my mom following me calling for them. I get to a beach and see four children glowing in the moonlight, playing in the sand.

“Mother, you came on this trip because you agreed to help me with the children. I said you would watch them and keep them safe while I was working. You can't just check out and drink wine with the ladies and forget your responsibilities!”

“You are right. I got distracted. I think I’m jet-lagged. I just lost track. I’ll do better,” my mom says.

This was a huge mistake. This will never work. My kids are too small. I should not have tried this. Who runs an art retreat in a foreign country with their four small children and a way-too-social babysitter? What was I thinking? Everyone is going to be upset and tell me how unprofessional I am.

I think about the likelihood of Dino and Dalia fighting and annoying people. I had hoped that I could bring my family to Greece to connect with our roots while inspiring our students and showing them the country I love. I planned to teach art classes, travel around to some incredible places, swim in the sea, eat fresh fish, share the history, and do it again every year after.

Now I see in just the first night that this plan is deeply flawed and I am making a big mistake. It is far more responsibility than I imagined. It has way too many moving parts. I didn't foresee that the women would complain about pillows, snoring roommates, and van rides through winding roads, and that they would mostly want to eat French fries and tzatziki instead of octopus and lamb.

As each day passes and I count my many mistakes, I grow more and more insecure. Some of the women arrive late at meeting points, which frustrates the ones who arrive on time. Many of the women fight over who gets the front seat each day, declaring Chronic Car Sickness Syndrome. At each meal, I am inundated with food aversions and allergies. The women aren't used to “family-style” eating and worry they won't get the portions they want or that we will run out of French fries and tzatziki.

The weather is unpredictable, and we have to change the schedule so many times I can't figure out what day is what. Art classes feel difficult, and sometimes it is too hot, too cold, or too windy. I personally provide water everywhere we go and have 1,000 half-drank water bottles constantly rolling around the van floors. I feel responsible for every irritant, misery, or discomfort. Mosquito bites, hard beds, and flat pillows are my fault. I feel very insecure and out of my element.

The insecurity makes me feel defensive and overly responsible. I am certain everyone is miserable and having the worst trip of their life. I am convinced the women are talking about me and my kids and what a terrible art retreat we are having. I don't care if my kids got to go to Greece and that this is a family trip encased inside of an art retreat. It is torturous, and I just want it to end. The weight of all the responsibility for everyone's needs and well-being is too much for me to handle. I just want it to be over.

The Breaking Point

The lowest point of the trip is near the end. I have a very special day planned on a nearby island, but half of the women tell me they don't want to go. They want to stay and work on their art. My heart is crushed when I think about what they will miss.

They don’t care. They want to be left alone and have a day to just relax and paint. It feels like betrayal! I understand that it means they don't like my schedule, they don't care about going to a Greek island, and they are irritated with me and my family and don't want to participate. There are floating rumors that the women who are staying are upset and would rather stay at the hotel than go on this very special outing.

The rest of us leave early and board the ferry to the island. I am glum and want to cry. I feel like a huge failure and like this will go down as one of the biggest disasters yet! The women try to cheer me up and reassure me they are happy to get away from the negativity and just have a good time with a smaller group. We are headed to a very special beach that has crystal-clear water, shallow for miles and miles out. I have never seen such beauty.

The women squeal and run for the beach, throwing their towels down and bolting for the water. One of the women has not gone into the water yet the entire trip because she is afraid. She didn’t even bring a swimsuit. I am shocked and disappointed that someone could come to Greece and not bring a swimsuit.

She stands on the shore watching us, waving and smiling while we jump around and splash. We call for her to come in, even though she is just wearing a t-shirt and shorts with no swimsuit. She stands there for a while, but then she becomes overwhelmed with desire.

She runs into the water with all her heart, bounding toward us and screaming with joy. We cheer her on, knowing she is gaining courage and facing her fear.

She can't help herself. When she comes near us, she plunges below the water, which is only three feet deep. She is very tall and comes up from the water with pure delight. She is a child again.

We all look at her chest through her thin white t-shirt and see her cleavage. She looks down and sees it too. She quickly covers her chest with her arms and starts to laugh uncontrollably. We all begin to laugh a deep, healing laugh. It is quite the show. John understands what is going on from the beach, grabs a towel, and stands with it at the shore for her to cover herself when she gets out.

We all receive a baptism of joy at that beach, and I start to feel more like myself. We have a delicious late lunch and explore the island. Our ferry ride back to the mainland is graced by jumping dolphins chasing the boat. One of the women is so enchanted by the dolphins that she begins to cry. It is a perfect end to a wonderful day.

When we get back to the hotel, the women share their incredible day on the island with the others who stayed behind. They talk about the dolphins, the incredible lunch, and the beautiful beach. But the others seem uninterested and almost resentful. There is an evident divide within the group, but we are going to the city for the remainder of the trip, and soon everyone will break off into small groups.

I get through the next few days as we all meet up for meals and the women share stories about shopping and museums. I hang the art show at a really nice coffee shop near the center of the city, and we have our final night together. Everyone is pleasant and seems to be enjoying their trip. I think about all of the complaining and negativity and wonder how they have loved the trip so much. I most definitely did not love the trip. In fact, I pretty much hated every moment and was pretty miserable.

The following day, we bring everyone to the airport. They get their suitcases checked in and have their boarding cards in hand. We hug and say our goodbyes. My family and I watch all 12 of the artists walk toward their gate. The moment they get out of sight, I turn to John and say, “NEVER EVER again!! I will never run another art retreat for the rest of my life!”

John says, “Yeah, I don't blame you. That was rough!”

Drained and Defeated

We leave the airport and have one more day in the city until we are supposed to get on the ferry and go to Corfu. We have arranged to go to this island to prepare an art trip for the next year. That was our original plan. That was why we added another week to this trip. But I decide in my heart that we will only go to Corfu for a little vacation, and arranging a trip for next year is out of the question. I am done with art retreats and have lost faith in humanity after this one!

I sit on the ferry with engines blaring loudly, making it impossible for conversation. I am alone with my thoughts, regretting the previous two weeks. I grieve the loss of my idyllic trip. I blame the women who came and decide that the half of them who are petty, negative, selfish, and entitled ruined the trip for the rest of us. I showed them so many amazing places and filled the trip with adventures, and my heart hurts that they didn't enjoy my beloved country.

It feels like a deep injustice. There seemed to be no appreciation for everything I put together. I could have run the retreat like every touristy tour where they go to the worst cheap restaurants and do all the typical easy things. But I didn’t. I went the extra, extra mile and showed them the gems of the country. We ate where the Greeks eat and swam in the seas where Greeks swim. I could have spent half the money and shown them half as much.

I feel so angry about it all. If only the whole trip could have been like the day we went to the island. Everyone who went was positive and happy and enjoyed whatever they did. I think about the woman who didn’t bring a swimsuit, who couldn’t help herself and flung herself into the sea with a white t-shirt on. I think about the tears over the dolphins jumping. I think about the laughter and joy we had.

Then I remember there were other days like that too. Many of the women came one way and left another. They got their spark back. The women felt empowered walking through the Greek city streets, buying new clothes and gifts for the people they love. They had a newfound confidence sketching architecture while drinking a coffee and eating a pastry in the cafe.

As I think about the transformations and friendships that develop, I realize most of the issues we had were because of me. As I sit on the ferry, staring out into the horizon of the sea, I think about all the changes I can make. I can plan better.

I can ask people ahead of time if they have food allergies or aversions so I am prepared when I order. I can get the women together before the trip so they can meet and know who they will travel with. We can practice family-style eating, and I can teach them the etiquette so they don’t fight over food. I can designate someone like John or Dimitra to be the one who deals with anything they need, like a softer pillow, so I don’t get irritated at all the requests. I can write up a code of conduct sheet that they agree to before they leave to alleviate some of the negative behaviors. I think about how I can weave in some pep talks and more encouragement.

I start to see that most of my problems could have been avoided. I was actually the problem, not really the women. Suddenly, I feel lighter. The negativity of the trip fades, and I see the bliss on their faces as they entered the pure blue water, the awe and wonder as they took in the breathtaking view of Mt. Olympus and the valley below. I think about the woman who began as critical and self-absorbed and, in the end, found friends and self-acceptance. How their possibilities expanded when they saw the dolphins jumping beside the boat. I realize these people’s lives have been changed forever, and they found a wondrous space beyond their comfort zone—and so did I.

John is content thinking I will never try this again, but I am about to tell him I have changed my mind. I need to grow. I have to become a more confident retreat host. I need to step into my authority as a leader and lead with grace, love, and a positive outlook. I am the one who can shape the attitude on the trip however I like. It all starts with the leader. If the leadership is poor, the trip will be bad. It’s that simple.

Disaster to Dream Come True

Twelve years later, I am on my 20-something art retreat here in Mexico with 12 beautiful, amazing artist souls. I have tons of successful stories and hundreds of retreaters who have lived a transformative adventure that shaped their lives. I have shared my beloved Greece with many artists and revealed all her treasures. Now my daughter Dafni runs the Art Retreat and Experience division of our business, and I just get to come along sometimes to be an art teacher. We have trained some mentors to run art retreats, and we continue to have one successful trip after another.

What if I didn't change? What if the story ended at the Thessaloniki airport with me vowing to never do another art retreat for the rest of my life? I would have robbed myself of years of growth, joy, and adventure. More importantly, I would have robbed hundreds of artists of their turning points, or revelations, or transformations that were so needed. All good and beneficial things must grow. They must experience hardship and challenge in order to develop into what is beautiful, life-giving, and powerful.

What was the most memorable trip you’ve ever taken?

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