More than that though, Lorena is offering a platform for many artists, a brick and mortar shop. This is an invaluable tool in the gig-centric economy many self-employed artists depend on.

This way of work is a tide that can sweep you off your feet or swallow you into dark waters. It depends on the ecosystem that local artist’s create and nurture, it is delicate and interactive and everchanging. It breeds creative cooperation under a system that can often feel isolating.

Ericco, creator of his own fashion brand and studio (@ericcostudio) knows this well. He shares stories of his childhood with me, walking the streets of Chicago’s Magnificent Mile, one day eventually displaying his own installments in the coveted windows.

Evolving as an artist is delicate and percarious, a cocoon susceptible to forces outside one’s control. Ericco has learned this though, and offers guidance to younger artists, “don’t overthink it, when I first displayed my installations I feared people coming in to tell me they hated it, when no one did I realized, I can do this.”

I talk to Paige (@paigesewsstuff) a college student, who created a business after sewing upcycled, slow fashion for 12 years. Twelve years is at least several thousand hours of sewing practice by my estimation, enough that one could call her an expert seamstress. However, she is not making a living sewing, choosing to pursue a Business Degree rather than schooling in fashion. It makes sense, she operates a business through which her art must move. The garments speak for themselves, they sit outside the Queen’s Exchange, a mix of upcycled fabrics rustling gently in the wind. Denim patchwork, custom bags and dresses adorn racks that display a collection of her work like leaves on a tree. It is here many artist’s souls rest, at boutiques and swap meets and weekend pop-ups, in the shadow of an unnamed hill.