Criticism, like rain, should be gentle enough to nourish a man's growth without destroying his roots.
Frank Howard Clark
This summer I was finally inspired “enough” and I applied to a big time favorite local juried craft show.
(It’s called TWIST and is awesome!)
I held high hopes that my work would fill a vacant niche, would fly off the shelves like hotcakes and would be "just the thing" each shopper was looking for.
I started making more things. I went beyond my usual bed quilts, wall quilts, small wall quilts, shoulder bags and handmade bias cut shoelaces that match the handmade, flannel, gender-neutral infant booties that would never be worn. I stepped it up and made bibs, “Taggies”, Christmas stockings and wristlet purses. I sold out from under myself, my first four wristlet purses- to a collection of Tai Chi practitioners in Vancouver.
The accepted vendor announcements were to be made on August 15th. I was eager, I was crossing my fingers, I was hoping. I was hoping that I would be recognized for my efforts, that I’d be given a chance to be fairly reimbursed for my vision and my hard work, and for my creativity. I was gently quieted in my production fervor, by being waitlisted for the craft fair.
The next announcements were due out on August 31st. A cruel distance of time and energy from the assembly line I’d designed for myself, but the distractions of summer abounded and I spent some time carpooling children to a far away camp and processing pears.
Finally the end of the month arrived. The school supplies had been purchased, the lawn had been mowed extra short in case I needed to ramp up again. The creeping realization that I’m not terribly happy making lots of the same thing visited again. The joy of selecting combos of beautiful fabrics for new pieces had already been exhausted and was physically filed in the vertical bins under my cutting table. What remained was the dirty work of making zippers zip properly. I was still eager, I was still crossing my fingers, I was still hoping, but what I was crossing and hoping for had changed.
I received the stock email saying “Thanks BUT, blah blah, show size, blah blah, diversity, blah blah, balance…” and I went upstairs and told my husband: “TWIST set me free.”
He replied, “Awww…” in his own quiet way of expressing both sympathy and delight at the same time.
And I said, “Yeah, I’m disappointed, but I’m also relieved.”
Maybe they knew I’m not really a full time craft artist who wants to sell things professionally for a long time, that I’m still a baby artist who has accumulated a lot of really great assorted, seemingly random pieces that I want to unload onto the world and that it wasn’t cohesive enough of a vision to fit on a table in their little space of 60 vendors. They’re pretty smart. I’m guessing they did know all that. I think they also would have liked to give me a space, but it didn’t fit the balance of diversity…
I get it. I didn’t make the cut. It was my first time and I know what it would take for me to try again. I didn’t take the rejection (very) personally and I’ve already moved on.
I got a job working for that circus guru I mentioned in the last post.
