I am shamelessy marketing my pottery this week. (month, year, my whole life?) Tomorrow I leave for New York with some snappy new plastic containers, lime green. Their stylishnes gives me confidence and a bit of aplomb. Don't ask why.
I am nervous about all this. This is a very independent move, nobody else is marketing this thing for me. I have had wonderful help, don't get me wrong. From the brilliant designers at Opto, to my incredible office mate, Sandy Beer, who helped put together 500 plus catalogs and mailed them from here and DC. In fact, she got Quakers to help put them together, which elicited a thunderstruck "$42. for a coffee cup??" (ended up in a Quaker minute).
Making pottery in the US is an amazing challenge. Making and expecting to make a living is, well, quite possibly insane. Or, maybe if Seth is correct, if my story is consistent, authentic and meaningful, I'll make it. I have been working at this for too many years to mention. What I won't do is give into somebody else's idea of what is proper, what is appropriate, what is possible, even. As an artist, it is my obligation to invent my own reality and if my ideas are a bit outside the box, well, I plug away. But, if I love what I do and I do and I am unhappy with what the market has to offer and I think I can do better, then I am going to persist. I persist because I believe in what I am doing and I think what I do and how I do it might just inspire others to take up the torch. The torch of the independent artist, making work that speaks to a deeper part of the self, a deeper part of humanity that is tied to making and process and invention and a slowness in becoming. This is slow, let me tell you. But, in its slowness, if I do finally breakthrough, I won't ever have to compromise. Because my success did not come prematuely. It came in my maturity. I didn't settle. I waited.
Sorry to be so self absorbed lately, but there you have it. Narcissism in its unadulturated authenticity. The narcissistic artist. Not a new concept...