It’s hot, and there are threats of bad storms for the first day of the show. If I can get through the first day, the remaining forecast looks like smooth sailing.
Sales are steady. Every now and then I get those customers, the ones who are outfitting their entire kitchens over time, and buying things in quantities. They say “the pieces I got last year are now my favorites. I use them everyday, and I need more.” This is the kind of affirmation that artists need to sustain themselves. It’s as important as food and air. My energy reserves fill up, and my head becomes inflated with pride.
Oh no, rain! At this point the heat is so stifling the rain brings some relief. But it also means no customers for a few hours.
The second day is hot again, but at least there’s no rain. Extremely hot weather does not stop people from attending festivals. I'm a little sunburnt, and my face hurts from smiling and talking all day. In my usual daily routine, I don’t have to talk to anyone except my cat. Talking all day requires muscles I don’t have. I have done so much sweating, I am now covered in a layer of salt. Dinner with friends (we’re all sweaty, so it doesn’t matter), then shower, fall asleep, and do it again tomorrow.
I win an award! My giant inflated head threatens to burst. The neighboring artists are jealous. That’s ok, I’m usually the jealous neighbor, and it only bothers me for a short time. They’ll be fine.
On the last day, I am running low on pots. So I put away some of my display furniture and condense the pots into a smaller display. It keeps sales going, because my booth doesn’t look picked over. And it gives me a jump start on packing as soon as the show ends. When the final bell rings, this is when I feel really tired. It's been an intense few days, but I still need to pack the remaining pots and break down the display. Once I get everything packed and into the van, I squeeze my tired body and my giant inflated head into the drivers seat, and crank up the air conditioning. Then I head for home, looking forward to a month or two of quiet studio time.