I am slowly returning to a normal routine, after spending the last week at the Smithsonian Craft Show. It was an unforgettable week. As I expressed on this blog, I consider this show to be the pinnacle of the craft world. I did not really expect to achieve this during my lifetime. Which I was totally OK with, given the ratio of applicants to invitations, and all of the amazing craft work being done today. But there I was last fall, with my jaw hanging open, looking at the green check mark that means "invited" next to my application, slowly processing what it meant. I was ecstatic, but also intimidated. I haven't been nervous about a show in a long time. These days, it takes a lot to make me nervous.
The unknown factor is gone now. I was correct that there were many things that differentiate this show from others. But there were plenty of familiarities too. Yes, there was a lot of gorgeous ceramic work that was at an artistic level far above mine. But there were others selling simple functional wares like me. I didn't feel out of place. It helped that every single person I met from the Smithsonian Women's Committee made me feel welcome. It also helped that I nearly sold out of pots. Lately, that's not unusual for me (which is why I don't get nervous for most shows), but this was a very different audience. I was pleased and relieved that they found my work worthwhile too. I loved that the show was so small, even though this is why it is so darn hard to get a spot in the show. It really conveyed a sense of exclusivity. And I was able to look closely at everyone else's work. I also love that it was close to home. For four days, I left my house on foot and rode the subway into the city. I felt like a grown-up with a real job. And once again, I felt fortunate that I live in a region with institutions like the Smithsonian.
It seems pretty common for an artist to get into this show once, then never again. Or not again for ten years. Just as I felt before, I am totally OK with this. I can still say I summited this mountain in 2015. I was explaining this to a friend, and he said "so it's like winning a Oscar." Exactly.
If you can take your eyes off of the 50 foot marble columns in the National Building Museum, you can see my booth near the lower right corner.
The unknown factor is gone now. I was correct that there were many things that differentiate this show from others. But there were plenty of familiarities too. Yes, there was a lot of gorgeous ceramic work that was at an artistic level far above mine. But there were others selling simple functional wares like me. I didn't feel out of place. It helped that every single person I met from the Smithsonian Women's Committee made me feel welcome. It also helped that I nearly sold out of pots. Lately, that's not unusual for me (which is why I don't get nervous for most shows), but this was a very different audience. I was pleased and relieved that they found my work worthwhile too. I loved that the show was so small, even though this is why it is so darn hard to get a spot in the show. It really conveyed a sense of exclusivity. And I was able to look closely at everyone else's work. I also love that it was close to home. For four days, I left my house on foot and rode the subway into the city. I felt like a grown-up with a real job. And once again, I felt fortunate that I live in a region with institutions like the Smithsonian.
It seems pretty common for an artist to get into this show once, then never again. Or not again for ten years. Just as I felt before, I am totally OK with this. I can still say I summited this mountain in 2015. I was explaining this to a friend, and he said "so it's like winning a Oscar." Exactly.
If you can take your eyes off of the 50 foot marble columns in the National Building Museum, you can see my booth near the lower right corner.
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