I have literally lost my voice.
On Wednesday I was drinking Irish coffees with my girlfriends and dancing singing along to our favorite songs on the CD player in the kitchen. On Thursday I woke up and found my "scratchy throat" had developed into a full-blown cold and laryngitis.
I've been creakily whispering ever since.
I haven't been out much, mostly because I hate it when I whisper to someone and they start whispering back. (What's up with THAT?) And also because I hate being in a position where I CAN'T talk back (rather than when I CHOOSE not to talk back.)
But the downtime has been fun, and it's given me time to think instead of my normal routine of running around in circles going, "What the heck should I do next??"
As I try to mentally muscle my way through my latest professional setback, I even began to doubt the role my art plays in my life. What if it's just too....much? What if it's too powerful, or too expensive, or appeals to too small an audience? What if it isn't enough? What if it's not saying enough, or too limited in scope, or too much like everything else I make?
Then I thought, "What if the art is simply the work of my heart that makes my WRITING more powerful?" What if my art is the vehicle for my voice? What if it's not meant to be more than that??
After all, I've actually attained many of my professional, artistic goals. I've been juried into "real" art exhibits (as opposed to exhibits focusing on craft or even just fiber.) I've been published in all kinds of books and magazines. I've been featured in articles. And even at the bottom of my financial pit at my last show, people were stopped in their tracks by my work. One woman said, "I don't know why I came in your booth--your work has NOTHING to do with my store--but I felt COMPELLED to come in."
No one said it was weird or wild. They just said it was beautiful and compelling. And not like anything they'd ever seen before. That is what I prayed for when I first started out.
Damn! I KNEW I should have asked for money, too!
So maybe I've gone as far as I can go with it....?
Nah. I'm just feeling a little tired from my illness, a little discouraged from my last show. And a little lazy from indulging myself yesterday by lolling on the sofa watching movies all day. (What a treat!)
So. What to do next?
Today I finally went back into my studio and checked my e-mail. And I got a chance to take a "next step".
Is it the right one?
I got an e-mail from a reader offering to pass on an intriguing publicity opportunity. HGTV's show "That's Clever!", a spotlight on craftspeople, was in my area looking for candidates. Was I interested?
At first I thought, "Heck, yeah!" Any publicity is good publicity, right? And this would be a way, if I got in, to be seen by thousands and thousands of people in a flash.
But the reader also mentioned that SHE was unsure about trying for a spot, because of what I'd written in an earlier blog entry called THE RIGHT TIME (http://jonudell.net/radio-luann/2007/03/08.html) In it, I cautioned against the very thing "That's Clever!" would do--give away your techniques as something 'anybody can do'. To do something that could make things easier, even maybe bigger--but might not be worth the ultimate price you pay for that.
I've heard about artists getting tons of exposure from the "That's Clever!" show, and other artists who felt like they'd been treated light-heartedly and in an off-hand manner. And the focus of the show is, "Yes, YOU can do it, too!"
So--would it be a good thing? Or a bad thing?
I'd say it would depend on the answers to these questions:
Do you care if everyone knows how to make what you make? (Some artists really don't care because they're already teaching their techniques. Or because their technique is a heckuva lot harder than it looks.)
Does your work or your style lend itself to lighthearted and happy? Fun? Maybe even silly?
My own answers to those questions are plain and simple.
No.
I already know that to me, my work is much, much more than how I do it. I will happily tell anyone who asks that I use a polymer clay technique originally developed by Victoria Hughes, and a sewing technique published by Susan Carlson. I've made my own modifications and innovations, but they are the proverbial giants on whose shoulders I stand.
But what I've found is--and this REALLY IMPORTANT--people who are adamant about knowing HOW I make my art, are never really the people who are willing to BUY it or OWN it. They just want to make their own version of it.
That just doesn't float my boat.
Does that make me ungenerous? Maybe. But that's how I feel. I'll do almost anything to help you be the artist you were meant to be--EXCEPT give you permission to copy my work.
And though I love to insert humor and self-deprecation in my writing about my life and work, I don't think my work is funny. I am too passionate about it to put it out there in a way that lets other people get a chuckle out of it
As I write this, I realize my work is still vastly important to me not only for its own sake (because it is beautiful to me) but for what it does for me. It makes me think harder. It makes me think more honestly. And it makes me think harder and more honestly when I write.
I couldn't write without doing my art. It is the gasoline for my writing engine.
So I thanked the reader for her offer, and for letting me know how much my words had helped her. HER words helped ME today.
And I turned down the chance to be on HGTV.
As always, sometimes when we refuse to compromise, when we refuse to settle for less, we are heard.
As I caught up on the rest of my e-mail, here's what I turned up:
E-mails from five other people who had been helped and inspired by something I wrote.
Including a person who's doing a documentary about creative people with extremely messy workplaces, and the energy they derive from those conditions. He assures me it's a serious endeavor, with great respect for the creative process. The best part? If they choose me to be involved, I won't have to clean my studio. In fact, he's warning me it better be REALLY messy, or it won't work. (I love this man already.)
A reporter e-mailed me a few last questions for an article on me she's filing.
And someone else e-malied me who does a series of podcasts on artist. She would like to interview me for a podcast, focusing on what inspires me as an artist.
Sometimes, when you lose your voice temporarily, you are forced to listen a little harder.
And sometimes, the universe can hear your prayers, even when you think you have nothing to say.
