Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Speaking of Rip-Roaring Financial Success...

After my last outing at Twilight Market, I tidied up my stock and brought some to Sue Bateup’s Weaver’s Gallery, (I must work on that post), while others sat in a pile on the floor of my living room.

Having received Martin’s email, I was recalling some of the earlier talks we had, when I didn’t have an outlet but was ready to sell my work. And as I was savoring the arrival of Martin's email, I walked into the living room and I burst out laughing.

Even if I sell every piece I weave, I will never be able to survive on this income, because I am a slow weaver. I made a quick calculation, and figured the utmost best I can ever hope for is an annual sales of about Ben's one month's pay. Tops! If I dither around like I do, it’s likely to be a lot less. And that’s sales, not profit.

So, Ben, I'm retracting my earlier promise; I’m sorry but you will never become a weaver’s pimp.

2 comments:

  1. Soooooo, do you want to speed up your weaving? Are there other weaving-related activities you can use to add to your income and dignity (it sounds to me like self worth and dignity may be an issue here?)? There is, at least in the United States, a slow living movement. I have even read an essay on something called "slow leadership." Maybe you are riding the beginning of a new wave!

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  2. Ohhh, difficult question. I would like to be able to work quicker without wasting time, but I'm afraid if I worked efficiently some of the fun will go away.

    I can't think of any weaving-related activity I can do now to generate an income... But to be honest, I haven't thought of it much, either.

    Self-esteem not withstanding, I had this idea that artists being poor was part-myth; I thought even artists, if they worked hard and didn't waste time, should be able to make a living of some kind. As a child, I thought all the biographies of artist were dramatized to entertain, OR, these particular artists were particularly lazy, wasting time on social life, depression, or tuberculosis.

    Come to think of it, until a year or two ago, my idea hadn't changed much; I thought if I worked hard and long enough, I could earn enough to live reasonably happily, albeit humbly. I'm talking buying books and CDs, go on nice holidays once every few years, not get worked up about every unexpected spending, like plumbers or car parts...

    I never imagined I'd have to be so entirely dependent on my husband for such a long time (thus far, and in the foreseeable future.) I don't feel guilty, but I do feel frustrated, Peg. I never thought that I measure people's success partially by the money they make, but in my own case, apparently I do!

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