How does stuff get made?

This week, you could say, I've had two victories. I walked in, unannounced, to two beautiful local venues, and asked if they'd consider hosting The Maker's Table. I handed over my labor of love press packs — a mix of top-quality paper, cute design done my way, and real fabric and real embroidery embedded into everything. Everyone who came into contact with me, and with those made items, said "yes" emphatically, and we now have a date in the diary. Clearly, The Maker's Table needs to be pitched in person.

I say that because I also sent out ten personalised emails this week to local Catskills fiber arts type stores, with that same press pack, admittedly as a PDF, carefully adjusted comments about each venue, offering to contribute actual cash toward a venue space and run the event for free — and three days later, I hadn't gotten a single response, acknowledgement, or even a no. I know there might be a host of reasons behind this, but still it's sort of, well, painful.

I'm privileged. I have access to a printer, I can afford (sort of) beautiful paper and a Canva subscription, I have marketing knowledge and know how to write a press pack, I have the sewing machine to embroider the paper, the car to make the journey and pitch to venues, and, frankly, the confidence — the chutzpah, whatever you want to call it — to walk into a place with a tiny swagger and say... I used to be a vice president - sadly, typically people listen when you wield that particular sword. So what about the people making beautiful offerings that enhance the world, who don't have any of that? How on earth do they get noticed? How does their made stuff get made into something beyond just existing in their home or head?

Now, I'm not saying monetisation and recognition are the ends of the creative process — far from it — but bringing one's work into the outside world is certainly an important step: it helps you find the motivation to keep going, gain real feedback, refine, and test. But if the gatekeepers are hard to reach you wonder what the 'way in' can be?

When I was a kid — pre-internet, pre-mobile-phones — my wonderful mum would send us off to "new" things: speech and drama, Brownies, music lessons, all found from a handwritten card in a shop window, or an ad in the local paper. Around here in the Catskills, I am glad to say the store window or noticeboard is still a thing. But I am not sure how else to manage this new phenomenon for myself.

On a lighter note, I partnered with my AI companion to figure out exactly what the heck was happening with my knitting, which took a nosedive from previous confident rows to today's mess. I pulled it apart so many times, and finally diagnosed the issue. It was as simple as "knit one, purl one."

THE FANCY OMBRE PURL SOHO WOOL (recently unravelled and re-knitted, several times, today alone): For what it's worth, it was never me. Knit one, purl one. She'd just... forgotten.....

ALPACA: It happens to the best of us.

THE FANCY OMBRE PURL SOHO WOOL: It happened to her. I was fine the whole time.

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I still miss my sewing machine so much. And the replacement part, which I paid double for to have expedited, was last seen in Newark, and then took a flight to Alabama — which makes literally zero sense at all. Am I surprised however that I am checking daily on the location of a 1,5 cm screw? When some can't even check their emails once a week...?

—

A PANEL CONVENES, PARTIALLY, SINCE ONE MEMBER IS STILL IN TRANSIT

THE SEWING MACHINE (waiting, per usual): Any word?

THE REPLACEMENT SCREW (currently somewhere over Alabama, for reasons no one can explain): I was in Newark. I'd like that on the record. I was fine in Newark. I was 2 hours from her house, in Newark.

THE SEWING MACHINE: And then?

THE REPLACEMENT SCREW: And then I went to Alabama. I am a 1.5 cm screw. I did not make this decision. Nobody consulted me. But I do love the food down here and the weather is....balmy.

THE SEWING MACHINE: She paid extra for you to be fast.

THE REPLACEMENT SCREW: She paid extra for me to be confused in more states. That's what actually happened.

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Why did I even bother with the expedited shipping? Not to be a negative Nelly, but I have press packs to sew, and beautiful bolts of fabric screaming at me to be assembled into clothing before this summer evaporates and I can't wear Indian cotton any longer.