Maybe, after many years of being tangled in the midst of it, you remember that the choice of a craftsman's life comes down to what attracted you to the arts and to the biz of making stuff and the biz of selling that stuff you make in the first place.
And it might have something to do with whether you are (as I) a hopeless romantic about the incredibly cool processes that many of us go through in the production of our work...
...the smells of linseed oil and turpentine, just cut wood, OM5 ball clay (it smells like chocolate)...
...the visuals of incandescent lit, late-night workshops, floors littered with sawdust or clay shavings, kilns belching two foot flames out of ten foot chimneys, pouring molten metals, or glass pulled from glory holes...
..blistered or cracked and dry but skilled hands that can take materials of next to no value and turn them into something that could -- generations from now -- still be treasured...
...guided by eyes educated, not just to see what others miss, but also to convey interesting ideas from that which is less obvious...
...the pleasure derived from slaving night and day, sweating for all you're worth, risking everything you have so that you might master the nearly impossible ... just so that others might enjoy your "gift".
Different thinking people on the road less traveled.
That sort of thing.
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