A short essay on why this matters.

I’ve been thinking about being 38 and this Etsy store I’ve created. I know it’s not glamorous, I know it’s not as cool as having spent my childhood taking apart computers and becoming an engineer. Instead I spent my childhood making things. I feel a very strong earthy connection to fabric, like it’s been in my blood for centuries. Crafting isn’t going to make me rich, it takes a lot of time to create & promote… but I’m still doing it.

Why?

I remember being very young and loving crafting and wishing I was Claudia Kishi. I remember putting paint and water into baby food jars and making these beautiful iridescent paint snow globes. In high school I used a formula from geometry to make bags with circle bottoms. I always tried to make my gifts. I made all my long sleeved shirts ¾ sleeves and my mom suggested that I may regret it if I did it to ALL my shirts (she was probably right, wrists do get cold). 

When I moved to New York City for college I spent time decorating my dorm, collaging from NYU pamphlets and crocheting, did I study? I’m not sure. I think I needed a way to express how I was feeling just being in this big space and feeling so small and so scared, but excited, different. 

I moved to Italy and found a yarn store. I returned to a scarred downtown New York in 2002, tried to take art courses at school (when really, I should have taken Political Science courses). I created some cool costumes for a friend’s dance troupe, and I hemmed a lot of pants that probably could have used a real tailor. 

I found an abandoned table in a dorm room and made myself a sewing station. A rich friend said to me ‘I’m not going to finance these purses you are making’ - which I never asked them to do. A buyer described them as ‘country’, which I think is very very fair. They were little plaid makeup cases, they ended up going to Goodwill. I tried to sell purses on Ebay and was surprised when nothing happened. It all still felt so new, the internet I mean. 

I got excited about an idea and posted about ordering tags on a crafting forum and several people internet yelled at me for not searching the forum before asking. They were right, but also I was so new and I needed support not put downs. I backslid.

I had a friend who’s dad worked in fashion and he gave me some fabric and I made a purse and my friend said ‘don’t show my dad that!’ -- Then I tried crocheting earrings (which were really cute) and the dad said ‘what are you going to do - sell them on the street?’ Like walking down Mercer street and watching someone create jewelry and sell it on the sidewalk isn’t magical? That hurt my feelings. 

A friend made me cute business cards that said ‘TayPunk - fun, little, accessories’ for the life of me I can’t remember what I was making, or where I was selling. It was definitely around 2006. 

I crocheted blankets for my couch and scarves for my friends. 

Then, Etsy. My store has been open since 2012. I know at some point I crocheted ‘hats’ little circle pillbox hats and hair bows. I applied for a job there and got the ‘never apply here again’ auto-msg. I think it’s because I was SO excited to apply and I had just gotten married and I spelled my name wrong. Oh well, sliding doors.

Sometimes I wish my art was bigger, grander taken more seriously. 

I don’t know my medium, it’s sort of all the mediums, subject to change. I’ve done a lot of bargello sewing on plastic canvas the past year. I started making fun patterns with perler beads only recently and I really enjoy it. I like how bright they are, I like thinking bigger and bigger and unexpected. I sometimes wish I was a fabulous metalsmith, but I took that jewelry class and I know that’s not me. I invested a little in an Etsy training course and I’m making my descriptions and tags better. Hoping for the best. 

But why?

Because this is who I am. I can’t not create things to share with you. I’ve tried not to, I’ve failed multiple times, but I always come back. It’s not extraordinary, I’m not breaking barriers or shattering glass ceilings, but I also can’t stop and this time I don’t plan to.