Why I Do What I Do

| Written by Neil Super |

I cannot speak for other makers, but my own tendency in deciding what to make, how to make it, and what to do with it afterward, is to craft things that make ME happy, and then hope someone else shares my enthusiasm for the object. My guiding principle in evaluating my work is: “is this something that I’d like to own?” If the answer contains even an iota of “meh,” then that piece never sees the light of day (or shelf of the retailer). This approach (hopefully) keeps me from getting lazy (or worse, complacent). It also highlights what for me is the single most rewarding aspect of the relationship between myself as maker and the patron as viewer, the thing that after all this time still thrills and sometimes confounds me, namely, that in a crowded marketplace of handmade excellence someone would even consider spending hard earned cash on my work in the first place!

Don’t misunderstand. I’m neither fishing for affirmation nor, like some clueless sophomore, completely unaware of my abilities crafting objects from wood. It’s just that this particular segment of the arc of my life - my experience as a member of the Tour, as a turner of wood - has been so totally unexpected (not to mention devoid of formal training) that sometimes I can’t quite believe it is happening, with the result that in the company of the accomplished artisans who are my Tour mates I spend a fair amount of time in this weird place where I vacillate between complete imposter syndrome and total confidence (with trends toward the former enjoying a comfortable lead). The details of my arc are both unimportant and, I suspect, rather uninteresting to anyone other than me and my family; let’s just say that nothing in my education and prior working life – much less my own expectations of what I’d turn out to be - presaged my ending up in such an artistic line of work. What IS interesting – to me, anyway – is that even after all these years of offering my work for sale, each and every time someone handles an object I’ve made and expresses admiration, I get the same frisson-like mix of wonder and gratitude. Wonder, like a dopamine hit of barely concealed disbelief that someone ELSE shares my appreciation of this thing I sweated over, and, most important, gratitude that they desire it enough to consider parting with treasure to own it, or, even better somehow, to gift it to someone they care about.

Maybe I’m just naïve, but it gets me every time. I do know that I’d rather be an easily moved naif than a jaded tradesman who counts his success via the bottom line (I’ve seen plenty of those on the circuits I used to frequent). Sure, it’s nice to make money doing what you love, and yes, sales are how you make money. But if we happen to meet when you are out and about on the Tour – and I hope we do - know this: for me, a “sale” is merely the most formal expression (and not the most important!) of the wonder and gratitude inducing process you sparked within me when you picked that object up, turned it over in your hands, and murmured “that’s nice.” That is a gift, however surprising, that I will never take for granted nor tire of receiving.