Some literary smack down for the day!
So if you haven’t read Iggy Pop’s recent speech, and you are an artist, you should. It’s a bleak but true analysis of the current world for musicians, but not just for musicians, its true for artists.
This weekend, my friend and I packed out bags for a local comic book convention. It was our first time as vendors. And after eight hours of selling our hand made goods, I have a mixed feeling about the whole experience.
Not because we didn’t sell as much as we would have liked, which we didn’t, but because of how we were treated by the consumer who bartered and belittled our prices again and again. I understand that a little good-natured bartering is a part of every con, but there become a point at which it is, well, insulting.
People offering you half and even less of the price you are selling at. What was worse, some of these people were fellow artist, fellow vendors.
And worse, if I rejected the price, there was an indignant rage? Why wouldn’t I take it? Wouldn’t I want to sell something at any cost?
No, honestly, if it means I’m going to lose half my cost, I’ll save my art for later, thank you.
Yes I understand that Walmart and china cheapies exist.
But why and how do they exist? Because other countries have awful labor laws. They exploit people, children, ect.
It saves you money. I get that. As someone who has been dirt poor, I understand limited funds. But if that is the case. If you don’t have that much money to spend at my both, just come over, say hi, and admire my work. Don’t try to barter and then get annoyed when I say, “no I can’t do that.”
No I don’t do this to make a living. And it’s a good thing because if I did I would be hosed.But I put money and time into making each of these crafts, and I find it ridiculous that people expect to pay cents on the dollar for crafts.
Torrid Literature published my poem, We is, this summer and is now having a contest for their literary hall of fame. If you would be so kind to vote for me, that would be awesome. I’m on page three, Rachael Stanford, We is. You can vote
We is by Rachael Stanford
Laughing at linguists who
could never comprehend
though the space between our
is wider than the Grand Canyon
the barren plains punctuating
I forge, unashamedly naked
The bitter November winds
lick my flesh
Enveloped in blurred realities
Of your memories, warmed by the linger
Touch of your flesh, a permanent tattoo
I run, unwavering by demons of doubt
A happy toddler, each step in you
Thanks again for the vote, I’m happy to return the favor!
“Edgar Allan Poe is dead. . . . This announcement will startle many, but few will be grieved by it. The poet was well known, personally or by reputation, in all this country; he had readers in England, and in several of the states of Continental Europe; but he had few or no friends; and the regrets for his death will be suggested principally by the consideration that in him literary art has lost one of its most brilliant but erratic stars.”
—“Death of Edgar A. Poe,” New-York Daily Tribune, October 9, 1849
For those who study Poe’s life or work, this isn’t exactly a surprise, but it I think a reminder that those with great talents still face great hardships in life (and some time they face it because of their talents.) So take a moment and appreciate the work and life of a man. The lonely winter-telling wind of October gives the perfect excuse to curl up with one of his works.