It was 1972. After working on the kitchen table for several months, I rented an upstairs studio apartment in Carytown, a retail district in Richmond, Virginia. I was above the Daisy shoe store and across from the Byrd Theater and New York Deli. If you walked down the opposite side of the street, you would see some of my lamps lit and hanging in the upstairs windows. On my side of the street, one could see my sign to help solve the mystery of what was happening upstairs. I thought that if one was an artist/craftsman, one should make

When I was 13, my mother took my brother, sister, and me to the Virginia State Fair. I enjoyed seeing all the young animals, eating cotton candy and “elephant ears,” and riding on the rides that required me to be a certain height. When I was 17, I drove my first car, an old Rambler, to the fair by myself, where I quickly began to discover areas my mother had managed to shield me from. I was amazed and entertained by the variety of people I encountered. Some people liked each other, and some people seemed frazzled and distant.

Over the years, I have tried marketing my work in many ways, including postcards, emails, cold calls, giving talks at wineries, and just about everything short of standing by the road holding a sign. I have found that my best marketing plan is to invest my time and money into creating the best work I’m capable of. Nothing will spread the word about me and my work better than an elated patron.