on making things.

and pounding the pavement.

Apologies for my radio silence. The week before a book launch simply does not go according to a regular schedule. In the past few days of clocking 60,000 steps while carrying 24x36-inch posters and a bucket of wheat paste, things got away from me. Still, as I write this now, I think that spending the week before a book launch covered in wheat paste and pounding the literal pavement to spread the news about our new book, is maybe the best thing that Rose and I could have done to prepare for the week ahead.

In wheat pasting and in book publishing, there’s a symbiosis of vulnerability and visibility. It’s hard not to be noticed while slapping wheat paste onto green construction walls in New York City. (Getting noticed is the entire point, isn’t it?) There’s boldness required to sell a book, to bring it to fruition, to dare to say that it’s something that people might want to read and own and make space for in their homes. It requires guts and confidence to suggest that folks might want to give a copy to their friends, or ask their local bookstores to carry it, or suggest that their local libraries buy a copy or three. There’s a whole lot of letting go that’s required, a whole lot of knowing the ins and outs of things that didn’t quite go according to plan, or turn out exactly as expected, and championing the finished project anyway.

As we wandered around the city looking for spaces to plaster our MAKING THINGS message this week, the slog of it all felt cathartic—the many blocks that we walked without finding the right spot, the flurry of nerves once we did, the messy wrestling of giant sheets of thin paper and gloopy paste, the thrill of walking away from a mission accomplished—like a physical admission of the messy, nerve-wracking vulnerability that is tackling any creative project and then sharing it.

Way to go, ladies, said the beefy men outside the skate-shop-turned-coveted-fashion-house. You know you can get bagged for that, right?

Part respect, part threat: Be careful out there.

At any given moment there a million reasons to not put yourself out there. A million excuses and fears and worries that might convince any of us to stay tightly wrapped, cocooned in the safety of our own brains. In retrospect, attempting to walk into The Whitney gift shop with a bucket of paste and posters strapped to our backs, might not have been our smartest move, but very alarmed security guards aside, the exercise felt useful. Not everyone is going to receive us, or this book, with open arms. Not everyone is charmed by the gumption of wheat-paste covered authors inquiring whether their forthcoming craft book is on order at a shop in the epicenter of the rarified art world. Some people will look at us quizzically, others might dismiss the book entirely, hopefully more will see it and understand it as thoroughly and completely as Rebecca and Catherine and Whitney and so many others who have been cheering us on.

On this rainy Sunday morning, I really just want to say thank you. To everyone reading who has supported this project, for folks who took time to blurb our book, for artists who answered interview questions that never made it into the final book, for everyone who placed preorders and who has patiently listened while I talked at turns incessantly and not at all about this project, it truly couldn’t have happened without you.

One last time, I’ll say that preorders really are everything. If you think you might want to buy a copy of MAKING THINGS eventually, placing your order today would be a gift upon a gift.

With gratitude,

Erin