A reflection on making something just for me.
Not too long ago, a lovely client commissioned me to make a belt with the words “silly and unnecessary” on it. At the time, I didn’t fully comprehend the meaning behind the sentiment. But a few days ago, in the middle of a creative burst in the workshop, it suddenly made sense.
Having focussed almost exclusively on making things to sell, I felt compelled to make something purely for me. Undiluted me. No expectations, no rules, no briefs, and no client to please. Just something silly and unnecessary.
The Chandelier
A few months back, I spotted an old chandelier tangled in a hedgerow near Kingswood Junction. Random, right? I couldn’t help but wonder about its backstory - where had it hung before? What series of events led it to be discarded there?
When I pulled it out, I knew immediately: this was a brilliant project just waiting to happen.
For months, it has sat on the roof of Craftybird, looking a bit lost and out of place. Every time I saw it, the wheels turned a little more. Eventually, an idea took shape - to reimagine it. To give it a new life with a totally different identity.
So, I raided my stash of beads, sequins, glittery bits, and bling which I collect like a magpie, mainly from various visits to charity shops. The sort of things I never know why I might want it, but which appeal to my ‘save it till it’s needed’ hoard. With this project, my shiny things stash was the gift that kept on giving!
For two gloriously indulgent days, I made something ridiculous, sparkly, impractical… and completely unnecessary.
The Joy, The Guilt, The Spiral
Here’s the funny thing: as much as I loved the process, it also made me weirdly anxious.
There’s something deeply exposing about making for yourself. Especially when you run a craft business (a term I use loosely). If something doesn’t sell, or draws judgment - even a quiet “not for me” - it’s hard not to take it personally.
I know I’m not alone. Crafters, makers, artists, in fact anyone who creates - we all wrestle with this. But knowing that doesn’t always ease the sting. It’s hard not to feel self-conscious. Uncertain. Wobbly in my own skin. The little voice of doom and criticism is ever present.
So while the creative freedom is irresistable, it also stirs up big questions:
Who am I doing this for?
What am I hoping to achieve with this "craft" business?
The Value of Making
Trying to make a living from craft means assigning value - money - to something you've poured your heart into. And that number never seems to match the effort, time, or emotional investment.
That’s the maker’s conundrum: you give your all to a piece, and then it's judged, ignored, or undervalued. It can be brutal.
The Heart of It
Creating is a form of truth-telling. Even when it’s terrifying. Even when no one sees it, or buys it, or understands it.
I look at this chandelier - this glittery, absurd, joyful thing that I made - and I think:
I love it.
And for now, in this moment (away from sensible thoughts of financial sufficiency) that’s enough.
Silly maybe, but never unnecessary.
