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How do you stay clear-headed through both praise and criticism?
On Saturday, a ceramicist sells every cup and bowl at a crowded street festival. Customers praise the unusual glazes. A local page posts a photograph, and messages keep arriving after the stall closes.
By Sunday morning, the ceramicist is pricing a permanent studio and shop.
Three weeks later, the same pieces sell poorly at a smaller market. Two customers complain about the price. One says the unusual glazes are the problem.
By that evening, the ceramicist is ready to remove them all.
A Spark from The Vision
Insults and setbacks should not get to you, and praise and happy moments should not blind you from making sensible decisions.
Neither decision began with the work itself. One began inside the expansion created by praise. The other began inside the contraction created by criticism.
The festival result was real, but several things arrived together: a large crowd, good weather, novelty, a prominent stall and a photograph seen by people nearby. Selling out does not show which condition will repeat every week. Praise made the whole future feel proven before the parts had been separated.
The quiet market was real too. It may reveal a price problem, the wrong customers, poor placement or simple variation between days. Criticism made one explanation feel final because disappointment wanted a quick end to uncertainty.
So the ceramicist keeps the two decisions on paper without acting on either one. Open a shop. Remove the unusual glazes. For the next four markets, the task is not to feel neutral. It is to notice what survives both moods.
The ceramicist records where each market is held, which pieces sell first, what returning customers request and how many people stop but do not buy. One unusual glaze sells steadily even without the festival crowd. Another draws praise but rarely a purchase. The plain cups pay for the experiment.
Praise still matters. It shows that the work reached people and may reveal energy worth following. Criticism matters too. It can reveal friction that enthusiasm overlooked. Neither feeling, by itself, can say how large the next commitment should be.
After the fourth market, the ceramicist does not open a shop or abandon every unusual glaze. One glaze leaves the table. Two remain. A regular advance order begins. The permanent rent stays uncommitted while repeat demand is still being learned.
The applause from the festival has faded, and so has the sting of the quiet day. The next decision is smaller than either mood wanted. It is also supported by more than either mood could see.
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AI-generated from Innocent Mwatsikesimbe's writing.
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