Greeting cards, they are more than the thought that counts, much more

Pop Up Card

 Sometimes helping someone get through a difficult time can be as small as a card.

In high school, word got around that I could draw really well, I was asked to draw a card for a teacher who was quite ill. I drew a perfect Blue Jay handed it to the person collecting them. Too young (and stupid) to ask if I could give it to him myself.

I often included my cards in the gifts I gave to friends and family. I was very selective. Uncle creepy or Aunt Gossip queen got a store bought one as did anyone where I felt a professional boundary may be crossed. They were wildlife and flowers so the theme doesn't really fit Christmas nor was I going to handraw/paint 30 cards.

Then came commissions by galleries and museums. I discovered a place were I could color print them onto cardstock. The exposure was great, but at 50% profit per card through the gallery, simply not worth my time. The materials cost me a few dollars per card, I would have been fine selling them for ten each, despite the fact that each took me half an hour to glue, and calligraphy (verb?). I also couldn't mass produce them, this was merely a hobby at the professional level.

My contract was always the same, the gift shops had to buy them outright, then pay me the difference of what was sold. All of them always did, but when a botanical garden gift shop also wanted me to provide little plastic sleeves against the humidity (they also sold plants), I thought four bucks per card simply wasn't worth the time.

Hand made cards weren't valued, but when I walked past a window display there were intricate pop up cards selling for 25 to 40 a piece. I hoped to get some, but they were sold out before they went on sale.

When I discussed it with my father, ever the business man, he told me:"waste of your talent"

Around 2008 the postal service was struggling, artists and crafters created artists trading cards. It turned into a movement, with so many participants that the media noticed.

Back to greeting cards. Some of the friends I gave them to, gave me no feedback. One of my friends had no interest in art. Then why did I bother, if they meant nothing? All that time and care to get him through a difficult time, and the cards were part of that, had no value. I was getting e greeting cards back.

We lost touch, but reconnected. Somehow art came up. "But you were never interested in art," I  said. "I liked your cards. They're beautiful. My mother thought God was guiding them. That you were a guardian angel. I kept them all. Framed one of them. They helped."

Stunned silence.

When I went through my father's things, I found a box. Many, many years of my hand painted cards, tied with a ribbon. Every.Single.One. Well worn from being looked at. One would have to know my father to understand how significant that was.

It mattered and was appreciated more than I was told. It lifted mood and allowed people to hang on to something in difficult times.