The answer is simple.
Many, many brave souls have foundered on those shoals. If we are extending the metaphor past all good taste, I am at the point where I am standing atop those poor souls and perhaps eating bits of the less runny ones, before I, too, fall and join them.
True, I had to choose between adorable country handicraft and vintage steamer chest and self-consciously steampunk and no, I didn't happen to have a 16th century Chinese medicine chest lying around that conveniently functions as a card display. And I flatly refuse to engage in any display building that would require "antiquing," either in the "go looking for antiques" sense or the "put a distressed paint finish on a thing" sense.
Also, it is much too late to get merch made. And I don't want to get into the merch business anyway. I have postcards, prints, mini-prints, jumbo prints, pins and books. Perhaps I will even make teeny weeny originals with concerned chickens and sell them cheaply. I am a concerned chicken machine.
I have chalkboard paint, the complete discography of Tom Waits, a flat surface and an afternoon. Let's do this thing.