Why do I do this to myself? My latest solo show preview is tonight and as usual I am excited and wary. I potter all my days in the studio happily dabbing away listening to Radio 4 and then I decide I want to put the results of my solitary ruminations on display in public. Why do I happily volunteer to fry under the glare of the media? “Boo Hoo, poor Grayson,” you may be thinking, but I sometimes forget when planning a show that there is a downside to success and the opportunities it brings, and that I stand to pass or fail very publicly.

When I abandoned ambitions to join the Army to go to art college 30 years ago I did not imagine it would lead to the emotional challenges of being a bit famous that I now confront when mounting an exhibition. I chose to take up art as a career because I enjoyed it. At that point I had not seen more than a handful of exhibitions and they hadn’t made a great impression on me. I certainly had not seen any photos of chic celebs at private views beaming out of gossip columns, Bolly in hand.

People ask me if success has affected how I work. In the studio I need to be confidently spontaneous. Carefree outpourings can be inhibited by the thought that everything I do will be scrutinised come showtime, and not always charitably. I could become creatively constipated but my guts have adapted somewhat to a diet of public appreciations and humiliations.

Despite still being gnawed by self-doubt I do enjoy the build-up to the opening of an exhibition. I love the installation process. The dirty bit is over, now it is placing and editing the works so they look their best. My first solo show was at the James Birch gallery in Chelsea in 1984. James was a gallerist of the charmingly relaxed school. Installation took the form of withdrawing a small hammer from a desk drawer and a box of recycled nails which were the veterans of many exhibitions.

Instant decisions as to what goes where were made and the whole show of 50-odd pieces was hung in a couple of hours. A far cry from Tate Britain, where I once had a 20-minute exchange with a curator about the type of plastic clips we could use to fix some photos to the wall. I still feel self-conscious though, asking technicians to shift things a foot to the right or an inch to the left. I feel at once a poncy interior designer and a class traitor. My favourite moment is when we shift an exhibit a foot or so and as if by magic everything suddenly clicks. Sculptures sing to each other and all is harmony. I like to walk about proprietorily and try to see the show through the fresh eyes of a visitor. I want the show to be engaging without being shouty.

Nowadays shows and openings are depicted in the media as part of the thrillingly glamorous routine of the artist. I do not deny that I really enjoy these but also I think it can distort what it is to be an artist in people’s minds. I sense an increasingly common dynamic occurring in our mediated world. There seems to be confusion between the received idea of doing something and the actual experience of doing it. Consumers of culture watch a film, read a book or visit an exhibition and they enjoy it. This is meant to happen. The creatives have laboured long and hard, sometimes for years, so that the consumer might enjoy an hour or two’s thought-provoking experience. Where the confusion occurs is that some consumers think, “Wow, I really enjoyed that. I'd like to get into that business”, forgetting that making a telly programme is a very different experience from sitting on the sofa watching one. Seeing the proliferation of red-carpet photos and award ceremonies, I think it is understandable how being a culture provider must seem as effortlessly pleasurable as consuming it. Contestants on Pop Idol, when asked why they have entered, usually say it is because they want to become rich and famous, not because they enjoy singing.

What an audience often do not see is all the years of career setbacks, the crises of confidence that are entwined with the joys and triumphs of hacking at the cultural coalface. And that is how it should be: I spend hours arranging a show so that visitors don’t notice it is arranged.

Why do I put myself through this? Do I want to make an earnest contribution to our national cultural conversation, do I love a glitzy party or am I still a child holding up a crayon drawing for mummy’s approval? Probably all of these.

So pass the tissues and spare a thought for me tonight, glowing profusely with nerves and pride in a dress specially designed for me by a St Martins fashion student. I can at least be grateful to the England team for losing on Saturday so half my guests won’t be sloping off to watch footy.

Grayson Perry: The Charms of Lincolnshire is at Victoria Miro, London N1, from Friday to August 12 (020-7336 8109; www.victoria-miro.com). Admission free