overwhelming order

I was back to work on Monday for exactly three hours when a gigantic order from a new Japanese customer rolled in. An order big enough that it caused me consternation and concern, rather than a sense of joy and elation. I immediately had this feeling of, "I will never be able to fill this order." It's a monster: sprawling, huge, covering all my weak spots (cake stands), and demanding to be fed with an endless supply of birds, cherry blossoms, and bell jars. As I typed in the order and watched the number at the bottom of the invoice grow and grow, my dread deepened. Part of my reaction stems from my experience with the five-figure order two years ago. I really think that I am scarred from that experience and I now I have a post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms when I get a big order.

But I also have to acknowledge that I really messed up that order myself. Mistake number one: procrastination. I have a leftover habit from college of putting off important things because I like to work under pressure. I was one of those students spitting out big papers hours before they were due, and I liked it like that. Unfortunately working under pressure in ceramics does not yield the same brilliant results. After I wrote up the overwhelming order, I immediately broke it down into its smaller parts, assessing all the pieces I would have to make and assemble. Then I got on the phone with Hector, my man at the factory, and laid it all out to him. He called me back within hours with a delivery schedule, and then I broke down the order further into a production schedule for myself.

I feel a bit sad for myself that success has started making me nervous, instead of happy. Maybe everyone feels this way when faced with a mountain to climb. But I've also decided that there is to be no whining. I've gotten myself organized, I'm assembling my troops. I'm determined to make this order a better experience, and someday-- maybe soon-- when I get an overwhelming order again I'll be able to jump up and down and clap my hands with joy.

success can be dangerous

I really like horoscopes, palm readers, tarot cards, and numerology. I know most people think these things are kooky. The homepage on my browser opens up to Aquarium Age Astrology so that everyday I can be reminded of the forces outside of myself. This helps me to focus my energy on what I believe is my higher spiritual calling—art—and not on the things that hold me back from my calling such as stress, anxiety, and my fears of what’s going to happen to me when I’m an old lady and I got no retirement fund.

I read two horoscopes a week, the other being Free Will Astrology. I often get a kick in the pants from Free Will, and I keep thinking about one I got a couple of weeks ago. I think this is actually a message for all artists:

"Success is dangerous," said Picasso. "One begins to copy oneself, and to copy oneself is more dangerous than to copy others. It leads to sterility." Sorry to start your horoscope with a warning, Leo, especially given how much beautiful success you've generated recently. But the astrological omens suggest you may soon be tempted to turn your spontaneous outpourings into pat formulas. And that would be a shame. There's still a lot more fresh hot mojo brewing within you, and it'll reach its highest expression if it keeps surprising you. Trust what's fresh, uncategorizable, and at the frontiers of your understanding.

I keep thinking about this as I go about my work, because right now I’m going through a period of transition in my work and I’m feeling a bit lost. It is tempting to re-interpret old designs into something new just to keep myself busy. I’ve had several weeks now of low production, and I keep telling myself that it’s okay, and to give myself the time I need to make new work. I think every artist needs to hear Picasso’s message, and I’d love to hear from people on how they resist – or don’t resist—the temptation to copy themselves.

the five-figure order

Back in the dark days of January, when I was still in New York at the Gift show, I received a call from a woman who was an "art resource" rep, and who had a client who was interested in purchasing a leaf platter from me; could I create a leaf platter to their specifications?
"Sure", I said. I actually love custom orders.
Her client would need 300 of these platters; could I fulfill that kind of order?
"Absolutely" I said coolly, in a tone that said I get orders for 300 things all the time. In fact, I have never gotten an order that big. To date, the largest order I've ever dealt with was an order from Gump's for 40 medium split pods That was the first time I really got to utilize my man Hector at the factory. He delivered 43 pods to be exact, I glazed them in one afternoon, and had the husband deliver them a few days later. It was beautiful. I call this picture to the right, "March of the Clones".

Since January I've been working with the art resource woman, Laurie. Back and forth we've gone: drawings, mini-samples, prototypes, colors, glazes samples, changes in the shape, changes in the size. All through it I've been keeping up the cool front while going into spasms of doubt as I try to figure out what to charge them for everything. I really wanted this order, I wanted to be put to the test. Underbidding would ensure that I could get it, but I know from experienece that when I don't charge people what my pottery is worth, I don't put the right effort into it because I figure they're getting a bargain. Overcharging makes me insecure because then everything has to be perfect perfect perfect... and it just hardly ever is. I finally came up with a number, delivered in an even and confident tone, and held my breath as I waited to hear if The Clients would accept.
They did. And what would my terms be?
"Oh, (a cash sum which would pay my studio rent for almost a year) up front to get production going, the balance paid in cash or by check before shipment".
Turnaround time?
"Three to four weeks". That's what I always say.

Finally today I received the purchase order. It was a long day of glazing with one of my assistants, but the final piece was put into the kiln and I spent and hour cleaning and mopping the studio-- where is my intern anyway? I staggered home thinking about tomorrow morning, when I plan to spend at least two hours in my favorite cafe, drinking their amazing coffee, eating my favorite breakfast, (polenta with a poached egg on top) and working on my website. That's what constitutes relaxation in my world. And then bam, the five-figure order I've been waiting for, sitting in my email. I printed it out, looked at it, and started laughing, which kind of tapered off into a groan, then went back up into a laugh, then down again into a groan. I did this 3 or 4 times before I realized I sounded like a crazy person, and there should be no groaning where five figures are involved, unless we're talking about bail money. But we're not, we're talking about payday!

I have a picture of a new Skutt kiln I want; shiny, bigger than the one I have, capable of firing off five figures worth of work in one fell swoop. Oh baby, you are mine.

art work

When one is an artist trying to make money off the art, there is always a point at which your art turns into a business. Many working artists resist this notion because to our minds, art is pure and should not be tainted by things such as money and commerce. We struggle with the business end of our art because we are artists, not accountants, and we are artistic, not number crunchers.

There is also the matter of continuing to reap enjoyment from something that has become... work. Many of us fear turning our creativity into a money making venture because we don't want to lose the pleasure in creating, or lose our focus in the creative process when we have to sell sell sell.

I started thinking about this many years ago when I started referring to what I did in my studio as "work", as in "I'm going to work now!" when I left my home in the morning. While it gave me a certain stick-it-to-the-man pleasure to refer to my pottery studio as a work place, I was also disturbed that there wasn't another word for what I did, since the word "work" seemed like something you would do in an office building under the eyeball of a boss. I tried to come up with a new word because I was afraid that if I kept using the word "work" I would somehow lose my freedom of expression or my sensibility would become dull.

I did not succeed in coming up with another word that didn't sound totally contrived to describe what I do during the day. I go to my studio and work-- that's it. And there are certain realities I have had to learn to deal with as a full-time self-employed artist, and these are the risks of being a working artist. While it gives me great pleasure to work with clay, I don't make my pots solely for pleasure, I mostly do it so I can avoid having to move into that office building. Sometimes I have to make things I don't feel like making. And I have to spend a lot of time doing things I don't really want to do, like ordering supplies, fussing with paperwork, paying bills. Sometimes I complain to myself about this stuff, resist doing it. But when I can walk by that office building and not into it, I feel like I'm still sticking it to the man, and that feeling is worth it!