put aside all doubt

The studio has been ready to go for about two weeks. I still need to get a mailbox, for some reason there is not a mailbox or even a slot big enough to shove mail through my door. Weird? But the big long list of Stuff To Do has been knocked down, including getting privacy film up on my fishbowl windows, a task that really needs two sets of hands. But I did it myself because as we all know, I can't wait till my husband gets off work to help me.  Best of all, the banks of fluorescent lights are gone, replaced by some very cute and colorful pendants.

So, I'm all raring to get back to work, right? Not exactly. Yes, dying to work. But, don't know what I want to make. What I know for sure is that I am ready for a shift in my work. But I'm not sure what that looks like yet.

Right before my mom died, I was starting to think about new work and a whole new approach to my business. Months later, when I was back in my studio, I literally could not remember what that plan was, and I did not have the creative spirit to try and figure it out anyway. And I decided not to ride myself about that because clearly, it was not the time to develop new work. But now I'm in my new studio, in a new town, and I feel ready, but I'm also slightly overwhelmed by all of the new things. I love my new life, I'm just not quite used to it yet.

I'm preparing my first firing for next week with some stuff that I made, and of course it's just been torture hour day after day, trying to figure out how to find some satisfaction in making these pieces, trying to find some new expression, and questioning my ability to do so. My ego has been pounding me, which is just making my creativity want to go take a nap until that guy shuts up. WHO CAN WORK WITH ALL OF THIS YAKKING GOING ON?!

It was a hard weekend, lost in these thoughts during the day, then trying to work it out in uncomfortable dreams at night. Have you ever tried to fire in a kiln that is loaded into the back of a truck that is traveling over bumpy, windy, hilly roads? I have. In my bad dreams.

Then I decided that this is a terrible way to live. The only way to make new work is to keep making work, any kind of work, and not thinking about it. And I can't make new work if I'm staring at a piece for 30 minutes, trying to get the nerve to make a move on it. Trying to be fresh. Trying to be a genius. Just trying too hard. The only goal is this: put aside all doubt, and make some shitty work.

 It's not so bad, actually, and it's a start.

moving studio

The idea of giving up my Oakland studio to move everything to Vallejo has been a difficult decision for me. For one, my studio rent is incredibly cheap, way below market. My landlords have essentially been subsidizing my business for many years. So giving up my beautiful, high-ceilinged, light-filled inexpensive space seems really stupid. Part of me wanted to keep it just to have it, even if I wasn't using it every day. But... I've been here for 20 years, and I believe that sometimes you have to give up great things if you want to make room for different great things in your life. So, I'm giving up my space, which will be taken over by my close friend, Sara Paloma.

Sketch from the downtown Vallejo streetscape project, 2012

I'm still working at my studio in Oakland since I could not handle moving house and studio at the same time. Gotta phase it out. And the commute, which basically starts at about 60 minutes a day and can easily triple that depending on traffic, is utter hell. Hell! I realize now that keeping the studio was never really in play, because there is no way I'm dealing with a commute. At this moment, the plan is to move my studio into our downstairs area, where I have about 300 square feet to work with, a major downsizing for me. I've also been looking at commercial storefronts in the "Old Town" of Vallejo, which is very cute. The City obviously put some planning and money into this area and I would be thrilled to have a studio there. There are not a lot of shops or activity going now, but it will soon and I would love to be a part of that, just like I was in Oakland.

I hesitate jumping into a commercial space. I was really looking forward to not paying rent for a while. This last year my business has been very slow while I crashed and burned after my mother's death, and I would like to have as little financial pressure on me as possible while I try to get my little boat righted again. Buuuuuuut... I also want to be a part of this new Vallejo life, and meet people, and hustle, and spending all day at my house does not seem like the way to do that. If you are hustling and only your cat sees you, are you really hustling?

Your hustle puts me to sleep.

I'm not above asking the universe for some help or insight, so I asked, very nicely, "Please tell me what to do!" The only thing I got was that it doesn't matter whether or not I get a new studio or work in my own house, the only thing that matters is that I go where I can create and make myself happy, and I can do that in either place. Not exactly the definite answer I was hoping for, but it's a start.

By the way, I will be having a major moving sale Feb 10, both online and in person at the studio in Oakland. If you want to be notified of the sale, sign up here.

my studio

My studio is less than a half block from my house. I live in a quiet, residential neighborhood, and my studio is housed in a row of unexpected storefronts. These storefronts used to serve as neighborhood businesses back in the day. There are people in my neighborhood who have lived here since the 50's and remember when my studio was a hair salon. The giveaway that my place used to be a hair salon are the electrical outlets every 5 feet on one side of the studio, and virtually none on the other side. The storefronts now house specialized businesses. In our storefront "family" are: an interior designer, a baker/bicycle builder (my husband), a massage therapist, a photographer, a photo stylist, and a musician. And me.

my studio is the third one up.

I've been in my space since 1998, which is the longest I've ever been in one place my whole life.  We lived further down the street until about 6 years ago, and then moved into our current place, which shaved 20 seconds off my commute. My studio is 600 square feet, which may sound like a good-sized space, and it was about 10 years ago. Now, it's a constant battle to maximize every square inch without making the studio feel crammed. I like a spacious, uncluttered workplace, and creating that in a room that needs to serve so many purposes is a constant challenge. Pottery is an inherently messy medium, and no matter how neat and tidy I keep things... it's still kind of a mess. I recently moved my packing and shipping station to my husband's studio next door, which has freed up what was a dark, messy corner in the studio. 

click to make bigger

Sometimes, I think I should just move into a warehouse space, where I could have another 1,000 square feet, but I can't bring myself to do it. For one thing, I love my 30 second commute. In the Bay Area, that short commute is worth its weight in gold. And, I have great landlords who know what I do for a living, and have raised my rent only nominally in the past 15 years. I won't tell you my rent bill because it will only make you jealous. (Thank you, Chris and Rebecca.)

And finally, I just love my space. I've grown a business in it, I've grown as an artist in it, and the very walls seem to be a part of me now. I have dreams about my studio, and in the dreams there are whole other floors, and warrens, rooms and levels to it. I think that's not just a dream of desire-- how I would love another room-- but a representation of what my studio means to me.  A complex, multi-faceted, sometimes mysterious place where I live, and that lives inside me.

click to make bigger

process is everything

I'm doing something a little weird right now, which is reading Thomas Keller's The French Laundry cookbook cover to cover.  The French Laundry is a Napa Valley restaurant about an hour away from where I live. I've never eaten there. I will eat there someday, and I know people who have eaten there and talked to them about the experience. The French Laundry creates two 9-course tasting menus every day for their customers, each course very small, and from what I've heard it takes hours to go  through the courses. The food is incredibly labor-intensive and made out of the highest quality ingredients, so the base price is $270 a person. It's not a casual meal and they are always booked out two months in advance.

Running a very high-end restaurant and a pottery studio has one major issue in common: every day you go in, and you create from scratch something over and over again. The major challenge is to not become bored, or to hurry through it with your mind elsewhere, or to become deadened to the process and just create by rote. All of these things have happened to me over the years, and when I'm there, I don't even like my job anymore and I feel like a failure. As an artist, this is the most painful place to be. Thomas Keller writes about maintaining passion for the endlessly repeated acts he performs in the kitchen, and he does this by giving each step his full attention. When you give something your full attention, no matter how mundane, you have the opportunity to be filled not with boredom and the urge to rush, but with a sense of wonder and pleasure with your process.

I know this, but still, I can find myself in the studio, banging stuff out as quickly as I can and just trying to get through the day. Reading Keller's cookbook has re-focused me in the studio and made me once again realize that the finished product is worthless to me if I don't enjoy the process.

Both potters and cooks know there are all of these steps that happen in between the idea of what you want to make, and then the finished product. Most of the time what you have at the end is not something that is perfect, or exactly how you imagined it. But this does not necessarily decrease its value.  Thomas Keller writes in his book that we must acknowledge there is no such thing as perfect food--or pottery-- only the idea of it. But that doesn't mean we don't strive for perfection anyway. We continue to try for one purpose: to make people happy.

When I read the recipes that Keller has created for the French Laundry, I am filled with wonder. He takes each ingredient and brings out its full essence, not by some kind of magic but by fully appreciating what that ingredient is and treating it with his full attention and respect. He understands what each ingredient can do and in his process, he creates a peak experience. In the flurry of running a successful pottery business, I've put aside labor-intensiveness in favor of efficient production, and frankly, that bores me to death.  Keller is inspiring me to not be just about production, but to focus once again on process. Slow down, take my time, and create pieces that receive my full attention. Even when I am reading a recipe in the French Laundry cookbook, I can find my mind drifting and my eyes skimming over the text. When I notice this, I re-focus and start over. And in the studio, when I find myself wondering how soon I can be done with one thing so I can move on to the other, I take a breath, and re-focus.

august doldrums

I've been reminded that I have a blog and people like it when I post every once in a while. It's not that I don't have anything to say, there has just been a lot going on. I'm getting ready to leave for a 3 week trip to Europe in 7 days, and there's a lot of prep that has to happen because I'm leaving my helpers to manage things. Which makes me nervous. And testy. To deal with my testy nervousness I've been making martinis that are so strong they make my face numb. Martinis are really not a drink you should get into the habit of drinking. I wake up in the middle of the night apologizing to my liver and to the brain cells that I just killed, I feel so guilty when I drink like an alcoholic. And the most unfortunate thing of all is that it helps not at all for long-term relaxation.

Despite the hectic schedule, I feel like nothing is getting done, which is my default emotion for when I'm trying to do too much with too little time. People have been getting on my nerves, but I manage to maintain a superficially sunny exterior so no one gets hurt. I had my first negative feedback on etsy a few weeks ago. I already know there are unhappy customers out there, because I usually hear from them. This one, I heard nothing, just an ugly red "negative" post on my feedback page, with no commentary. I wrote the person immediately to ask them what was up, even though I was inclined to just ignore them since they already left negative feedback. But that would be poor customer service, and I never intentionally give poor customer service. Unless you are being such a bad customer that I have no choice. They wrote me back to tell me the creamer cracked-- or something, it was actually not totally clear what happened-- and it wouldn't hold liquid, so they were disappointed. I was so irritated by their total lack of recognition that they had other ways to deal with this--like maybe contact me so I could send them a new creamer--that it took me 4 days to respond. Taking that long to write a customer back broke my 24 hour rule, but every email I wrote was so hostile that I couldn't send it. I finally managed something bland and inoffensive:

I can't say for sure what happened with your piece unless I looked at it. Clearly, it seems you received a very rare defective item since all of my work is made to be useful and functional, not just something pretty to look at. I will replace the creamer, I hope that will resolve the issue. Let me know if this solution works for you and we will go from there.

Never heard back from the former customer, so fine, fuck off. Live with your cracked creamer.

Meanwhile, I've been working on this cool project for the Gamble House Garden in Palo Alto. The Gamble House is having a 25 year anniversary event and one of my good, long-term customers asked me to design an exclusive vase for them that would be sold as a fund-raising thing. Time to call in the Hector! All of these images are of the prototype vase I slaved over. The only unfortunate thing about this order is they want it glazed in the "bad boyfriend" glaze. I almost immediately started thinking about the brain cells that are serving me well today, but will die tomorrow as more rivers of vodka pour down my throat while I wait for kiln loads of vases covered in matte green glaze to cool down. I attempted to talk them into something else, but it's true that this vase will look best in the matte green glaze, so I had to concede. And then I immediately recruited Hector to do the glazing part too. I am merciless.

ready... or not

I haven't done a lick of work in what feels like weeks, though it's barely been two. The days leading up to the holidays is a siege, which makes the whole season like fighting a battle. I know how to dig my trenches, lay in a huge supply of ammo, and train my troops. But by December 20, my little bunker was being overrun by a panicked and scattered populace. I was shooting-- I mean shipping out orders right up until December 23, when I finally turned out the lights and retreated to Southern California. Still, I got an annoyed sounding email from a customer 3 days after Christmas wondering where her Christmas present was. It's amazing how I can hear whining even through the impersonal medium of electronic mail. And this from an east coast customer who placed the order 4 days before Christmas. I guess Christmas brings out the child in all of us.

I don't feel ready to go back to work, but then, I never do. It's really a shame that I didn't marry rich, because if anyone was built for a life of idleness, it's me. I've refined lolling around to a high art, and the beautiful thing is, I can do it just about anywhere. Part of the reason I work for myself is because I would never be able to get to amount of vacation days I really need from a regular job.

While I'm thinking about getting back to work, I'm also thinking of the upcoming year, and how I want to make it different for myself. I'm starting by skipping the wholesale show in February, which means I don't have to spend January pumping out samples and coming up with new "product". This also means I don't have an assured stream of income from store orders during the Spring, but after last year's lousy show, I've realized I don't depend on that as much as I thought I did. In fact, the more time I spend selling my work at half price to retail clients, the less time I have selling the same work at full price to my own individual clients. Though my own clients can be a major pain in the ass on occasion (see above), I still prefer dealing with them over dealing with stores.

Skipping the wholesale show is about more than just trying to cut wholesale and increase retail. It has become increasingly obvious to me that I need a creative outlet that's not just about ceramics. For a while, I thought that what I needed was more "creative" time in the studio, making stuff that's about making art and pleasing myself. But I've come to realize that that is not what I need at all; what I really need is less time in the studio and more time making other kinds of art. I've spent 10 years building this ceramics business and I've gotten very good at it. Up until now I could rarely think about spending my creative energy doing anything other than pottery. And now, I have a nice little business that can support other projects and give me the time I need to do other things. Like writing, which I love as much as ceramics. And painting, which I used to be good at. Resolutions can be a bit ridiculous and a set-up for failure, but I'm ready to make some changes in 2010. What about you all?

look familiar?

I was in San Luis Obispo this weekend with my sister, Brena. We were wandering around a gift store when she sucked in her breath. She had spotted this:


No, it's not mine. It's some cheap crap from China created by the Grasslands Divison of Amscan, a company I could only find after doing an image search of the item I found in this gift store. I like mine much better:

Of course, their version was $7.95, while mine is $140. And theirs is a miniature version, about 4" and 5" high. Check out the similarity in photography. This is theirs:
and mine:

Or maybe I'm just totally paranoid.

Naaaahhhhh.

The first time I made this piece was about 5 years ago. I threw this vase shape: bulbous on the bottom, with a flared, tall opening. And then the piece sat around. I didn't really know what to do with it and I wasn't coming up with a good design for this shape. I had an idea that the flared part should represent a flower opening, but my initial designs were not working for me. This was when I was developing the whole seed and pod line, and I was having a lot of fun playing around with my razor blade and re-shaping the openings of pots. Rather than trash this piece, I decided to do a version of the pomegranate with it, and 20 minutes later I had my first Sprout, as I like to call this vase. And I loved it. I think it is sophisticated, sculptural piece, that functions beautifully as both a vase and a work of art. That's the history of the piece, because like with almost all of my pieces, there is a story behind the design.

The incident this weekend led me back to a note I received about a week ago from another Etsy seller (edited for clarity, and to protect the possibly innocent):

Whoa, I thought your work was on the front page of Etsy, but I guess it was someone else. It seems this potter has been adapting a few styles from you, and possibly me. What do you think, as an artist and a potter? Does this ruffle your feathers at all? I really don't know what to think.

This note has nothing to do with the sprout piece, but another piece of mine that is extremely popular, and is such a classic design that I do not feel I have any copyright protection over it, I just have my own take on it. So I shrugged off the alert. But let me say this in bold type: I do not feel that way about most of my work. This is where the rubber really meets the road: getting ripped off sucks. My feathers get ruffled, and yeah, I get pissed. This is not the first time I've seen a cheap replica of my work coming out of China, and I always get this sick feeling in my stomach. It's a combination of anger, helplessness, and the creepy feeling of being stalked by people who specialize in ripping off intellectual property.

But I've learned to be realistic-- people who don't trust their own design instincts or are too lazy to develop them are out there, they work for big companies that are easy to name, and they are trolling my work and the work of others for "inspiration" as I write this right now. They are copycats, and copycats are just as disdained in the grown-up world as they are in first grade. I will continue to make great work, and copycats will continue to rip me off, and others. Rae Dunn, to name one person who is so relentlessly ripped off she started manufacturing a line in China so she could rip herself off before the copycats could. And people still copy her.

There is emulation, and learning from the work of others. That's one thing. Students may be forgiven for their trespasses on the road to developing their own style. I may see echoes of my work in the work of others, but my work contains echoes too. That is the nature of art-- there is hardly anything that has not been done before. But the line is there. Just like Justice Stewart said in a Supreme Court ruling about obscenity in 1964, pornography may be hard to define, but he knows it when he sees it. And while some may try to blur that line as they "subconsciously" appropriate your work, as an artist you know when the line has been crossed. We all know when we've been totally ripped off. And right now, I feel a little bit shredded.

For another discussion about ceramic artists getting the shaft in the world of design, read this old post.

monday, again

Are there people out there who actually can relax on the weekend? I know that I've done it, and given enough practice, can get get pretty good at it. But not lately. Since returning from the trade show, my weeks have been flying by, with so much to do at the studio day in and day out, only about half of what I feel needs to be accomplished to be caught up actually happens. And it's not that I took a ton of orders, it's just that everyone wants their stuff before Easter... whenever that is.

It's almost funny; in the morning I feel so energetic and hopeful, I'm convinced I can get it all done and have time to do something else, like meet a friend for lunch, or run a couple of personal errands. By lunchtime that hope has disappeared, and I'm neck deep in studio jobs. I can always tell by the state of my personal appearance-- the untrimmed and unpolished toenails, the unwashed hair, unshaved legs, non-moisturized skin-- exactly how busy I am. Personal appearance check rates me: superbusy.

Weekends have become roadblocks to getting my work done, and it makes me restless and anxious. Ostensibly, I do not work weekends. But I do end up spending tons of time doing satellite tasks: taking images of my pottery, working on my website, processing paperwork, answering emails, sending out invoices, writing for my blog... This afternoon I felt frustrated, and depressed. It's Sunday afternoon, I should be drinking mimosas at brunch with friends, or sleeping in-- or something like that--and I'm itchy for it to be Monday so I can get back to work. And at the same time knowing that even if Monday came a day early, I'm still going to be running behind. And following up this thought is recognizing that I am acting like a workaholic, jonesing for the distraction and absorption of my work to keep me satisfied. If I keep acting like this it won't be an act anymore.

So, I'm in the hamster cage right now, running running running, wondering when this damn wheel will get me somewhere. At the same time, there is evidence everywhere around the studio that stuff is getting done; orders are being filled. It's the cascade of small details, the little things that take a bunch of time, that seem overwhelming to me right now. My husband suggested to me this afternoon I blow off the rest of the stuff I was trying to deal with, and go take a walk. "But but but," I said, "then I just have to do it tomorrow." He looked at me like, "Yeah? And?" So I did it-- I blew it off, took the walk, came home, and got right back to it. If I am a workaholic, right now I'm hooked.

time to create

If you read my blog, you already know one of my biggest complaints is not having time to be creative and make new work. I spend most of my studio time managing my wholesale accounts and online orders. This fall I was determined to build in more creative time and stop the flow of complaining. If I really couldn't do it, then maybe it was time to reconsider how I was doing business, period. My business depends on creating new work, and so does my mental well-being. The one thing you hear over and over from customers at trade shows is, "What's new?" I can get away with "I have this in new colors!" for only a little while. For my own retail customers, especially the ones who have been buying from me a while, they also want to see what's next.

After an initial scramble a couple of weeks ago, we have production at the studio on a nice, even keel and I have been happily surprised by the fact that my little plan worked, and I do indeed have time to make new stuff. It was funny to see how my brain was resisting this open creative time at first. Frankly, it's so much easier to just crank out work without thinking, and when you've been doing that month in and month out, your creative edge gets dulled. This is a conversation I had with myself a few times:
"Hey, let's make some new pots!"
"Ummm... don't we need some more small cake stands?"
"Yeah, I guess it wouldn't hurt to have some in backstock." (Sounds of making ten small cake stands.)
1 hour later:
"Okay, how 'bout it? What should we make? I have this nice porcelain here!"
"Hmmm, that is nice porcelain. But don't you think it would be good to have some more dogwood flowers on hand? We're going to need a lot of them for orders."
"Dogwood flowers? We have plenty of those! Let's make some fun stuff!"
"I have a better idea. Let's see how many dessert plates we can make in 3 hours."
"What's your problem? You said you wanted to make some new stuff. Now all you want to make is easy stuff!"
"I don't have a problem! I just want to make sure we don't get behind, that's all."
"Well, we're ahead right now, so let's make the most of it!"
"Okay okay. Let's wedge up some of that porcelain"
(One hour later, staring into space.)
"What do you want to make?"
"I don't know, what do you want to make?"

I've been able to devote some time everyday this week to working on new things, and after I was done arguing with myself, this is one of the things I made:

what the negative weighs

The first thing I do when I get out of bed every morning is get the water boiling for coffee, and then read whatever email came in during the night. Last week I woke up to a lovely email from a customer who was so happy with the pottery she bought from me that she wrote me an email to tell me how talented and wonderful I am. Never get tired of those emails. Then I opened an email from my blog that contained a comment from an anonymous source, and this is what the comment said:

"Your pottery is starting to look like old lady slip cast ware."

My first reaction was to laugh, then hit the "trash" button. I've had some hard comments on my blog from people in the past, but I always let them stand because I think they are valuable and interesting, even if I don't agree. This one was just obnoxious so I deleted it from the blog, made my coffee, and got on with my day.

Except... I realized about halfway through the day that the comment was haunting me. Was I wallowing in happiness that someone took time from their day to tell me how awesome I am? No. I kept hearing the old lady cast ware comment, over and over. And I was having a variety of negative feelings and responses. For instance, anger: "Fuck you!" Defensiveness: "You don't even know my work." Condescension: "Keep your negative comments to the other students in your grad school classroom." Fear: "Shit, I'm turning into an old lady." Sneering, "You can't even stand behind your opinion, you have to comment anonymously, you miserable person." And then a combination of all of the above, "Screw you, twerp-- at least I have a body of work, and here in the real world where I live, it sells! What are you selling, besides coffee?"

Finally, about halfway through the day, I had to stop and contemplate how was managing this comment and allowing it to ruin my day. I was also interested in how I was letting this comment play out against an equally positive comment, and the irony that I read both within 2 minutes of each other. I love it when lessons really smack you in the face like that. Unfortunately, I'm me, and more inclined to let negative feedback make me feel bad than let positive feedback make me feel good. I think a lot of people would feel the same way-- but why?

Negativity taps in our most basic fears about ourselves, fears that are even hard to talk about sometimes. I live with my own voice telling me I need to do better work than I'm doing, and when another voice comes along and says the same thing in such a negative way, some of my worst fears are realized: I suck. For whatever reason, the negative carries weight, it's powerful-- or rather, we allow it to be more powerful than the positive.

It's a loop, and I knew I was running on a squirrel cage and I still have some work to do before I can keep myself from jumping on on the first place. I also knew it would take a day-- or maybe two-- to shake that shit off, but I did!

the scramble

Has anyone else noticed that summer is, like, over? I used to dread this time of year because it meant I had to go back to school. I hated school from kindergarten on, which made my childhood seem extremely long. I also hated being a kid, so you can't blame me for doing nothing the first fall I didn't have to go back to school but lay on the beach and smoke cigarettes. Man, talk about freedom! I didn't get over the fall dread until about 5 years ago.

Nowadays fall means getting ready for the Christmas slam. Smart people start doing this in August. I was goofing around and vacationing in August. My assistant, Sara, was also off for most of the month. Orders have been trickling in from stores, and I've been printing them out and filing them away. Last Monday was the first real day back to work in almost 4 weeks for both me and Sara, and we had a little meeting to schedule ship dates. I was not in the least panicked about it, I was anticipating a totally organized and mellow production schedule in our future.

That feeling disappeared after about 10 minutes as we both realized our production schedule is totally full, right up the very edge. We slammed the rest of our coffee, ran back to the studio, and took stock of what we had on the shelves. I chained myself to my wheel and started throwing, and Sara started glazing. It's not quite like going back to school; for starters, I'm getting paid. But it's pretty dang close!

customer service

I've been trying to write a post about customer service for about a week now, and my writing is going all over the place. There is a lot to cover. People who know me well and know my snappy and smart alecky self are probably choking on their coffee as they read that WHITNEY is writing about customer service. She's kidding-- right? I'm a bit battle hardened from years of retail shows, and I love entertaining my friends with stories about the most annoying people on earth who wander into my booth, and the way I keep them in line.

But the truth is, I love my customers, and I love wooing potential customers. My customers are intelligent people with exquisite taste, and they are the ones who assist me in my quest to avoid working for the man. That's not to say they can't be a total pain in my ass sometimes, but I love them even as they cause me pain. I'm all Buddah-nature about it. I really believe in the handmade credo of connecting with the customer; that is what the customer is looking for when they buy something handmade from an artist, and I'm all about giving it to them.

I'm going to try and keep this post in line by simply outlining a few ways that I give excellent customer service, and how any artist can give their customer great service too:

• Every customer gets a handwritten note from me, thanking them for their purchase. I love getting these notes from other artists, and very disappointed when I don't. If you don't value your customer enough to even thank them, they will never come back.
  
• I always tell customers the truth, even when it would be more convenient to lie, and I never make excuses. I'm an adult, and the customer is not my mommy. No matter how I screw things up, I stay honest about it, and I take responsibility, even if it is someone else's fault.
  
• I always try to figure out a way to say "yes" to a customer's request, even if I have to re-formulate their outrageous request into something I can actually say "yes" too.
  
• A certain amount of loss is a part of doing business. If something is broken during shipping, I replace it immediately. I've also replaced items stolen during shipping, and I don't worry for a second that the customer is trying to rip me off.
  
• I always assume that the customer has good intentions and will behave with honor. In my 12 years of business, I've never had a bounced check or a declined credit card not be made good on by a customer. For years, before I did business online, I would send out pieces to customers along with a bill, and they would send me a check. People thought I was crazy, but I always got paid.
  
• I'm not a big stickler about policies. I think having a bunch of stubborn policies indicates an adversarial approach to the customer, which in turn attracts those troublesome customers who love to push the limit on policies.
  
• I always speak -- or write-- to the customer respectfully, even if they are really pissing me off. No matter how important it seems to answer the customer immediately, if I'm upset, I sleep on it, 'cause I'm kind of a hothead. I can't tell you how many situations I've saved with this tactic.
  

And that's it!

another rule of wholesale

Right now things are so hopping at the studio, one of my two kilns are always firing. I'm so glad my power bill is on auto-pay so I don't have to see how much energy I'm using. Can I just say that any ceramicist who says they are "green" is full of shit? Okay, got that off my chest. Back to the subject at hand. Things are hopping not only because I have a lot of wholesale orders, but I overbooked my orders and so we are behind. Not too bad, but still lagging.

For years with wholesale, I would pretty much wing it: I would take whatever orders came and try to space them out so I didn't get too bunched up. But when I hit Philadelphia the last time I decided to get a system. I sat down and tried to figure out how much pottery I could pump out in a week. I figured I could do $2000 a week, and I booked the time accordingly. I printed out a little calendar, and every time I took an order I would put the total on that week. When the total reached $2000-- more or less-- I would move on to the next week. Great system, if you know your limits, which I clearly do not. As it turns out, I overestimated just a teeny, tiny bit. I'm seeing the result right now. Late orders.

I try as hard as I can to intimidate my wholesale buyers so they won't bother me with pesky questions like, "where is my order?" and I have caller ID to screen out those calls. But still, it's kind of a drag to be late. Mostly because I have a strong desire to be organized and efficient, and when orders are running late I feel twinges of failure and guilt.

If you want to tackle the beast that is wholesale, you must be organized and realistic about how much you can create in a given amount of time. Us artistic types always think we can do more than is humanly possible; that's just a given. Know that this is true for you also, and when you consider what you can make in a week, cut it in half. Just do it! Because when you think about all the extra stuff that comes up, not to mention the days when you simply can't make anything, cutting your expectations in half is a kindness to yourself, and to those pesky wholesale buyers.

escape

Last weekend I had a gigantic order for the Ansel Adams Gallery in Yosemite, and it was faster to drive to Yosemite and drop it off than to spend the day packing and shipping it, so that's what I did. I took my husband with me since it happened to be our wedding anniversary too. We rented one of those canvas tents that are usually packed with people during the summer, but on a Sunday-Monday in early spring it was pretty quiet. the dogwood trees were blooming like crazy so I was in heaven.

The scale of things in Yosemite is huge-- the rock faces, the waterfalls, the valley floor itself. One of the reasons why I am so inspired by nature is because nature is one of the few places where I can really forget about myself. You are no more insignificant than when you are out in nature because you are no more than a part of nature. Your human significance means absolutely nothing, you can be wiped out as quickly as anything else out there. Being out there, I can be reminded of my insignificance and I can easily forget about myself, my problems, my stress, my concerns. When I can let go of myself I am happy. I wanted to be in concert with Yosemite by letting go of my fear and worry and letting my imagination be as big as Half Dome. When I got back to the studio on Tuesday I threw aa big bowl and giant vase that I sculpted to look like a rock face. We'll see where it takes me.

one day

Today was another typical day at the studio. My assistant, Sara, showed up promptly at 9 AM and we sat down for a short meditation session to set our intention for the day. Our intention is the same every day: Experience the joy of clay!

Sara then immediately opened the kilns to unload a glaze firing. It really makes my heart sing to watch her unload a kiln of perfectly fired pots. As she unloads each piece, I wrap it in beautifully colored tissue paper and tie it off with a silk ribbon blessed by the Dalai Lama. We then attach the order to it for afternoon shipping to the happy new owner!

The mailman usually stops by around this time to drop off checks from my various clients. I take them to the bank on my afternoon walk. Today there were so many it actually required two trips. Sigh. Running errands are probably my least favorite thing to do but necessary to keep the studio running!

Fortunately my intern Philip was here today to help relieve the tension I was feeling after two trips to the bank to make deposits. Philip is studying to be a ceramicist AND a massage therapist. He has to practice his massage technique a certain number of hours every week, so when he is finished with his studio duties every day he gives me a 60 minute massage. I must say he is getting quite good at the massage thing!

After I woke up from my massage-induced nap, Sara and I sat down to afternoon tea. Of course we drink only out of cups made by Christa Assad. It just makes tea taste better! While we drink tea and relax we chat about various ways she can improve her performance in the studio and increase overall efficiency. I like to push my employees to be the best workers they can be! When they slack off I make a sad face at them and that usually puts them back on track. They hate to disappoint me.

After tea we brainstormed ideas for my next collection. I will usually close my eyes and go into a deep meditative state. I then toss out words that inspire me, like “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” or “dendrobium” or “bacon”. Bacon is a word that always inspires me. Sara, who is very good with her hands, will interpret my words into a drawing of a ceramic piece. Today I dreamed up the entire collection in one sitting! Then Sara sat down at the wheel and threw samples of each piece for my approval. I usually have her make at least ten of each piece so I can pick out the very best one. Really, that is our slogan around here, "Only the best!" I have everybody repeat that phrase at least 100 times a day so they don't forget it.

Since Sara obviously had a long evening ahead of her I decided to let her have the studio to herself so she could concentrate. And it was cocktail hour back at home anyway! The husband likes to start drinking the second I walk through the door, and today was no exception. I hope you all had as great and April Fool's Day as I did!

resolved

Remember back in January when I said I thought making resolutions in the deepest depths of winter was ridiculous, and it should be saved for the first day of spring when one may actually feel motivated to make some changes? Well guess what people? The Vernal Equinox is upon us in two days!

I have several resolutions. The first one is to start posting ceramic websites and blogs of people beside my immediate circle of friends. I've been very non-reciprocal in that area. I recently put a site meter on my blog to monitor how many people actually read this thing, and was surprised to learn how many beautiful fantastic awesome people have me bookmarked, and how many people come to me through other blogs websites. I found some very cool artists whose work I'd never seen before, and I thought I knew everybody. Well, apparently I do not, and god knows what else I'm missing. So if you are a ceramic person, please put your blog and/or website in my comments or email them to me and I will post it.

Second resolution is to start working my retail angle a lot harder. Last week I was all bunged up because I was considering doing the Las Vegas wholesale craft show (a relatively new show on the wholesale circuit) with Rae Dunn and a couple of other people. In the end, we couldn't pull it together and I found I was relieved. Why? Because I hate frickin' wholesale. I've started shipping my spring orders and these collections I send off are so beautiful. I mean really, it makes a momma proud. But I'm sending these babies off for less than half of what I could sell it for out of my studio or on Etsy. And that kinda hurts. Could I sell it all off myself for retail is the question.

Someone asked me a few weeks ago about how I developed my wholesale. I've been thinking a lot about that question because I want to answer it in an intelligent way that is helpful to people. I'm not going to do that right now other than to say I never wanted to do wholesale, but the retail shows were drying up in the sales department and I needed to do something to keep things going, hence the New York Gift show and Philadelphia Rosen. But if you read those posts you know I never come back all happy and stoked, I come back feeling depressed and used.

So my resolution now is to take that dough I was going to pour into Las Vegas and pour it into my marketing instead. I just uploaded a new website-- check it out-- and I'm going to take out some online ads and push etsy as hard as I can. Now the question is, what is your spring resolution?

staying sane

People always ask me how I work full-time earning a living as an artist and remain such a happy, healthy, balanced and sane person. Actually, nobody asks me that. But in my world, staying sane is a part-time job, and by that I mean I probably spend 20 hours a week working on not losing my mind.

During the first part of my art career, I worked part-time for other artists and full-time for myself, which meant I was working almost all of the time. Basically, anything that got in between me and my wheel was a major annoyance and something to be dealt with and put aside as quickly as possible. This included eating meals, bathing, time with my husband, and going on vacation. I was always stressed out because, dammit, life kept getting in my way when all I wanted to do was make some fuckin' pots!

I'm not sure when that changed. I think when I was in persistent physical pain from all my labor that I had to seek out a physical therapist to set it all right. Maybe it was around that time that I realized I wasn't taking very good care of myself, and it showed. It was so typical for me to run home at lunch, stuff a burrito down my gullet in like, 4 minutes, and then run back to the studio. At some point I'd be thinking, "Why does my stomach hurt?" I was also tired of being in a constant state of impatience to be in my studio when I was doing things outside my studio, like driving to the bank, a task I would put off until the whole mess was about to melt down. Here I was, living the dream, and always irritable.

This is how I take care of myself now, and I'm putting it out there for everyone to think about what they are doing to take care of themselves. It's not that interesting or magical, but here it is:
1) I stick to a regular routine of work. I'm a morning person, so I get up and go. I don't work evenings and I usually don't work in the studio for more than 6 hours a day.
2) I spend a minimum of 3 hours a week at my gym getting all sweaty, and I spend another one or two hours using their hot tub and steam room. I also go to my yoga studio at least once or twice a week.
3) I take time off regularly to get out of town and I don't waste time feeling guilty about it.
4) I borrow other people's kids instead of having my own (see picture above).
5) I battle impatience and anxiety with breathing exercises and meditation. And when I catch myself talking to myself in a nasty way, I ask myself if I would talk to my best friend that way.

big brother don't lie

One of my oldest friends in California is JT. I moved in next door to him in Santa Cruz when I was 18 and renting my first apartment. We became fast friends because we had a mutual love for beer, the beach, and bbq pork burritos. JT is one of the few people who I know for sure reads every blog posting I write, and complains when I haven't posted. I went to go visit him last weekend in Santa Cruz and he told me my blog has lately been "really boring!"

JT is like the older brother I wish I had but never did, so when he says something like that he could be messing with my head-- because that's what big brothers like to do-- or he could be telling me the truth. I quickly scanned some recent posts and I admit there is a lot of whining and feeling a bit sorry for myself. I think it's fascinating stuff, but it's possible others are not as entertained. I started to write a post the other day titled, "Collapsing under the weight of 1,000 fucked-up cake plates", but decided to stop myself from continuing the theme after talking to JT. It's possible that even I am getting bored with whining.

Today was the first day in a long time-- I'm talking months-- that I got to make some stuff that was not directly related to my wholesale business. The plan that's been in the works for a while is that Sara will deal with wholesale and I will make Art capital A. And receive visitors into my kingdom while eating bon-bons and getting a shoulder massage. And also, getting fanned with palm fronds by the palace slaves-- I mean interns.

So today I fooled around with my porcelain and here is some of what I made:
I threw away most of what came out today, but at least it wasn't boring!

back to reality

Have I mentioned lately how hard it is to be me? These trade shows can be really taxing. One of the things I find most difficult is coming home, back to reality. Not that I don't want to be home-- I do. But I have found over the past several years that when I come back after my trips, my groove is way off. I suppose it's normal, but knowing that I fall into the category of normal doesn't make it any easier. Part of the problem is that I extend these business trips back east because I have a lot of friends I want to catch up with, along with some important family members. So I can be gone for two to three weeks, which is just a long time to be away. And frankly, while these trade shows are worth it for my business, I have yet to have a super-successful wholesale show where I feel elated afterwards. You know when you have a really awesome show and you feel all the love from your clients and you can't wait to get back to the studio and make some new stuff? Well, a middling show like the one I just had in Philly generates, like, the opposite reaction in me.

I'm not looking for sympathy, but I do want to whine a bit. I can't help but question sometimes if I'm doing what I should be doing in my life. Maybe I need to completely ditch wholesale or maybe I need to invest more money into it; maybe I need to put all of my energy into creating a new line or maybe I just need to get pregnant and make sculpture. I must be totally warped to think that sounds easier right now. I did ask my husband recently if he would support me for a year if I closed my studio and wrote a novel. His answer was "yes", as long as I did all the cooking and cleaning. That sounded really great for about five minutes until I started thinking about the torture I go through as a writer. A year? Try two or three, darlin' . I mean, that's a real hell right there. Pottery hell is a goddamn picnic in fantasyland compared to writer's hell. But I have that ticket in my back pocket if I ever need it. And today it's burning a tiny little whole in my pants.

inhale...

Oh my god, look at that messy studio. I made the picture small so the details of messiness cannot be easily discerned. I have been on a throwing mission the past several days. Goal: throw 30 cake plates in each of my three sizes before I leave for the Philadelphia show this Tuesday. That's 90 plates for you math challenged types. I've been doing thirty a day. Since I have a great intern right now I make him wedge it all up for me, which he does cheerfully. Look at that clay waiting for me. Friday, I threw 150 pounds of clay in three and a half hours. I was feeling mighty sore that evening and had to roll around on the yoga ball for a while to get over it. And take a hot bath. And then immediately go to bed. I'm getting old.


So, taking off Tuesday morning. I have to fly through New York City so I can pick up my booth that is stored there in my friend's garage, and of course goof around for a day and a half in my second favorite city (after Oakland). Then I'm going on to Philadelphia, where Linda of Little Flower Designs is going to meet me and help me set up. It's good to have friends and people who help me out.

Then another week of goofing off before flying home and facing the mountain of orders I'm sure I will have...

I would also appreciate it if any of you back east people know of some great art exhibits (especially ceramics) I should see while in New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington. D.C.