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.

inspiration

I am often asked where I get my inspiration for my work, or how I get myself inspired.

Every once in a while inspiration is just delivered to me like a divine gift. A completed piece will show up in my head that I immediately understand and have the wherewithal to go ahead and make, but those times are very rare. It is magical, and I can't depend on it.

I think there is an assumption that art gets made through this kind of inspiration almost 100% of the time, that's how it "should" be. It helps feed the image of the artist as a special and mystical being, an image that I admit I can kind of enjoy, but ultimately it's just dress-up. It's not real.

The inspiration question I am never good at answering, because I get the feeling that people want a formula, or a step-by-step set of guidelines on how to pull ideas out of the ether and render them into creativity, and I don't have a formula. I mostly just do my work and hope. I think the reward for work is inspiration. And the reward for inspiration is work. It's a continual feedback loop. But all kinds of things will interrupt this loop, and that's just the reality of living in an annoying and imperfect world.

The best I can do is look for the beauty in all things. This is a habit for me, I try to find it everywhere.  Since I live in a crowded, polluted, overtaxed city environment, I have had to expand my definition of beauty. In hillsides covered will oil storage tanks. In broken down industrial lots with a small patches of flowering weeds. In the peeling paint on the sides of buildings. In the remote and withdrawn faces of strangers. Finding beauty means withdrawing judgement, and letting go of other people's definition of beauty. And as creative people, that is the first thing we all need to do.

what it takes

I'm going to graduate from college next year have been making pottery since I was in high school. I really love it and it is my passion. I read your post about quitting your day job and it made me think about whether or not I should try to make pottery my living. I think I am talented and I can work hard, but I'm not sure I can be successful. Do you think I should pursue my dream or should I do something more practical and keep pottery on the side? I'm sending you some pictures of my work, do you think I have what it takes?

I get this email or some variation on it a few times a year. I assume people contact me with this question because they want permission to pursue their dream, which to my mind is fundamentally at odds with having what it takes to pursue the dream. Never ask anyone, especially a stranger, if you should pursue your dream. You can ask for support, solicit advice, you can even listen to opinions, but never ask anyone for permission.

Running a pottery studio-- or any kind of art studio-- and selling work is an entrepreneurial endeavor. And this is what it takes: have some talent, work really hard, and hustle.

A lot of artists don't want to hear this because they don't want to hustle, they want to make art.

When I quit the last remnants of my day job back in 2000, I hustled by doing every single show and street fair I could while getting the name and address of every person that bought something from me so I could invite them to the next show.  That helped me build my name and a small local following. It wasn't easy because I am an introvert and it took 2 days to recover from these shows, but I knew I needed to hustle and I was willing to do it.

The hustle has changed a bit these days. The time I used to spend at shows I now spend in front of my computer, analyzing traffic and tweaking my various websites, managing sites that sell my work, posting my work to Etsy, twitter, instagram, facebook, and now (god help me) pinterest. I'm very new at pinterest so I'm reading articles about using it effectively, and I read lots of articles and even books about marketing and branding generally. I also write this blog, and a monthly newsletter, and spend days photographing my work. That's just the marketing side. The business side involves tracking all my expenses and income and analyzing what is going on there, paying all my bills, ordering supplies on a regular basis, and about 10 other things that are too boring write down here. You get the point; a Business 101 class won't kill you either.

Some people think this kind of activity is beneath an artist, and great art should sell itself somehow, or that an artist's only job should be to make work. Sorry, but only art stars get to do that. I am not an art star and the chances of any one of us becoming an art star are minuscule. Art school kids, listen up: the chances of you becoming an art star are infinitesimally tiny no matter how much you are paying for that art degree.

We have been handed a thousand mostly free tools to get ourselves and our work out into the world in the past 15 years. If artists can't see what an amazing gift this is, how more than ever we are being called to use our creativity in all of these areas that used to be left to the experts to manage for us, then I really have no words of encouragement.

The truth is, many artists don't want to put themselves out there because they fear judgement and failure. To that I say: both are absolutely going to happen. Get used to it. It will build your character and resilience, and maybe even your sense of humor.

Now get out there and hustle.

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.

hiring the help

I had a new intern start yesterday, a high school student obsessed with clay. Next week, I have another person starting as an assistant who I've been wooing since the summertime. She's coming from another studio so she has experience, a quality that is difficult to find. I don't want to get too far ahead of myself, but it seems that the under staffing problem I've been having since the beginning of the year since losing Sara to grad school may be coming to an end. And not a moment too soon.

You've may have heard me talk before about the importance of having help in the studio when you are always under the gun meeting orders. I've had people helping me in the studio since about 2004, and my life is better and more sane because of it. Some people, who shall go unnamed, and who really really need the help, have yet to take this step. There are several reasons for this: 1) some artists don't want to take the time away from their work to train new assistants. 2) some artists don't want other people messing with their work and changing its character, or worse, damaging it. 3) some artists think they can't afford the help. 4) some artists just don't want other bodies in the studio, making noise while they breathe, and changing up the dynamic.

I get all of these reasons. A lot if these fears can be overcome by finding the right person to work for you in the first place. I have always been extremely lucky in having really talented people work for me, individuals who can fit into my flow smoothly and pick up the work quickly. Each assistant I've hired has been better than the last. This year I had my first exception. I made a really bad hire. All of my instincts told me this person would not be a good fit, and I hired them anyway because the first person I hired totally flaked, and I was desperate. My studio can actually no longer function without extra hands, and the flaker put me right up against my deadlines, so I went ahead and hired someone who promptly drove me crazy. Not only because they simply could not handle the fast pace of a production environment and do the work in the way I wanted it done, but because of personal habits, like walking really really slowly. And dragging their feet while they did it. After about 8 weeks, I fired them. And vowed to never again hire anyone I had doubts about.

Finding the right person is more difficult than any of the reasons for not hiring someone in the first place. Unfortunately, suddenly putting the word out that you are hiring does not usually bring a flock of qualified applicants. My technique over the years has been to keep my eye out for people constantly, even if I'm currently all set. All of my friends know I hire help, so sometimes people will send me their nieces or random people they meet in workshops. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn't, but staying open to the possibilities of new hires keeps a fairly steady flow. And I can't wait for my new person to start!

my real job

I've written before about how many hours I have to spend on the computer with work-related stuff, and how it makes me feel like I'm wasting time, and I get resentful. Not only do I sometimes resent computer time, I also resent lots of other tasks, like packing and shipping, glazing, popping and cleaning molds, and sweeping the floor. A lot of the time I find myself gritting my teeth and mumbling, "Where is my dang intern/assistant/slave when I need them? Why am I doing this job?"

Since interns come and go, my assistants are usually busy with a million other tasks I assign them, and I have yet to source any clay slaves, I've realized that my resentful attitude about daily tasks is not helpful to me. In my quest to improve my attitude around my work, I've started thinking of all of these mundane duties as not annoying little things that get in between me and my real job--making pottery-- but as an integral and important part of my work. Everything I do that is related to my work is my job, my real job.

Since I usually only count making pottery as working, and the rest of it is just stuff that I do, I always think I'm not working enough. This is a self-defeating mind set because I always attempt to do more than I possibly can, then I blame myself for being a slacker when I get behind "schedule," which is pretty much every day. Really, what is happening is that I think I can walk into the studio and just make stuff, not taking into consideration that I have to perform a bunch of other tasks to get there. It's like the bee who gets mad that he can't deliver the honey before he gathers the nectar. That's a dumb bee. For me, and probably for you too, it's time to start thinking like a smart bee.

pace yourself

I've been learning a lot about my making process as I work my way through the very large Japan order. It's interesting that no matter how long you've been doing something, there's always more to discover. I learned so many hard lessons with the five-figure order and I've been determined not to make those same mistakes. The biggest mistake I made was not being organized and plotting out my production schedule. I procrastinated, and then backed myself into a very uncomfortable corner when there were glaze issues at the very end.

With the Japan order, I've been totally organized. I made a production schedule. I inventoried my glaze and ordered the extra I would need. I made a list of all the parts I would need: 180 individual cherry blossoms, 60 birds, 80 small cake stands, etc. I called my man Hector at the factory and gave him a heads up that I would need extra attention and pieces right now. I hired some extra hands and put them to work. No procrastinating.

What I've learned in the past month is the importance of pacing yourself. When the order rolled in, I got anxious and busted out almost half of the bell jars I would need for the order in one afternoon. The problem was, with all the other stuff that needed attention-- including other orders not related to the Japan order-- there wasn't time to trim and decorate all the bell jars I made. We only manged to deal with the ones I would need for the first round of glazing and firing, the rest have been wrapped up tightly in plastic and have been waiting their turn for over two weeks. So really, that afternoon I spent making all of that stuff was not really time well spent, all it did was temporarily assuage my anxiety. Which was maybe worth it for that day, just so I could prove to myself that I could throw the entire order in three days, if I wanted to. Which I don't, really.

Pacing yourself is totally related to organization too. Knowing what I need, as well as when I need it is part of the whole picture; not getting too far ahead in one area, only to fall behind in another. It's been challenging to stay on course, because I generally set my stride from instinct, rather than going by a tightly paced list of needed items. I think most artists are probably the same. But it's working for me; by Thursday I should have 50% of the order glazed up, which gives me four more weeks for the rest!

back to work

I didn't want to go back to work until September 1, but the combination of August 31 landing on a Monday, and the scary pile of orders that have built up over the past 3 weeks have motivated me out of bed before 8 am for the first time in weeks. Time to hit the gym-- jeans have been getting a little tight-- then spending the afternoon in the studio. Making stuff. That's what I do!

First, some business. I've been neglecting acknowledging a blog award named the "Lovely Blog Award". Usually these awards involve awarding other people who write blogs. I'm a wet blanket when it comes to playing these tagging and award games. In fact, I play dead. What can I say, it's just not my thing. But I'll play, albeit by my own rules.

First, I was awarded by Donna Rosser, who writes a lovely blog herself called "The Barefoot Photographer." I'm supposed to award 15 blogs, but since there is no way I'm doing that, I'm going to mention a couple of interesting blogs I've stumbled onto recently that are not already posted onto my blog roll.

Color Me Katie A lighthearted little blog from a person who appears to be the opposite of me. I wish I knew how to be that... effervescent.

All About Cities A fascinating take on the social, cultural, and economic aspects of cities. If I'm ever bedridden for a long period of time, I'd probably read this whole thing.

Get Rich Slowly When I'm freaking out about money, this blog can help me get perspective.

Writing Hannah A funny and sometimes snarky blog from a writer about... writing. And annoying blog comments. And purses. And a bunch of other stuff. It's funny.

Homestead Momma Not my usual blog fare, but I found a recipe for spicy canned beans here and I'm always interested in people who are trying to live more efficiently and frugally. I especially love that she keeps a running list of food produced and preserved on the side of her blog.

It feels good to be back on my usual schedule, and I do feel calm and centered at the moment, ready to tackle everything that is coming up. I realized while I was on vacation how I have an extreme stress response every time there is something going wrong at the studio. Like, while I was in Washington, I got an email from someone whose order got broken in transit. Not a big deal really, and she was not upset. But I noticed my heart started pounding immediately, and I had a surge of adrenaline. The same response happened a few days later when I got an email from another customer about another problem. I know that this is the response I always have, and it suddenly occurred to me that maybe having an extreme physical reaction to stress is something I need to work on. Immediately following this thought was the echo of my husband's voice: "You need to relax." A request I promptly ignore. Hmmmm, maybe that's an order I should listen to.

what to do when an order goes off the rails

I've been plagued by difficult orders lately. I think there are always annoying little things happening at a pottery studio at any given time-- glazes bubbling, plates warping, lids sticking, all for no discernible reason-- and for me it's been one thing after another with different orders since the start of this year.

Usually when I get a special order, I like to make two of whatever it is, so I have a back-up and there are not undue delays on getting the order out of the studio. Sometimes, both the original and the back-up will fail, in which case I go for round three, which will usually take care of the problem. In fact, I strongly believe in the power of three, and my ability to pull off an order in three rounds or less. But my ability to do this has been mightily challenged in these past months. Right now, I have four orders I can't seem to get out the door. I've failed after three rounds on all of these orders.

It's so frustrating, and kind of depressing too. I hate to see my hard work collect in the shard pile. But here are a few coping tips I've developed over the years and keep me from losing too much sleep when orders are going off the rails:

• I communicate with the customer right away when there is going to be a delay. Nothing is more annoying for a customer than having to check in because their order isn't shipping, and then discovering from the artist there is a problem.  I do this to give myself a bit of breathing space and move up the ship date.
• I'm always completely honest with the customer about what's happening. I explain clearly what is going on without being too wordy, I don't make excuses, and I apologize for the inconvenience. This goes a long way to soothe any impatient customers.
  
• I don't worry that the customer is going to be mad at me. If they are mad that they can't get their pottery when they want it, that's a personal problem. They are my client, not my mommy or daddy. In other words, I keep it professional.
• Failed pieces are part of being a potter. They just are. You, me, and everyone else out there crazy enough to make pottery are always going to have failures. I do my best to accept it and move on. Sometimes I have to throw a little tantrum first, and that's okay too.
  

I think the hardest thing is when a client comes across as unsympathetic to the problem, or seems to think you are not even working on their order, OR implies their order is the only thing you should be working on. Many people are completely ignorant about how a pottery studio is run, the workflow of making, bisquing, glazing, firing again, and the many challenges at every stage of the process. I try to educate people without getting defensive, and when I do start getting hyped up or extra stressed, my go-to mantra is, "It's just pottery". Because really, that's all it is, and if a client is going to give me a hard time about an order, they are crazy. And if I'm going to give myself a hard time, I've lost perspective. And when I need perspective, I pretend like I'm a friend of mine, and what my reaction would be to watch this friend beat themselves up over a failed piece of pottery. Would I get in there and say, "Yeah, you really fucked that one up. Why don't you work harder?" No, I would not. I would say to my friend, "You are amazing, and you will do beter next time." And that's what I say to myself, too. Okay, I'm lying, I don't. But I try!

both ends

It's Thursday.  I'm in the finishing zone of a three-day intensive of bisque, glazing, firing. Three rounds of glaze loads as I get ready for the Palo Alto Clay and Glass Festival, my biggest retail show of the year. 

It's been a very dark place in my head the past three days.  I basically did it to myself; I've had so many regular orders to deal with that I kept putting off glazing and firing the more complicated and expensive pieces I make for Palo Alto in favor of quick kiln loads to get

my orders out the door.  In the end, everything is riding on good firings, no room for mistakes or re-fires because each kiln load is packed tighter than a Japanese subway, all space sold out.  Each night I go home, drink one beer, just one beer, eat dinner, and pop an ambien that I don't have a prescription for.  I read until I pass out, and the ambien makes sure that I don't wake up in the middle of the night with panic attacks.  I fire during the night, and even during the best of times I usually wake up around 3 AM, sure that something is going wrong in the kiln or I forgot to do something.  Sometimes I can't go back to sleep until I pad down the street to my studio and check that everything is good.

I always think I can do more than I really can, or what is good for me.  When I plotted out this schedule, it seemed perfectly do-able.  Now, I feel like I've been run over by a clay truck.  And when I get tired, the voices from Radio K-FUKT start.  Man, those voices really know all my weak spots.  By the end of yesterday, I had decided to quit pottery and write a book.  I decided to stop wholesaling and only make work for people who can make it through my vetting process.   I wondered how long it would take a neighbor to call the police on me if I just started throwing pottery into a pile on the sidewalk in front of my studio door, just got rid of everything in my studio.   I thought about getting a job.  A job where results don't matter, and I'm not responsible for anything.  The DMV sounded good. I wondered what kind of price I could get for my work if I put out the word that I was quitting and not making anything ever again.  And then I wondered how long it would be before I forgot about the pain and got back on the wheel.

the double-edged sword of etsy

I had another upsetting incident this week with someone copying my work. I was tooling around on etsy late one night when on the front page I spotted a set of nesting lotus bowls, carved in the exact same shape the way I carve mine. Not only was the design the same, it was photographed in the same way I photograph mine, which is a close-up half shot. I've been developing this style of photographing some of my work in the past 8 months, and I really love the look of it for some items, especially the lotus bowls.

The fact that the bowls were photographed in the same way really blew me away . With that, there was no question that someone was making a deliberate attempt to imitate my work. Not only imitate me, but selling the imitation on the same site as I sell mine, at a much much lower price. A quick look at their shop showed that the lotus bowls were an anomaly, clearly not fitting in with the body of work that was in their shop already. But they had sold several sets, all photographed in the same way.

I had to figure out how to cope with this situation. I didn't think of this person as a threat to my business. They are just making pottery as a hobby, and to acknowledge them at all might make me look crazy. But, I was so pissed I could not sleep. My husband, who happens to be the more levelheaded of the two of us, took one look and said I should have Escobar, my aptly named lawyer, send a cease and desist. I thought that was overkill, but fired off a late-night letter to the lawyer anyway, which enabled me to sleep. The next day I sent the maker of these bowls a strongly worded email detailing exactly how I thought she was copying me, how much I did not like it, and insisted she take the listings down immediately. Which she did.

It brought front and center--again-- the double-edged sword of etsy. At my studio, the retail money that flows in from etsy keeps the wheels greased. Ain't nothin squeakin' there. I ship out every week to new customers from all over the world, and have made incredible press and wholesale connections. But there is no free lunch, right? Etsy has become well known for the copycats it inspires, not only in ceramics but in other categories, jewelry probably being the most problematic. But I see the copying in the ceramic category every day, and it frankly makes me sick. Thankfully, I see very little that gets my radar up around my own work. Part of the problem with etsy is that many of the artists and makers are not professional, and they may not have an artistic sense of integrity that comes from years of making your own things. They may just like making stuff, and when they see something they like on etsy, have no problem trying to make the same thing. And then selling it.

I've made the commitment to myself that I will not tolerate people copying my work, whether it's from a big company or an etsy seller. Anyone who attempts to copy my work, and then try to pass it off as their own, is going to get the email I sent this other person. And then they will hear from Escobar. The response I received back from this person was very humble, and I think they weren't at all considering the implications of what they were doing when they posted the bowls. But that's no excuse. And I think all the artists on etsy, and otherwise, need to stop being so fucking mellow or limiting their complaining to their friends when they have their designs infringed upon. Defend yourself. I'm happy to supply a copy of the letter I sent to this person to anyone who wants it via email. I think it's a highly effective letter with no threats, implied or otherwise. But if I received it from an artist, I would probably throw up immediately from anxiety. And I have no problem with that.

nesting

It was kind of an amazing day. I've been alone at the studio all week; one assistant has family in town, the other has been sick. I'm so rarely alone in the studio anymore that when it happens, I really dig it. I blast the music and get into my own personal groove, no interruptions.

Today I sat down to work on a project that has been in the works-- in my head-- for at least two years. A set of nesting bowls in the 12-15 range, working up to 20-22. I want them to be part of my new lichen collection, a collection of this ultra-thin porcelain work I've been babying along the last year. I threw this set in stoneware just to check the weight and size on everything before committing it to porcelain. God, I love throwing so much, I really really do. Everything else in my life hit the back burner today as I hummed along happily on my wheel:

The biggest bowl was so damn satisfying. I could stick my whole head in there, if I wanted to. You can barely see the smallest bowl here, which looked like this when I was throwing it:

Then I beat it out of the studio at 4 sharp to head over to San Francisco and deliver some work to a customer and then sally on over to Rena Bransten gallery to see one of my assistant's, Marci Washington, solo painting show. Whoa. I've seen Marci's work online, but seeing it in person was very powerful and impressive. Her work is extremely creepy, but it really speaks to me, and her statement about her work is very intelligent and thoughtful. The painting below was one of my favorites.
It's called Escape Into the Woods-Purging the Black Infection. I don't know if I would want it hanging in my bedroom, but I really liked it, especially in the context of the entire show. Please take a tour of it right here!

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.

old problems, new solutions

It's been a race to the finish line all week. I kissed my work good-bye and put it on a truck first thing Tuesday morning, and it will be waiting for me in my booth in Philadelphia when I arrive this Wednesday. Do you remember last year when I stupidly shipped through the show's Exhibitor Services and my work was destroyed? That will not be happening this year. Another artist from the Bay Area rented a truck and is bringing in a bunch of people's work, including mine, and I'm feeling very confident all will arrive safely. And I got everything else done: the wholesale catalog, the website update, the communications with my wholesale buyers, and the myriad other small details.

Meanwhile, I've been training my two new people; one on production throwing, the other on production glazing. Training someone in glazing is very challenging for me. It's the end of the line with the creative process and when things die at this point I've lost all the investment. I'm a picky bitch and I want glazing done the way I taught you, which means perfectly and efficiently. It's a constant push to mold new people, especially people who have never worked in a production environment. I have to be fully present, mentally and physically, and ready to address every single detail, down to how to put the lids on the correct glaze buckets. I had to tell my new glaze assistant that there will come a day soon where she realizes I'm actually a nice person and she will probably like me, but that time has not come yet.

Despite the tension, it's also good to have new eyeballs in the studio, because new people have new ideas and a fresh way of approaching problems. One issue Sara and I had for a while is glazing my large split pods. They are 9" high, round, and full of air. Dipping them with tongs or by hand is impossible, so our solution has been to brush glaze them. Alexis was not having it. She obsessed on the problem for a day or two and then came up with the solution: a heavy duty wire, like from the handle of a 5-gallon bucket, balancing the pod on it right between the split, securing it with your thumbs on the top. It was the perfect solution and we got a two beautifully dipped large pods for the first time ever!

remarkably calm

January has been interesting. Last month, I hired someone to take my precious Sara's place since she is in grad school right now and does not work for me anymore. I was pretty excited about this person. Then, this person totally flaked, never showed up for the first day, did not call, did not respond to my email. I still think it's possible that this person may be dead. I can't think of any other reason why you would not show up to work with me.

Back in the old days (four years ago), January was a month to do absolutely nothing. Work in the studio a little bit, but mostly just relax and recharge. This is no longer the case. I'm shipping out work twice a week because of etsy sales, and also getting ready for the Philadelphia Buyer's Market, my one trade show of the year that starts February 13. And with the way I am, I can't really focus on Philly until Christmas is totally over. Which basically gives me 5 weeks to come up with the stuff I'm going to add to my collection, make the samples, photograph, re-design the wholesale website, design the catalog, and pack up the whole kaboodle and ship out. I love it. No really, I do. It stimulates every little node on my brain, and as long as I have a gigantic cup of coffee in the morning to rocket me out the door, I'm all good.

So when this person flaked, at first I was sad, then confused, and finally super pissed. I got down to work, by myself, and started thinking. I thought, "Well, maybe it's a sign I need to work alone again. Maybe the economy really is going to completely tank and I'll have no orders anyway. Yeah, I can do all this!" 100 cake stands later, I called up two other people I interviewed before hiring the other person and hired both of them.

And finally, my horoscope this week, which just made me laugh:

Leo July 23-August 22

Yes, it is a lot of hard work — but you knew that going into the current situation. So embrace this moment, appreciate what it feels like to be thoroughly engaged, and then, be grateful for the opportunity.

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.

one piece, one glaze

Yesterday I put this pot up on my etsy site. It's a really old piece, I think I made it in 2003. Back then, one of my main muses was the lily pad and lotus flower, and I made a lot of raised relief designs with slip trailing, emulating the veins of a lily pad. Very labor-intensive, but the results were lovely. The shape of this pot was also very standard for me. I wanted a continuous and unbroken line where the lid met the pot. There was something about a typical pot where the shoulder has a little rise where the lid can rest that I just did not like. The shape seemed too conventional and brought down my design. I always had to fire the lids separate from the pot, which is kind of a no-no, but it worked for me.

This pot was glazed during a period of time when my matte green glaze was not firing out at all, it was coming out a grayish-green, like on this piece here, and it was making me completely insane. I could not appreciate it the way it was, all I saw was the way it should be. Man, the pots I marked down because the color did not satisfy me! It's kinda sad the way I tossed my children into the cold when they didn't please me, but good for the people who found them all covered in dust at my studio sales. That matte green glaze has made me insane several times over the years; it is an utterly beautiful and completely undependable glaze. I have referred to it in the past as my bad boyfriend glaze.

One time I wholesaled this matte green for a season, and I sold the hell out of it. When I started firing off orders, the glaze started bubbling. All over, really bad. The galleries get it, they love the wabi-sabi of bubbles, but the retail home accessories store in Dallas, Texas does not get it. I could not get a single piece out of the kiln without a bubble on it. Nowadays I only use it for my own customers, and I don't worry if there is a bubble or two on it. It's a picky glaze that likes to be treated like it's a superstar and doesn't want to be part of a production line. Hey, I get it. I don't call it my bad boyfriend glaze anymore, it's my special baby.