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.

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!

refining me, refining you

People who work with in ceramics already know the truth about clay: you can call it "mud", which is a kind of jokey put-down which belies the reality of this material. But really, clay is an entity. What do I mean by that? I mean, clay is not an uninformed, unformed substance. It's also not a living being either. Got no lungs, doesn't breathe. It is somewhere in between. An entity only partially understood by even brilliant potters.

Clay is one thing. Glaze is another. Combining the two is a path taken by crazy people. If you are a potter, and you think you are sane, you are sadly mistaken. Let me be the one to tell you: Everyone around you knows the truth about the state of your sanity. You are fooling no one.

As a potter, your job is to make things out of clay, and learn to have a certain mastery over the outcome. With every firing, you learn something else. And yet, you don't know shit. With every firing, you make new decisions about your future path-- how you will apply this particular glaze, what the clay body can handle, how much abuse they both can take, how thick you can lay it on. You see the results of your attempts, and you shift your ideas and approach accordingly. You think you are shifting according to what you want,which is the perfect firing, the perfect outcome, the perfect piece.

It occurred to me that my clay actually wants something too. I spend almost everyday with this thing, this being, this clay. I think I'm telling it what to do, and becoming its master. But I actually think it's telling me what to do. And if I don't listen, I'm in big trouble.

Of course the bottom line question always is-- when the clay starts talking, are you a genius, or are you just fucking nuts?

spring online sale

Did I mention I'm having a huge sale at my etsy store? You know me and my... glaze problems, which means lots of SECONDS. I'm unloading all of them this week, and I must say things are getting snapped up, which makes me very happy. But there's more more and more, so if you've been wanting something special, chances are it's in the shop, or it will be in the shop, or it's in the kiln right now, doing something crazy that will make it a second. And these are good seconds, stuff with small issues. There are lots of the standards, brand-new prototypes, and some things that are perfect but just need to go live somewhere else. And they deserve a good home, so hop over there and give them one!

The dreaded Bird Cake Stand in Robin Egg Blue $110
You know you need one!
And I have more in white (of course).
And in more sizes too...

An amazing one-of-a-kind Lotus Flower Serving Plate $175
Freakin' amazing if I do say so myself.


Swallowtail Lidded Vessel $46
Gorgeous details.

Red Poppy Plate $62
Do not try to resist.

never perfect

One of the biggest nightmares in my life for a long while were the bird cake stands. They are one of my current top sellers, and have been plagued with problems. When I first started making them, it was no problem. This is how it always starts: you whip out a great design, a fab new glaze, whatever, and the stuff starts selling. So you make more. But there is an internal flaw in the system that has not made itself known yet. As you make more, the flaw comes out. The more you sell, the more the problem starts to exponentially multiply.

With the cake stands, the first problem was the birds falling over during firing. This took a while to address, but I finally came up with the solution. Then it was getting the right glaze to fire out on these big, flat surfaces. I had to fiddle with my kiln, my firing style, my cooling phase, and the glaze to get it right.

I was so happy when I finally landed on the right white glaze that doesn't pinhole or bubble. This is a sweet white glaze, so I started using it as my default white glaze. Problem is, as I'm discovering, this white glaze loves to crawl all over the place on round surfaces. I had to ruin about $1000 worth of work before I decided fuck this. Now I have white glaze only for cake stands and straight surfaces (up, down sideways-- doesn't matter, as long as it is straight, no curves), and white glaze for everything else. Sigh...

I was discussing this issue with my good friend, Leah, who is operations manager and designer for a bead and jewelry component company. She said, "I keep waiting for this time when everything can just run smoothly-- when silver prices aren't spiking, when the economy isn't going to hell, when I can actually get the bead back from the maker that is actually the bead I designed..." I laughed, because that's what every single person I know is waiting for: smooth sailing.

I have gradually accepted that perfection is nothing more than an ideal rarely achieved. I have tortured myself-- and my husband-- trying to reach for that state of constant perfection at the studio and done nothing but suffer in the struggle. And when I say suffer, I mean painful, gut-wrenching, can't sleep, don't want to eat, always worried, crying everyday, totally pissed off, suffering. I went over and off the edge a while ago. While I was laying there, all flattened, on rock bottom, I realized how useless my yearning for perfection is. The ebb and flow of our work includes moments of bliss and perfection, and the rest of the time just regular life. Regular life usually means shit is breaking down, because that is the nature of being on this planet: nothing stays the same, things are constantly deteriorating, and perfection--like everything else-- is fleeting. Enjoy it while it lasts.

throwing demo

As it happens, at this moment I am writing from from the campus of Sierra Nevada College in Lake Tahoe. My pal Nick hooked me up with a guest artist gig here for a few days. I'm doing a presentation/lecture/throwing demonstration for the pottery classes here, and I'm kinda having a blast. I'm realizing that I really enjoy talking to students, showing them stuff, talking to them about my work, and giving demos. When Nick brought it up to me a while back, the idea of being a guest artist, I immediately felt a little bit nervous. I have remnants of shyness backed up way down deep inside, and in my head I was like, "No no no no no no." But of course I told Nick "Yes!" Then I had some ad hoc practice at Greenwich House Pottery in my friend's classes that he teaches there, so I felt pretty comfortable today, and I think it went really well. I have one more tomorrow. AND I'm being put up in the "Visiting Scholars Suite" that is pretty dang... sweet. My sister and husband are here to snowboard while I'm doing my thing, so I pretty much feel like I'm on vacation right now! I have open studio on Saturday and I need to fire off one more kiln, but I'm thinking we may stay an extra day anyway. Time off: good.

Timing is everything, and my good friend Frank finished my throwing demo video just the other day, so here it is people, enjoy. I'm going to get back to being visiting scholar now.


Dry throw demonstration from frank-e-t on Vimeo.

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.