Thursday, July 22, 2010

new vases

I made these vases for the Palo Alto Clay and Glass Festival, and I really love them. They are a take off on the "lichen" series, with their thin, uneven edges. I added the veining for some textural interest and to give them an organic edge.

It's weird where ideas come from. These vases started because I was throwing a bottle prototype for a company and the bottle needed to be very tall and skinny. I don't really throw tall and skinny so it was a bit of a challenge. I had to make a go at it three times to figure out how to throw a tall, skinny thing that didn't look all lumpy and crappy. Once I figured it out, I was in love with the process. It requires a bit more patience. I usually throw more open things that take me a few minutes to form, but to get the profile I wanted with these I couldn't push the clay around too much, too fast. It's slower, but you must remain engaged or you lose the straight lines. It's good for my brain to experience what it's like to be patient every once in a while. Such a rarity.

So when I got the perfect bottle I continued on with some vases. They came out to be about 6" for the smallest, and about 15" for the tallest. I sold most of them at Palo Alto but I do have the white one and the green one pictured here. The green one never made it to Palo Alto because I forgot to load it into the kiln, a fact I realized at about 3 AM. It's my "bad boyfriend" glaze, and I must say it's on very bad behavior here. A few bubbles, which I generally just have to accept, and it turned an ugly brown on the inside with a rash of bubbles all over. Oh well, who looks at the inside of a vase anyway? The white one is just lovely, it floats.

I'll put these babies up for sale on Etsy and on my website as soon as I figure out a good name for them. I've been calling them "Asparagus Vases" because of their shape, but that name is not holding. I have a little contest happening on my facebook page right now for naming rights. Put in your ideas and maybe you'll get a free one!

Saturday, July 17, 2010

dark thoughts

I've mentioned many times over the years how much I love being a part of the Palo Alto Clay and Glass Festival. It's a beautiful setting, good friends showing alongside me, and customers who are educated about art and buy work. When I first started showing at the Palo Alto Clay and Glass Festival, it was the late 90's and Palo Alto was flush with dot com cash. Palo Alto has always been a solid show but those days were very high rolling. I would always bring my best one-of-a-kind work, and it would sell. Things have been slowly shifting over the past 5 years, and I really started noticing two years ago how I was mostly selling my less expensive "standards" while my high priced, unique, one-of-a-kind work sat on the shelf. Not unexpected considering what was happening in the world, and the shifting demographic of Palo Alto itself, but for some reason I still always felt surprised. This year I planned for it, spending less time on really expensive stuff (over $400) and making some more mid-range work, in the $100-$250 range.

While it was still a very good show-- I still always sell more here than I ever have at any other show-- there were big, long periods of slowness, very unusual for Palo Alto. That left me with plenty of time to start having some very dark thoughts about the future. For the first time I started questioning my prices-- are they too high? I always put a lot of thought into how I price my work but I started picking things up and thinking "This is $175? That's an insane amount of money for this little thing!" I watched people time and time again ask about prices on stuff, nod soberly when I told them the cost, then walk away with nothing.

And there's more, of course. I think one of my biggest worries about the future of being a self-supporting artist is the changing nature in how young people-- my future customers-- are growing up and how they live now. There is little emphasis and education on art in schools while kids are driven to work their asses off on extra-curricular activities. Then, as they get older, these same kids incur huge debts in college and spend the first part of their adult lives paying off incredible loans. The contemplative life where the arts and culture can be appreciated simply does not figure into the American lifestyle as I think about what's coming in the future. I think art and culture is being set aside for the people who actually have the luxury of time, and that is the money rich. The rest of the population is expected to work harder, stay inside the home and watch television and play on the internet for entertainment, and shop Ikea if they want to express taste or style. In fact--and this is where it gets really dark--I think this whole emphasis on "design" in places like Target and Ikea is a cultural conspiracy to convince people that hand crafted art is irrelevant and out of reach. And with the way our society is changing with the lack of public funds, maybe it is becoming out of reach for everyone but money wealthy.

As I gloomed on these dark thoughts while remaining perky and friendly with people who walked into my booth, I felt like we are all on this ship sailing into a future nobody would recognize as desirable and nobody wants. But we are all so busy with the minutiae of our own lives we haven't looked up long enough to see that we are lost, our ship is falling apart, and we are about to go over some seriously steep waterfalls.

Wednesday, July 07, 2010

this weekend

My favorite retail show of the year is this weekend, the Palo Alto Clay and Glass Festival. I love this show because the selling is good, the customers love ceramics, I get to hang out with my pottery posse, and it's in the summer. I'm usually kind of losing my mind before Palo Alto, but this year I'm pretty together. I actually started packing today, which I don't think has ever happened this far in advance. You can take a peek here at some of the work I'll be bringing. Hope to see you there!

Saturday, July 03, 2010

new nested bowls

I love to make items that nest inside each other. Nested pieces are a visual surprise and delightful to me, and I think most people agree. The first thing I ever made that nested were the lotus bowls, about 14 years ago. I was obsessed with the lotus flower at that time, and I was trying to figure out a way to emulate its shape in clay. At that time I was just starting to carve edges of bowls to make flower bowls, and I was very pleased with the concept of carving away to make new shapes. I tried to make a bowl with carved and layered petals on the inside, but the results were not pleasing. All of the sudden I realized I should make the bowls separately to get the layered effect I wanted, and I had my first set of nesting bowls. They were a set of four. I wish I knew where they are now, I probably sold them for $50.

I've made dozens of different kinds of nesting bowls and plates since then. My most recent thing was a set of nesting ranunculus bowls. Most people don't know what a ranunculus is, so I may need to change the name to "rose nesting bowls" so I can stop explaining to people what they are. Ranunculus are very rosy in a way, though a lot more interesting to my eye.

The bowls were inspired after a visit to Neicy Frey's painting studio in Spokane, Washington. Neicy paints big beautiful canvases of brightly colored and delicately rendered flowers, including the ranunculus. Did I mention that the ranunculus is one of my favorite flowers? When I got back to my own studio it hit me to make some ranunculus bowls that nest. It was so obvious, I couldn't believe I had not thought of it before.

The ranunculus bowls turned out to be one of the more difficult things I've made in a while. Making bowls nest is easy when the rims are open-- all you have to do is measure the height and width. But to make these bowls really work, I had to make them curve in, so I had to measure height and width on the inside and outside. It was very slow going. I made several sets of three and five, a set of seven and a set of eight. The set of eight is a little big and scary, and at this moment I still have no idea what color to glaze them.

I made sets on two different occasions to test out the measuring formula, and strangely enough the first round I made fit better than the second round. This confirms my theory yet again that the best work is always done when one is freshly inspired and not yet weighed down too much with the possibilities of what can go wrong or trying to avoid a problem that one had the last time.

These bowls are on sale here and here. And I will have all of them at the Palo Alto Clay and Glass Festival next weekend if you want to stop by and check them out!

Thursday, June 17, 2010

publicity, or my martha story

About 18 months ago, I was sitting at JFK waiting to get on a plane after another disappointing, soul-killing, wholesale show. My cell rang, and it was an editor from Martha Stewart Weddings. I actually said to her, "I've been waiting for your call, what took you so long?" She laughed. She wanted some of my cupcake stands, pronto, for the magazine. I don't think I have to tell you that landing a spot in Martha is the equivalent of winning the publicity lottery. I sent the cupcake stands, and waited for my free copy of the magazine that they usually send you when your item has been featured in a magazine. A couple of months go by. Finally I email the editor and ask what's up? She kindly informs me that I've been bumped to the website only. Another 6 months go by, and I get another call from her asking for a collection of cherry blossom stuff, in pink. I send it out, fingers crossed. This time I get my magazine, and I almost hyperventilate with excitement, my head filled with visions of the massive retail orders I'm about to receive. I look through the magazine, once, twice, three times. Where the hell am I? I finally find an image of my cherry blossom plate, about the size of a dime, on the fold in a mix of other product. Worse, it's layered on top of another plate, making it look like I've made that plate too. To date, I've only received inquiries about that plate underneath!

It is impossible to underestimate the importance of publicity for your business. The first time I received some major publicity was a feature article on the front page of the "Living" section of the San Francisco Chronicle. Since this was back when newspapers were still major sources of information (2004), it generated a lot of attention, which equals a lot of orders. I had a retail show soon thereafter and I literally had people lined up all day long, which was a first. Still hoping it's not a last. After the Chronicle interview, I was able to pay off my student loan. It was also a small launch pad that took me up a notch in recognition, and generated more publicity. If you look at my press page, press mentions have steadily followed after that interview.

People always ask me how I get press, and my honest answer is, "not much" which is totally unhelpful, I know. That Chronicle article was generated by a publicist the Clay and Glass Association of California hires to promote the Clay and Glass Festival, but every other press thing has been editors and writers finding me.

I'm considering hiring a publicist who specializes in working with artists. When I was first starting out and thinking about generating press, I read about how artists are supposed to put together a press packet, and send it out to editors. I've never done that. I'm not sure what the protocol is nowadays, with all of the distractions and information flowing. One thing I do know is editors at magazines, blogs, etc, need to find us, they want to find us, because fresh, interesting "product" is essential to keeping their readers attention. What have you done to get publicity? Or are you like me, just laying around and waiting for it to come to you? I'm still waiting for Martha to call again, I think third time has to be the charm.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

policing your policies


Over the years I’ve been forced to develop policies in my business. If you do not have policies in place, your customers will find that weak spot and exploit it, whether they mean to or not. I used to resist having policies, and frankly, I hate having policies. Like most artists, I like to have an open, fluid approach to issues and not be rigid with a policy or rule. And with everything else I do, I've had to learn the hard way that having policies is just part of having a sane business. For instance, I used to never take deposits on custom orders because I like to work for the money. Also, people can’t rush me when the piece isn’t paid for yet. I had to create a policy around deposits for big orders because of a person who ordered a huge dinnerware set and then never called me again after I sent her the first samples. I had to find out from her decorator that she did not like them and was done with the project. If she had $500 invested into the order she probably would have been more inclined to work with me on the design. That was very disappointing, but I couldn’t get mad at anyone but myself for not taking a deposit in the first place.

I thought I had myself pretty well covered on policies until I realized I didn't.
I had a customer who bought a piece from me at a show last Christmas season, a gift, and this person asked me if he could exchange it if the recipient didn’t like the piece. What kind of fool doesn’t like my pieces in the first place, I don’t know, but apparently the customer was worried that he may know one. I made a mistake right then and there by kind of shrugging and saying, “I don’t really do exchanges, but if you get back to me right away, we can probably work something out.” What I should have said is, “You have x amount of days to make an exchange on anything you're not happy with.” I've been in business for well over 10 years and I so rarely encounter people wanting to exchange pieces that I never made policy around it. And that’s the problem so many artists have, being ambiguous with policies because they hate having to lay down the law.

Months later, I get a message from this customer, though I don't realize at the time that it's this exact customer. He asks me to open my studio on the weekend because he wants to bring his girlfriend over to select something. Since I think I have a sale on the hook, I have no problem opening in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. Turns out he didn't want to buy anything, he wants to exchange one of the pieces he bought at Christmas. It's possible I scared this customer a little bit with the steam that came out of my ears, but I did the exchange because I knew right off this whole thing was my fault for having a vague exchange policy. And now, the law has been laid down, and I have a hard and fast exchange policy.

Bottom line, don't be like me and let your mistakes dictate when you create your policies. Everyone who sells something should have a return and exchange policy that covers everything from breakage to lost shipping, a deposit policy, shipping policies, payment policies. In fact, just taking a look at the policies in etsy shops is a good place to start. Not only for yourself should you have policies in place, it also is assuring to the customer that they know what kind of experience they are going to have with you. It makes you look all professional and stuff.

As a side note, I know it makes some of you squirm when I talk about my annoying customers. Believe me when I say I have the best customers a girl could possibly want, except for about 1%. My most annoying customers usually teach me a lot, so they are not totally useless!

Monday, May 10, 2010

note to self: there are no perfect answers

I had an interesting conversation the other day with my friend and fellow ceramic artist, Laura Zindel. I like talking to Laura because she's ahead of me on the learning curve when it comes to being a full-time, professional artist, and is very grounded about the realities of making a living as a ceramic artist. She's talked me off the ledge a couple of times over the years, and I take what she says to heart because... she knows. With every challenge that comes up in my work, she's already been there, like 10 times.

We were discussing the challenges of dealing with your ceramic work as a "product" versus dealing with it as "art". I think the idea that art can only be made as one, unique item dogs many of us who depend on production in order to make a living. For myself, I divide my work into two categories: the high production stuff that is definitely a "product," and my more one-of-a-kind pieces which I see as my "art". The trap, as I see it, is getting sucked into that deep ravine of demand that comes when you make that great item that everyone wants (ahem, bird cake stands) and forgetting that you are an artist. Strangely, you can even start looking down on your own work, totally forgetting that even your "products" were born from art to begin with.

For some reason the artist Sergei Isupov has been on both of our minds lately. Me, because I wish I could translate my painting and abstract ideas onto clay the way that guy does, and Laura because she thinks even someone as brilliant and genius-like as Sergei is deals with the exact same crap we do when it comes to the challenges of making art in a market where demand is high for his work, even at the fine art end where he is. As we discussed this issue, Laura said that there are no perfect answers to meeting high demand with pottery, not with the product, and not with yourself. I think an artist is always going to have personal issues with creating work in a production setting, because of the loss of the artist's energy through the replication of each piece. But what are the choices when you want to make a living making your stuff? Sergei, at the other end of things, still has to wake up every day and come up with a new idea, and deal with people who want the same thing that has already sold.

What I'm really starting to understand as my career advances, there are no perfect answers to many of the issues I face as an artist. There is only making, or giving up. And everyone, no matter what they do with their life, faces this issue of doing meaningful work in a world that demands major output. So I want to know from you: how do you keep the art in production? How do you find meaning in repetition? Most of all, how do any of us stay sane when we must wrestle with these issues on a daily basis?

In this vein, I highly recommend Kari Radasch's article, "Eyes Wide Open" where she discusses some of these issues.