social media

When I'm trying to meditate, or breathe my way through yoga, or focus on The Now, I often find myself drifting into a fantasy of being interviewed by Vanity Fair, Ira Glass, Teri Gross, or even Playboy. You know those quick little Q & A's that some magazines do? One of the questions they always ask people is what characteristic is most important to have, and what traits they most value in other people. If I were asked that question, my answer would be "integrity" and "bravery." Playboy bunnies almost always answer "honesty." How do I know that?  I just do.

Of course if I were being interviewed by those people-- and I'm still holding out that it could happen someday-- I would not be asked either of those questions, I would be asked the question I always get, which is, "What is your advice to an artist starting out?"  I've already written a bunch about that topic right here.

I'm always thinking about that question, and refining my past answers, and coming up with new responses. I have a new answer right now.  My new answer to the question of what I advise artists starting out-- or who are already out and on their way-- is to get very skilled at social media.  And when I say "social media" I am referring to the social media juggernaut: the facebook, blogging, and the twitter.  And Flikr, which I guess is social media, but I look at it more as online image storage. And I'm rooting for Google+, which I adopted right away because it is so much better than facebook.  But I'm not going to get into that right now.

I've been trying to write an informative and interesting post about this topic all week, and every post I've attempted totally sucks. There is so much information about social media out there already.  I know I have knowledge to share that is helpful for the artist, but my brain keeps overloading.

 Then, it occurred to me as I was writing a third sucky draft on this topic, that rather than try to figure out what I should write about social media, I should use social media as a way to let you tell me what you want to know, what's helpful for you.  So I set up a discussion tab on my facebook fan page, and then I was promptly informed by facebook that they are discontinuing the discussion tab soon because they think the best way to encourage discussion is by people leaving comments on your page.  That is just one reason why I get so sick of facebook, they are always trying to control how I use them.  So we'll keep it simple by starting the discussion right here in the comments forum.  Post any question, answer, comment, or thought about social media you have below.  Let's get the discussion going! 

focus...

Yesterday as I was on my way to my local box manufacturer to pick up an order of shipping boxes, crawling along in freeway traffic trying to edge around an accident that turned the road into a parking lot, I fondly recalled the days where I hardly left the studio except to go home and sleep.  I would get to work as early as possible in the day to throw, trim, decorate, and glaze.  I didn't have a computer, employees, a production schedule, or frankly, many customers to distract me from my work.  Now, my studio work is only one aspect of what I have to do everyday.  And it's very easy for the day to turn into a total clusterfuck.

By the time I got through the accident,  took the wrong exit and spent another 20 minutes trying to  get back to where I needed to be, picked up the boxes, and drove back to the studio, 90 minutes had gone by.  And I was a simmering.  My mantra, in these moments, is, "This is your job, and it's better than working for the man, trying to look busy while you think up clever facebook posts, being told when you can take your lunch break or your vacation, and dying for Fridays when you can go get wasted and forget what you do for a living." Too bad that mantra doesn't do shit for making me feel better, or productive.

With the distractions I cope with every day it's a wonder I have a business at all. What's the lesson here? I have no effin' idea.  Actually, I do. It's all about choices.  I chose to go pick up boxes instead of having them delivered because it saved me 90 bucks in freight charges.  And I need that 90 bucks for my therapist who helps me deal with my resentments and anxiety around my business and artwork.  See?  It's all working together like a nice, tightly interlocked puzzle.  Now, where's that damn corner piece?

endless summer

Last week, I got into an accident on my bicycle, resulting in a neck injury that has kept me from doing any studio work.  For those of you that like accident details, I was doored, which in bicycling parlance means someone suddenly opened their car door in front of me.  One second I was pedaling along, the next second I was flying through the air, and preparing to make contact with the bumper from a stopped truck in front of me with my face.  It's amazing how when you are in an accident your brain is still processing and thinking, and what I was thinking was how much plastic surgery was going to cost to fix my about-to-be-smashed face.  Somehow, I got my feet under me and rolled onto my shoulder, which hurt, but saved the bones in my face.  Somewhere in between the flying and the sprawling on the pavement, I also tweaked my neck.

 I work very little during July and August, and the day of my accident was the same day I was "getting back to work."  I know I should be prepping myself for the holidays during the summer, but you know what?  Fuck the holidays.  I'm sick to death of being a slave to the season. Being off work for another week gave me plenty of time to consider how screwed I am right now.  I made all kinds of false promises to myself about what I would do this summer to tighten up my business, make new work, ramp up my marketing.  All I did was get so lazy that I can barely answer emails.  And, I gained weight  from the gallons of beer I drank in my backyard in between naps.  Honestly, I think I slept more in my backyard this summer than I did in my own bed. Here it is, almost mid-September and what do I have to show for it?  A half completed new website and 5 pounds.


This is the problem:  When the pressure is off, I'm off.  My brain gets all floaty and vague.  My goals get fuzzy.  I forget that I have a job. For me to get shit done, I need to be under the gun. By the way, I think that expression should be the new "Keep calm and carry on" and someone should make a poster of it right now.  And by "someone" I mean "someone else".  I need a challenge, and a deadline to keep things popping in my work.  And I'm ready!  I swear I'm ready to get going again, if only I could turn my head... 

I made $$$$'s making pottery, you can too!

If you've read this blog for a while, you all know I've mastered the art of the scathing email. The problem with the perfect scathing email is that the person who you are targeting is usually something of an innocent bystander, unaware that they have just set off one of your touchy little buttons, and sending them the scather you just composed will probably just confuse them and wonder why you are such an angry person.

That's why I have you guys. You understand my touchy little buttons. And you know why I am angry, and you think it's funny when I get mad, unlike some people, who just think I'm bitter and maybe even psychotic.

Dear Whitney,

I'm the owner of a new website called www.makeshitloadsofmoneyfrom pottery.com*. I'm developing a series of products and services to help pottery hobbyists turn their passion for pottery into a money-making business. I was wondering if you would be kind enough to do an interview for me, answering questions about how you started and grew your business to what it is today. The benefits of working with us are that we will be producing a product you can use in your own business, and within the interview we will promote you and your accomplishments. Thank you!

(*This is not the actual name of the site. While some people get a charge out of publicly crapping on people's dreams, I like to crap on people's dreams behind their back.)

Well, I love being interviewed, because I love to talk about myself, so I click the link to check it out. The headline on the site screams, "Learn How to Discover the Stacks of $100 Bills Hidden in Your Pottery Wheel!" I honestly cannot think of a better title for my own how-to guide, and I'm ripping it off right now and replacing my current title, which is, "Never Give Up: A Potter's Guide to the 30% Profit Margin." I did not realize how dull that title is until just now.

The bullet points are many, one of which promised to show potters how to "simply" and "easily" make extra money by spending "blissful hours enjoying your pottery craft". There are more entreaties stating that starting and running a pottery business can fit into any lifestyle, despite any other work or family commitments one may have. That made me think about my pal Sara Paloma, who works at 2 in the morning so she can make pots without her two children asking her to make them a peanut butter sandwich. Has she read this? Does she know she's living the dream? The site actually says that it is possible to become fulfilled and happy while making a huge profit that could end all your financial worries. The words came in bold, just like that. Somehow, that just made it seem truer.

I'm wondering how someone got the idea of hawking the potter's life as a late night infomercial? Because I am jumping on that shit right away. With a little make-up, a push up bra, some clay-splattered low-rise jeans, and my cell phone camera, I think I can sell it even better than this site can. They ask me to close my eyes and "imagine" being called by "Martha Stewart for a feature," and "cash-loaded buyers flocking to buy [my] creations", selling my pieces for "thousands of dollars per piece" so I can "purchase a new car" or go on that "island holiday I've been fantasizing about!" Screw cars and island vacations, I'm talking about going out and being able to buy any kind of beer I want without even considering that gigantic utility bill I just got, because I can pay for both. I can, because I just sold the hell out of some cupcake stands and sugar bowls.

Dear____

Thank you for your email and interest in my work. I'm currently not available for interviews due to my overwhelming obligations at work and home. Good luck with your project.

--Whitney

perfection is torture

Lately I've been noticing how much I clench my jaw. I'm not sure that this is a new habit, or something I've always done, but every time I catch myself doing it, I unclench and try to loosen up my face. Now that I'm 40 I'm starting to worry about losing my youthful freshness and I don't want to be one of those people with a permanent scowl. While I'm working on my clenching, I'm also starting to change my attitude toward perfection. Somehow these two things go together in my mind, so stay with me.

Artists are tortured souls because we torture ourselves, in very specific ways that cut us the most deeply. I have many ways of torturing myself, but one of my favorite ways is by pushing myself to create "perfect" pieces. No cracks, no glaze crawls, no pinholes, no runs, no awkward lines, no bumps, no uneveness... you get the picture. It is a severe kind of torture, punishing and unsympathetic.

When I buy pottery, I'm not looking for "perfection" in the terms I've enumerated above, I'm looking for a piece I love. The things I may consider imperfections were it my own work is stuff that I may not even notice on other people's work. One of my favorite Diana Fayt pieces in my collection is a vase where some of the glaze popped off, creating a chipped looking surface around the bottom. Do I care? Not at all, in fact I love it. It does nothing to take away from the design, or the shape of the piece, which is perfect.

A few weeks ago I had an order for one of the dreaded bird cake stands, in all white. White is the most challenging for me because I have this big piece with a large surface area, and I want it to be smooth and perfect. The piece came out with what looked like a dirty smudge on the surface. I have no idea what it was. I took images of it, sent it to the customer who shrugged it off, took 20% off, sent it out. I heard from the customer later who said he and his wife inspected the piece for a while and could not figure out what the hell I was talking about. I was like, "I'm talking about that smudge, on the surface." It blew my mind that they could not see it.

I've started running a side experiment, where I'm marking what I would usually consider "seconds" at the usual price at my studio and shows and seeing if people bite. And they do. They pick up the piece, inspect it while I sit on my hand to prevent myself from from showing them how the piece is fucked up, and they buy it. That blows my mind too.

I'm starting to think that for me to learn anything, my head has to explode so the new information can get through my shattered skull to my brain. And when I figure something out, I tend to go to extremes with it, so if you get a piece from me with a big crack through it or a chipped foot, take solace in the fact that you are helping me get over being perfect.

no resolution

I've been an undisciplined meditator for about 4 years now. Every other week or so, I meditate with group at Shambala Meditation Center in Berkeley, and there is always a reading on Buddhist practice that we discuss after the 45 minute meditation. The last reading from Pema Chodron's Living With Uncertainty was about resolution. She wrote that as humans, we are always reaching for resolution, but resolution does not exist. This immediately caused a stir among the over-achieving Bay Area types who typically attend this meditation session, all of us quite comfortable with the idea that hard work will bring results, then resolution, quickly followed by happiness. The writer went on to say we don't even deserve resolution, but something better than that, which is mindful awareness. When it comes to mindfulness, I'm still batting in the Little League. But the concept of no resolution is something I grasped immediately.

Pottery is all about no resolution, which is why many ceramic artists are driven slowly crazy by the medium. It's difficult to accept no resolution. For me, that means nothing I make is perfect, shit is always falling apart, the work is never done, and there is always something more to learn. I have intellectually understood this about pottery for quite a while now, but practicing acceptance without resistance is exercise that gets me all sweaty. I get there every once in a while. Meditation helps. So does an ice-cold cocktail. With apologies to Pema Chodron, I've reinterpreted some of her writings to address the potter-warrior:

A potter accepts that we can never know what will come out of the kiln. We can try to control the uncontrollable by following the glaze recipe exactly or firing the kiln to the same temperature each time, always hoping to get a perfect result. But the truth is that we can never avoid uncertainty. This not-knowing is part of the adventure. It's also what makes us afraid of opening the kiln and wish we majored in computer science so we could be making money writing apps for smartphones instead of spending our days alone in a dusty studio. If we find ourselves in doubt that we're up to being a potter, we can contemplate this question: "Do I prefer to grow up and accept what comes out of the kiln, or do I choose to live and die in fear of what comes out of the kiln?"

anxiety is futile

This weekend I will be selling my work at Sunset Magazine's headquarters in Menlo Park for their annual "Sunset Celebration Weekend". They are doing a special thing with Etsy and invited myself and a few other Etsy sellers to show their work, as well as giving us a free booth, which is quite generous. I wasn't too worked up or concerned about the show, I thought I would make a few special things and just bring what I have. Then, I looked at the Celebration website, watched the video they have up, and realized there will be thousands and thousands of people at this event. Tens of thousands.

So, I start to stress out. All of the sudden I'm concerned I won't have enough work, or the right kind of work. I've been playing around with a planter concept that I was going to introduce at the Clay and Glass Festival in Palo Alto in July, but I decide I have to bring it to Sunset, it's the perfect venue. I spend part of a day riding my bike out to Flora Grubb Gardens in San Francisco to buy the perfect plants for my little planters-- which haven't even been fired yet-- and wind up getting a flat tire out in the middle of nowhere and I have to walk my bike over a mile to get to a BART station. I also have been wanting to make these wall hangings-- again, the perfect Sunset customer thing-- and I spend three days trying to cut the pieces, get it to the right level of dryness to work on it, and keep missing my window or messing it up in some other way.

Meanwhile, I had plans to leave town for 5 days to go see my grandma, a two hour drive from the nearest airport and so far out that there is no nearby wifi connection or other computer access. Around the time that I was packing my bags and making a mental list of all the things I would have to accomplish before I left, and another list of all the things I would have to accomplish the second I got back, I realized I was completely insane.

1. There was no way I was going to be able to bring all the new stuff I wanted to bring, and
   
2. even if I did manage to pull it off, it wouldn't change anything anyway.
   

I would still want more: better work, the right kind of work, less of this, more of that, blah blah blah. There was no point to all of this round and round with myself in the studio, because I would never be satisfied anyway, so what was the point of all my anxiety? I went to my grandma's and (pretty much) forgot about it. When I got home, I even took Memorial Day off. And in the end, I only managed to make the few special things I planned in the first place, which are in the kiln right now. And if you see me at the Sunset thing this weekend, be sure to tell me that everything I managed to bring is beautiful, and buy something while you are at it!