one last rant for the year

I think I just passed the Christmas hump.  Yesterday, Nikki and I shipped out 30 boxes of work to customers, literally all over the world. I think that was the biggest shipment of stuff I've ever done in one day.  It was very satisfying, and I was home by 5:30.  I immediately headed for the fridge, and drank down a beer, realizing as I was gulping that I never got around to eating lunch.  I'm the type of girl who doesn't mind beer on an empty stomach, so I kept drinking.

Then, I sat down at my computer, and I see I've got my "weekly Yelp updates" in the inbox.  A long time ago, someone yelped me after visiting my studio, and yes, yelped is a word.  It's an adverb.  It was a very nice review, but it encouraged a few other yelpers to yelp me too.  Again, always nice reviews, but there is something about getting yelped that makes me slightly uncomfortable.  Generally, I don't know who these people are, and it makes me feel weird that I'm having what I think is an innocuous interaction with someone, while they are mentally evaluating me so they can go home and review me.  Yeah, I know they are reviewing my work, but make no mistake, my work is me, so I end up feeling strangely exposed and defenseless.

So, Yelp emails me once a week with updates and stuff, and I always delete it because I don't care about Yelp.  But last night, for reasons I wish I could take back, I click on it, and I realize my 5-star rating is now 4 1/2stars.  How did that happen?  Notice, I just said I don't care about Yelp, but now I'm all bothered about my star rating.  There are not many places in the world where I am publicly rated with 5 stars, and frankly, if I have 5 stars somewhere, I want to keep it that way.  So, half drunk and now curious-- bad combo, we all know this-- I go and check out my yelp reviews, and sure enough, some... person gave me a 3-star rating:

"Adorable stuff. Unique and really nice muted colors.  But really.  $70 for a single cupcake stand?  I could buy a year's worth of cupcakes for that price."

                           

Oh, snark!  I am immediately engulfed in a mix of emotions, none of which resemble the happiness and contented feeling of accomplishment I was just basking in.  Apparently, it's okay to spend $70 on a year's worth of cupcakes, but not on a piece of handmade pottery which will last for many years.   I wish someone had sent me that memo when I decided to dedicate my career to making pottery.

Adding to my indignation is the fact my star rating was knocked down by someone who calls my work "stuff."  And doesn't know the difference between a cake stand and a cupcake stand, a hanging offense in my teeny-tiny bubble of a world.  Because I assure you, my cupcake stands are not $70.  My cake stands start at $70.  And if my cupcake stands were $70, they would be totally more rocking and  amazing than they already are, and worth every fucking penny.

Speaking of worth every fucking penny, I will be shilling my "stuff" at the Holiday Renegade this weekend.  I have no idea where my booth is because I've been to busy to open that email, but I will be there.  And if you come up to me and say, "You're worth every fucking penny" I will give you a 10% discount on cupcake stands.  And if you are too shy to say "fuck" you can say "damn" or "freaking" or even "pretty."

dispatch from holidaylandia

The holiday season is like entering a different country.  A country where your phone doesn't work because you're too busy to take calls and so are all of your friends, who are also buried under piles of orders.  The food is terrible, and the natives are anxious, if not downright hostile.  It's the most magical time of the year!

Aside from the terrible food-- I mean, whhhhhhy are there crappy, store-bought cookies EVERYwhere right now?-- I'm actually feeling pretty damn good.  I've got this holiday thing down. I've only lost one order so far and I found it again before the customer knew I lost it.  I had a plague of broken stuff,  all the same item, going to different people, broken in the exact same way.  Why why why?  I have no idea.  I just made it all again, packed it in big boxes, and moved on.  I crank my Duran Duran station and I feel ever so slightly pleased.

Then, I made an amazing discovery.  My red glaze has been cursed for a while now.  I started having this problem where it was coming out with nasty dark spots that looked like bruises.  So annoying.  Someone ordered a set of nesting lotus bowls in red and they came out so bad, with bruises all over, that I immediately hid them away from myself so I wouldn't have to look at them, and cancelled the order with the customer.  Then I pulled them out a couple of weeks ago and decided they weren't so bad, but there was some glaze crawling that needed to be fixed up so I ran them through the kiln again.  The kiln overfired by a bit, and the bowls came out SHINY PERFECT RED.  Bruises, gone.  I discovered the cure, which is the red needs to get just a teeny tiny bit hotter than a perfect cone 5.  I got so excited I added it as a color option to my new website.  Yes, I will charge you more because I'm still nervous, but look at this gorgeous baby:

And really, that's all I want for Christmas: glaze that behaves.

oh yeah, it's black friday

First thing this morning my sister, who is visiting from Los Angeles for the holiday, read the reports of squashings, pepper sprayings, and shootings at Wal-Marts and malls across the country as people shopped for black friday. I must say, she had an edge of glee to her voice as she read the various incidents aloud to me. Black friday mayhem is kind of like reading about weird, freak accidents that happen across the globe: you feel completely disconnected from the event as you try to imagine it, because something like this will never happen to you, or anyone you know.

I rarely shop in public, and certainly not in groups or crowds.  I'm a huge fan of online shopping and have no fear of ordering jeans, shoes, or even underwear online.  Anything that can protect me from milling around with the barbarian hordes at retail environments is what I refer to as salvation.

That brings us to the heart of this post, which is announcing that my long labored over redesigned website is finally up and open for business.  I love it and I hope you go check it out and love on it too.  It's all set up for free domestic shipping through November 30, and you can pretty much order whatever you want in whatever color or style you want.  And no one will try to snatch a cupcake stand out of your little paws, and then push you to the floor and trample you.  Click on over and let me know what you think!

cute attack

I've been making some really cute stuff lately.  It all started with this dessert show I'm in with my pottery gals in December.  A dessert themed ceramic show!  Is there any person who does not want to check that out?  So, I thought about it a bit, because there was no way I was going to get lazy on this one.   I wanted to make something fabulous, something over-the-top and unique.  I was initially drawn to the parfait cup:

But, that wasn't totally doing it for me.

What is a parfait, anyway?

I needed something more.

Something even cuter, and more impractical.

I was quickly led to the pudding cup:

How effin' cute is that?  I ask you.

But even that still needed some enhancement.

Like this:

And that:

Some go medieval.  I go Marie Antoinette.

The cuteness got out of control.  

It was like trying to shoot a duck with an AK-47.  

The bullets went everywhere, and the cuteness spread.  I made this:

and then this:

This red cup I'm actually calling the "flared skirt cup." 

And don't ask me for that cup, but with a bird on it.

That, I will not do.

By the way, if you live anywhere near the Bay Area, please, come to the dessert show.  And what I mean by that is please come to the opening party.  The Fourth and Clay Gallery does openings right, with food, booze, music, and... well, dessert too this time!

holiday hurricane

The christmas season is kind of like the weather.  Say, a hurricane.  You know the hurricane is coming,  but until it actually arrives, you're just waiting under clear skies with your windows all boarded up and a stash of bottled water.  Last week I was cruising along at my normal speed.  The sky was sunny and the birds were singing.  Then suddenly, everything changed, and I can't seem to complete my daily list, and an 8-hour work day is way too short.  The hurricane is here, and there I am, snoozing in my backyard in my underwear with an almost empty beer bottle resting on my belly.

Me, I live in earthquake country.  I'm intellectually prepared for the Big One, but do I have a three-day supply of water and a first aid kit?  No. Though I think I should.  I also think I should prepare for the holidays, like get all stocked up on best-selling items, and make special little things at that magical price point.  But, I just don't.  I never do.  Why?  Because I crave pressure.  It makes me feel useful and important.  There I am, all busy, working away in my studio, making people stuff. When I'm under pressure, I get very focused, and life gets very simple: make more pottery or die.

I have tried to prepare in the past, but the bottom line is, I just can't believe the holidays are here again.  Wasn't I just here a couple of months ago?  Am I really expected to just repeat this act year after year, each year getting shorter and shorter?  And I've gone through spasms of preparation in the past, and it's always the same thing: I never know what I'm really going to need.  My customers are all fickle and I'm loathe to try and read their minds, or brainwash them into buying certain things.

Also, in the name of "preparation" I've wasted hours on special holiday projects.  Like, I have an obsession with lighting and candles, especially during the winter.  So I've made all kinds of things that work with candles.  Beautiful, labor intensive projects that never sell because they are limited edition and cost a mint, which does not hit that happy magical price point thing.  I have a collection of porcelain tea light holders with carvings that the light shines through, and I think out of the 15 I made, I sold maybe two.  I've learned, in all kinds of ways, that when you bust out  a bunch of stuff trying to be prepared, the stuff never sells, unless it's so cheap people can't help themselves from buying.

I did throw this one thing a couple of days ago.  I had this vision of a porcelain ceramic christmas tree that you would put over a candle.  And it would glow, and be all modern and cool and holiday-esque. So I made it.  Just one. And I will sell it for a ridiculous price.

custom order

Many ceramic artists I know hate custom orders, won't even take them.  There is the hassle of making something that you have maybe not made before, meeting the customer's expectations on an item that they have not seen before, getting stuck with extra custom work if the first one you make doesn't come out, and the stress of all of the above.

I love taking custom work, because I get great ideas from customers and I don't mind letting clients do my thinking for me.  This year my custom work has included a cake topper, a set of plates shaped like butterfly wings, and extra large bird pitchers, which turned out so cute I will probably get a mold made and put them into production.

Last summer I agreed to create a 16"x 20" tile backsplash for a long-time client in their newly-renovated kitchen.  I felt some reluctance because I have made single tiles exactly 6 times, and making a cohesive panel of tiles sounded like a pain in the ass.  But I couldn't come up with a reason to say "no" other than I like my ass pain free, which is not really a good reason when it comes to making stuff.

Turns out the hardest part was just making the tiles. Making hand-cut tiles that are perfectly square and all the same size is freaking impossible.  After working over each tile one-by-one I got them to pretty much all fit in together:

I stored the tiles between sheets of drywall so they could hopefully learn to stay flat and get to the leather-hard stage.  Starting last Monday, I spent a couple of hours every morning while it was still nice and cool in the studio, working on the design.  It's been relentlessly warm and beautiful here in Oakland, and part of the trick is making sure the tiles don't dry too quickly.  By Friday I had this:

Then I applied some underglaze:

The great thing about custom work is that I always learn something new.  I've been making this style of relief-pattern work for years, but I learned a new way to do the flower petals that gives them much more depth and texture.  Now, the tiles are tucked away on a shelf where air can pass beneath and between the tiles, drying ever so slowly, with no warping-- I hope!

just do

I have a lot of bad habits.  Some of them make my life more fun, others make my life more difficult. One I'm starting to notice is my habit to wake up in the morning, and while still laying in bed, start thinking about all the stuff I need to do that day.  And, thinking about the things I forgot to do yesterday.  Also, thinking about the things I want to do, but probably won't have time for.  This has the effect of making me tired all over again before I've even gotten out of bed. And like not doing anything.

Thinking like this can be particularly corrosive to the creative process, where I can think my way out of ideas before I've even tried them.  My friend Jolie, who gives me brilliant flashes of insight and likes to tell me what to do, has demonstrated the creative process to me this way: She puts one arm up above her head, palm open, then pulls her fist down to her heart, and then opens it again as she throws her arm out.  Jolie describes this mime act as an "open channel," the way that the most inspired art is created.  She's always encouraging me to work on instinct, rather than through my head, where the creative flow can get stopped up, then trapped. 

In the spirit of practicing less thinking and more creating, I'm trying a philosophy I named "just do."  And this is said in a calm, flowy way, not in the nike advertising way of "just do it!"  which is so damn pushy, and not very encouraging.  In fact, I think "just do it!" is designed to make you feel bad, because most people won't, but you can buy a pair of shoes, and then feel like you did.  

Anyway, "just do" is a way of reminding myself to stop thinking, and just go do what I'm meant to do.   Which is making things.  And answering the emails of people who want me to make more things for them specially. "Just do"  means getting out of bed when I wake up, so I can go to the studio to make the stuff I need to make  and want to make.  And not thinking about whether it will sell or if it's a stupid idea.  Also, to "just do" means minimizing distractions and goofing off, which I have become supremely awesome at.   I've mentioned lately how I think I've lost my focus, and the more I think about losing my focus, the more I find myself organizing my tools or scrubbing clay off the wall.  Anyway, I'm going to leave you with this quote I found on the walls at one of my watering holes, and get back to my work.

There is hope in honest error, none in the icy perfections of the mere stylist. --Charles Rennie Mackintosh