you thought I made pottery? silly you.

Lately, I've been feeling like a squirrel with ADD. I have so many tasks to deal with every day, I can only focus my attention on any one thing for a few minutes before my concentration is broken by another task pulling at me. This is slowly driving me absolutely crazy. I think most artists like to have long periods of uninterrupted time. I remember back in the day, before I got all "successful" that my days were nothing but long periods of unbroken concentration. I'm starting to think that's how I became so successful in the first place. Brain power, baby. Back then I would get so irritated with anything or anyone that got in between me and my pottery. Now, I can't allow myself to get irritated like that because then I would walk around in a constant state of irritation.

This is what my Tuesday morning looked like this week:

• get up and run to the studio at 8 am to unload the kiln and see what survived.
• run home, make ship tags for survivors, write "thank you" notes to customers (on this day, that was 9 notes) finish up editing my monthly newsletter and send to 1,000 people, and list a few things on Etsy. Oh, and answer about 8 emails.
• run back to the studio by 10 to meet with my assistant, Ruth. Ruth starts bubbling orders while I match the tags with the items. We can't box them because I'm totally out of boxes and we're waiting for a delivery from Uline.
• Right when Ruth finishes at 11, Uline arrives with boxes. Ruth moves on to glazing while I put away boxes and then box orders.
• Finish at 11:30, pull dogwood flowers from the mold and clean those for 30 minutes.
• At noon, wedge up some clay and thrown for an hour.
• At 1, the high school intern arrives. Spend 20 minutes with her getting her task lined up and organized. Then, I leave for lunch.

That's kind of a typical morning. That day I actually didn't go back to the studio until the intern left at 4 so I could have some time to just throw with no one around me. And that's the crux of the problem right there: I can't run my business without people helping me. But the more people who are around, the less time I have to focus on what I want to make because I have to manage people. Managing people well takes a lot of time and attention, and I have to be available to the people who work for me so they can do a good job. I'm always telling my busy artist friends to hire help so they can get more done, but more and more I see how having assistants is really a double-edged sword.

I've been not doing so well mentally for the past couple of months, and I'm just now starting to grasp that it's connected to the problem of broken concentration. This kind of short task mode is great for pumping out production, which is what I've been stuck doing because I've been shorthanded, but not great for making new work, or art. And that's the stuff that keeps me happy and jazzed about pottery. I've just hired another set of hands to help with production, and I'm really hoping that with her help, I will be back on the path to mental stability. Soon. I would like to know what you all do to give yourselves that long, luxurious period of focused attention to your work, especially when you have things like kids, assistants, or another job.

myth of the lone artist

This is my last installment on five things that I think artists need in order to run a successful art-based business. If you haven't read the five things yet, read them right here. Today I'm writing about point #4: the importance of building a support network of colleagues.

My friends love to laugh at me when I say that deep down, I'm kinda shy. When I was a kid, I could only manage one friend at a time, and that didn't change until I became a teenager and more comfortable with myself in groups of people. What I discovered as a teenager is that having good friends who are going through what you are going through can get you through anything, including being a teenager.

A lot of people rely on their families for support-- spouse, siblings, parents-- and I think families are good for a certain kind of support, the unconditional "you-are-so-talented-everything-you-make-is-beautiful" kind. And that's great, we all need some of that. But colleagues who share your field understand on a deeper level what you are experiencing, and can give you more specific support. This is essential in order to not lose your freaking mind when you are trying to run your art-based business.

Forget the myth of the lone artist. The truth is, we all need lots of support from various sources on a steady and ongoing basis. Every artist should have a go-to person for:

• times you are so overwhelmed with work that jumping off a bridge seems easier than finishing all the stuff you have to do.
• nightmare customers who are making you lose sleep at night.
• creative block.
• money flow problems.
• production snafus, like not getting the supplies you need in the time frame you need them.

That's just the beginning. All of the issues above are problems you have probably already had and will have again. My husband will usually offer a hug, and when things are really bad, a stiff cocktail. He's like a general practitioner. My colleagues, however, are specialists. They usually know exactly what remedy is needed. And talking to someone who knows exactly what you are going through is a huge comfort. Most things cannot be solved instantly, but being put back on the right path can bring much needed relief from the nasty voices in your head, telling you what a screw-up and failure you are.

If you don't have a network in place already, get it in place. When I moved to the Bay Area, I started an art group of people who wanted to become professional artists, and I made great connections that way. If a shy person like me can do that, you can too.

a tiny slice of life

I'm interrupting my series of articles on running an art-based business for a little shameless self-promotion. Regina Connell writes a blog called "A Handful of Salt" and she came to my studio a couple of weeks ago to write a profile on me. I'm usually a little leery of in-person interviews because I always feel the way I'm portrayed has little to do with who I actually am. But I'm such an attention whore that I never say "no" to interviews, and I thought Regina did a wonderful job in capturing a version of me that I actually identify with. And she took interesting pictures of my dusty, dusty pots. Though I forgot to tell her she should only publish pictures of me that make me look totally hot. Oh, well. I have to admit it looks just like me.

I'm working on my last article right now, so stay tuned, it will be up in the next few days!

get a mentor

I'm getting close to finishing up my series of postings on making pottery-- or any art-- your business. If you haven't read my five brilliant points yet, read them right here. Today I'm writing about point #1: get a mentor.

I put mentoring as #1 because in my case, having a mentor was vital toward establishing my pottery business. My whole life, I wanted to be an artist as a profession. No other profession remotely appealed to me as much as being an artist. But that goal always seemed very fuzzy and vague. After all, there is not a clear road toward becoming a professional artist. If you want to be a doctor, one knows exactly what to do. But to be an artist is in a completely different realm, and the path toward becoming an artist reflects the difficulty in being an artist. One must fashion it for oneself, which requires creativity, drive, vision, and desire.

Having a mentor is one of the things you can do to help yourself see that path wending through the woods. Your mentor should be somebody who has achieved a level of success in their field that you are trying to achieve. And remember, you will have lots of mentors over the years, so don't get stuck on trying to choose the perfect person. You may outgrown a mentor or even surpass them. Your goals may change. Your life may change.

So, how does one find a mentor? In my case, I worked for a woman for several years who was a successful ceramic artist. There was no formal agreement that she was my mentor, and I didn't think of her that way, she was simply my boss. But while I worked for her, I was absorbing all of her success and learning how she ran her little business, which taught me more in two years than I ever could have learned anywhere else.

Finding someone to work for is probably the easiest way to learn from a mentor. Look around your area, and find the people whose success you want to emulate. Work for them for free, if you can. I never told my boss this, but I would have totally worked for her for free even though I was a poor college student and needed money. If you can't work for someone else or can't find someone in your area, then get online. Look through your network and find someone through your connections. Make the connection if you don't have one.

Basically, if you want a mentor, you have to go out and get one. And yes, it means getting out there and pushing past your comfort boundaries. You may get rejected, not everyone is interested in guiding others. It may take you a little while to find the right person who can give you the help you need. Help yourself find the right person by making a list of what you would like to get out of a mentor relationship. Some things might be:

• advice on applying to the right shows.
• honest feedback on your work.
• help in meeting the "right" people in your field.

Does anyone else have advice on finding a mentor, or are you interested in being a mentor? Post here so someone can find you!

taking the leap: when to start selling your work

I'm continuing my series today on making pottery-- or any art-- a business. If you haven't read my five pieces of sage advice yet, you can read them right here. Today I'm going to write about point #2: Don't sell mediocre work just because you can. And I'm going to add an addendum to that statement: Don't wait until your work is perfect before you start selling.

I often think about what I would have done if things like Etsy were around when I first started making pottery. From the start, people liked my work. My first studio was an incredible selling venue: a garage studio situated right along the ocean in Santa Cruz where dozens of people walked by every day. I kept the garage door open while I worked so I could get some light and see the ocean. People always stopped by and wanted to buy things or place orders, but I wasn't interested in that, yet. I was still learning, and I was advancing so rapidly that when I looked at something I made a month before, I cringed, because what I was making 4 weeks later was so much better. I always gave my work away because frankly, I wanted to get rid of it so I could make more and better work. Trying to sell it would have meant I would quickly be buried under a mountain of my own mediocre pottery.

I think people have a right to sell whatever they want on Etsy or similar venues, and I see a fair amount of work being sold that I think looks like beginner work. But if your desire is to turn your art into a business, I think it's important to consider when is the appropriate time to launch your work into the marketplace. Artists need space to develop without the outside world piping in their opinion about what you are making. If your artwork is still in process of finding its voice, I really believe that turning it out for public consumption interrupts your personal artistic journey. Your art is your precious baby, protect it until it's ready to face the public.

At the same time, public feedback can be an incredible spur to making better and more sophisticated work. If your goal is to sell your work, you don't want to wait too long to begin selling or continually use your fear about getting feedback from the public-- not your mother-- to hold you back from getting out there in the marketplace. It takes an incredible amount of courage to set up that first table and start selling, and you will learn so much about your own work as you watch people pick it up and interact with it. Don't let your fear deprive yourself of that learning experience.

There is no magic formula to when your work is "good enough" for the marketplace, and it is true that most artists will continue to improve throughout much of their career. I still consider myself a student of pottery, I'm learning and -- I hope-- still improving my work. But I do think one needs to be out of that rapid growth and improvement stage, where from month to month your work looks markedly better, before you start selling. I laugh when I see pottery that I made in my beginner years in my friend's houses. I love that I can still see it, and they keep it as evidence of where I came from. I don't know if I would laugh if I saw images of it on the web, or if it were part of my "sold" items in my Etsy shop.

Being able to sell your work is definitely validation that your efforts can bear fruit in the form of money, but it does not make you a better artist than you were yesterday, nor does it make you less of an artist to not sell your work . It's a personal decision whether and when to sell your work, no one else beside yourself can tell you when you are ready.

This blog post is a great example of putting things out there before they are ready for the public. I heavily edited it after publishing, so you may want to hit that "refresh" button to make sure you are reading my final version!

the business end

I've been writing about making pottery a business, and I hope all of my intelligent readers know that these points can be applied to making any art a business. Today I'm going to write about something that will probably make 99% of you squirm in your seat a little bit, send a flash of guilt through your brain, and then leave you feeling a little bit inadequate. I'm referring to running the business end of things, and I feel confident in saying that most artists want to concentrate on making art, not running a business.

I have had many struggles over the years in making the business a priority, and one that I could manage without wanting to start screaming and crying. I've fucked things up pretty bad in the past, and I finally had to give up and call in Mommy to clean up my books and make my invoicing system work. I have learned a lot from my experience over the years, and here are a few points to keep in mind:

1) It is never too late to learn how to make your business run. You may have put yourself in a corner where you have no idea how much money you are really making, if you are overspending for supplies, or what your production costs are. You may feel that keeping your head in the sand has worked for you for many years and there is no reason to change at this late date. There is reason, and the reason is that no matter how successful you are right now, you could be even more successful if you had a handle on your numbers. Why? Because the deeper understanding you have about your business, the more you understand how to make your money work more efficiently for you. And running a good business means just that: efficient use of your limited resources.

2) Never fall for the "I'm an artist, not a businessperson" line. Being an artist means being curious, and also multi-talented. If you want to support yourself as an artist, then you must be curious about how to do that. Turning the business part into a headache is self-defeating; instead, try to look at it as a question that you are trying to answer through learning and research. The question is, "How do I make enough money to support myself?" Answer it by learning Quickbooks, balancing your checkbook, tracking your expenditures and sales, and paying attention to your bank balance. Now that I do these things regularly, I've actually convinced myself that it is fun.

3) It is never too early to learn how to make your business run. I think a lot of artists are so overwhelmed and excited when they first start working for themselves that the idea of slowing down and figuring out the numbers just seems like a big drag. The longer you put it off, the bigger drag it will be as the guilt and procrastination accumulates. Even if you are only selling a few things a month, taking the time to log it all in, run the numbers, and see where it's all washing out sets you up with some good early habits that will pay off, and gets you comfortable with numbers, especially as they get bigger and bigger.

4) Taking yourself seriously as a business is a call to the Universe to take you seriously too. Yes, I live in California, so I have to bring the Universe into the discussion. Not only will the Universe take you more seriously and send you more customers-- no snickering-- your customers will sense your confidence in your art and your business and feel more sure in purchasing from you. Most people love seeing artists make it, and they love supporting that success. Running a solid business makes your success shine for everyone to see.

5) Ask for help. I am not a born businessperson, and likely you are not either. But there are a bunch of people out there who are, and they are dying to help you. Talk to your banker, take a business class, ask a friend to teach you quickbooks, hire a bookkeeper, read art-based business blogs for tips and support. You are not alone, or hopeless. No matter what your business problem may be, someone out there can help you figure it out.

Also, remember this: Nothing and nobody is perfect. I don't run a perfect business, and I still have a lot to learn. We all need to take steps to be better business people, and we will all have our failures while we take those steps. Don't stop because it's not perfect.

making ceramics your j-o-b

I promised to write more about each of the five points I made about making pottery a business. I'm going to write today about #3- Realize that when you make pottery for a living, you are sacrificing a part of yourself for money. Because of the nature of my job-- making pottery--A lot of people think I spend all day just having fun. That is the fantasy of a working artist's life, and sometimes I like to make fun of that idea. I do have a "dream job," and the reason why I chose this path in life is because I really hate imposed routine, which is what a regular job working for somebody else usually entails. I like showing up at the studio when it suits my routine. I like to take long lunches with friends on a regular basis. I like being the only one to tell me what to do. I like to take 4 weeks off at a time. I spent the first part of my life being tortured by public school, and I couldn't wait to get out and live a life according to the way I wanted to live it.

Despite the perks, taking an art that I am good at and using it as a means to make a living means sacrifice. Part of that sacrifice means that I do not go into my studio on my days off and make pottery for fun. I've tried that, and all it does is burn me out and crowd my studio with more pottery I have to sell, or with pottery I can't sell because it is too expensive or doesn't fit with my current collection and therefore only interests a few people. It is very important to understand that when you make ceramics-- or any other art-- your regular day job, you are going to lose a segment of your passion for that art. That doesn't mean you are no longer passionate about your art, it just means that you are married to it. Being married means that you no longer get weak-kneed every time you see your beloved. It means a deep love that requires attention and persistence to keep the interest alive.

When I was first really starting to make maybe a half-time living, I remember chatting with Nancy Adams and Ross Spangler, both nationally recognized and established ceramic artists. I was gushing about how I liked to get up at 6 in the morning and work before going to my job and then heading straight back to the studio when I got home. Both Nancy and Ross said, "Aaaah, remember when we cared that much? The good old days!" I thought they were being condescending and crusty old buggers. But now I understand that it's not that you lose the passion or motivation to make work, but it still is a job. A job you may have to do even when the inspiration is not there.

And that's the rub right there. It's taken me 10 years to figure out that putting all of my creativity into one thing-- pottery-- has drained me. Pouring all of my creative juice into pottery has made me a less creative person, because cognitively my brain thinks that all creative ideas need to go to clay. Yes, I'm a brain researcher and I figured that out all by myself. Now, I'm working on fixing that: less time in the studio, more time pursuing my other artistic dreams. I'm taking a memoir writing class with an author and expect to be working regularly on my writing. I'm going to take a paper cut class, I looooooove paper cut. I want to teach workshops to help people figure out how to run with Etsy. While my head is being turned by other hot creative pursuits, pottery is popping up with new ideas, making itself more attractive to keep me interested and coming back.

So this is the bottom line advice: know what you are sacrificing when your hobby becomes your job. To establish yourself takes years of dedicated pursuit and a certain self-imposed insanity. Hedge your internal stability by making time for the other things that fire up your juices, whatever that is. Your relationship with your art is a long-term commitment, so don't going ruining it by spending every single second with it.