notes from a church of shopping

I'm not much of a shopper. I love to buy beautiful clothes, pick out the perfect gift for friends and family, and get nice things for my house, but I'm not someone who shops for the simple pleasure of shopping, or as therapy. I always shop on the fly: when I happen to be out, and I see something I want, I buy it. If I know exactly what I want and where to get it, I order it online. That's it. I can no more imagine a day at the mall than I can imagine stabbing my own self in the eye.

Last year the holiday shopping season took on a whole new life for me. My shop on Etsy put me out there in the bigger shopping world than I had previously been, and I was slammed. In my Etsy shop alone, I sold 48 separate items. That, combined with my Open Studio, and normal call and walk-in sales, made it an insanely busy month. While I really enjoyed it, I was left feeling sort of beached at the end of December: exhausted, picked-over, and unable to swim another stroke. I also considered for the first time that a business that depends on those end-of-the-year sales is not a sustainable business, that it was really important for me to build up my own business to a point where Holiday Sales was a nice bump, but I didn't have to depend on it.

And more: if we've learned anything in the past couple of months, we've learned that spending and buying is what our economy is totally dependent on. No matter what is happening in the world, in our economy, we are told to buy, and to shop by the people "in charge". It bothers me. It's like we are all children who can only find comfort in things. We can be distracted by our toys, and ignore what ails the planet, and the people on it. Isn't that what the word "retail therapy" means? I listened yesterday to a wonderful and dark essay by Andrei Codrescu that totally mirrored my feelings about the religion of shopping. And I don't think I'm overstating it by calling it a religion.

As someone who makes things and depends on people buying them so I can continue to make more, I know I'm in a tricky position here. If shopping is a religion, then there can be no doubt I run one of its chapels, and I love me a large congregation, tithing on a regular basis. So what am I saying? That we should all stop buying stuff right now? Of course not. You should buy stuff, and you should buy it from me. All I want for Christmas is some more thought about what we purchase, where we purchase, and why we purchase it. More reflection about these things will probably not do much to pull us out of recession anytime soon, but maybe it could be one, tiny little baby step to making a more sustainable economy for ourselves. And if that meant that I had to lose some sales this season, I'm okay with that, because I do feel as if I'm participating in a group psychosis this time of year. And I really prefer to be psychotic on my own. What do you all think?

more shameless self-promotion

Don't worry, I'm working up a good, thoughtful blog post. I don't forget about my blog even when I'm totally buried. For the moment, you will have to be satisfied with some self-promotion. An magazine profile, a cute little online interview where I get to babble about food, and a reminder to some to my open studio this weekend!

meditative mood

It has been relentlessly sunny and warm here in Northern California, except for today when we woke up to a nice fog bank and cool temperatures. Frankly, it was a relief. I live here for a reason: I love mild weather that does not challenge me. Some would say I'm soft, and I won't deny it. When you live in this temperate climate, you lose track of the seasons, what month it is, and sometimes, yourself. My theory is that Californians come by our reputation because: 1) the rest of the country is jealous; and 2) because your brain does get a bit lazy when you walk out into the same kind of day for years on end. Back when I was an anthropology student and exploring the origins of human behavior, one idea I was fascinated with is that inclement weather pushes evolution forward, because it forces one to innovate and invent in order to deal with the problem of changing seasons.

Last weekend was particularly spectacular and show-offy weather, perfect for visitors. In my ongoing quest to get out of the studio and interact more with the pottery world, I went to Trax gallery to attend a workshop with Linda Christianson, a renowned potter from Minnesota. Linda and I could not be more different as potters. She sat in front of the room on a treadle wheel (the kind of wheel you pump with your foot) and get it barely moving. She threw down a chunk of clay, raise the walls twice, and done. The process took about 2-3 minutes, and the thrown piece was chunky, even irregular with lots of action on the sides from her throwing rib. It was a very meditative and thoughtful process. I thought about my own method of throwing in production, where the wheel is going at about 100 mph and I'm throwing off piece after piece, totally smoothed out and perfect looking, like it just came off a lathe.

Linda also talked while she threw, and the topics ranged from the sound of the train whistles nearby, to how she prices her work. She wood fires her pots, so she builds up a big collection of work, fires it off, and then wants to sell it as quickly as possible so she can make more. Her work is pretty inexpensive for someone of her stature, with cups in the $30 range. I think it can be a little insulting to say that someones work is too inexpensive. It implies that they don't value their own work enough, or don't have the confidence to raise prices. I don't think either is the case for Linda. I thought she regarded making pottery as a practice, and a process of her life. The getting paid part of it is important, of course, but not the point exactly.

Speaking of points, I'm not sure I have one today. Maybe Linda got me into a meditative mood and that, combined with my soft California brain, is making it hard for me to wrap this up. I'm off to the studio now to make more pots, and hopefully sell them off as quickly as possible so I can make more.

the artist's life

Christa Assad is one of my favorite potters, and one of my favorite people as well. She is an amazing talent, garnering some well-deserved recognition lately, including a cover feature story in the latest American Craft magazine. Read the extended interview from the magazine article right here. I always appreciate Christa's intelligent, humorous, and articulate take on her life and work. You will too.

looking to the past, looking to the future

I had an interesting week. Last weekend I flew East to attend my 20 year high school reunion in Delaware. This is an event I would have never thought I would attend. I hated high school and I was not fond of most of my classmates, with the exception of my best friend, Missy. I was a shy and angry person, which combined into an overall surly kind of attitude. Missy was the opposite, probably one of the most popular and well-liked people in our class, and she kept me from complete social pariah status.

I think a lot of people don't want to go to high school reunions because they are afraid the event is going to be a re-enactment of high school, with better booze. What I found is that people were just interesting and interested. Few seemed to be there to prove anything about themselves. In a lot of ways it was just a no-bullshit event, so it was very unlike high school. I had a blast.

I flew home on Monday and was immediately swept up in the anticipation of the election on Tuesday. I loved the juxtaposition of these two events in my life, and they seemed totally related. I'm always surprised and gratified by the human capacity to change. The capacity to change and grow up into a thoughtful and decent human being, and our overall evolution as a society.

Sometimes when I look around, I think of this planet and all the people on it, and how we are all sharing this moment. We are all going through this life together for the first time, though it can feel like we are hopelessly mired in the past, and the future will just bring more of the same. Maybe we are mired in the past, but maybe we don't have to be. Maybe that's just a choice we make, because it's easier than being brave, having hope, creating change. I think we should all enjoy this moment of change together, really soak in how exciting it is, and never forget the work it took to create it. And then let's think about what we are going to do in the future to bring change to our own lives and to the rest of our world. It's a small request!

the right to suck and waste time

I had a tiny little meltdown last night. Yes, me--hard to believe I know. I've been noticing that I've been very crabby lately. Short-tempered, irritable, and impatient. If you read this blog, you might think that I am like that all the time, and to be completely truthful I do have an edge to me that I started honing around age 6, so my edge is pretty sharp. It can cut paper. Since I am a very complex person with lots of depth and facets, I'm also very sunny and friendly, and I do not enjoy being a bitch. Except when I mean to be a bitch, in which case there is no greater enjoyment.

Anyway, what came out of the meltdown was something that I've been turning over in my head for a while. Part of being a successful artist is to make amazing art-- seemingly effortlessly. But this is the rub-- to make amazing work you have to make a lot of stuff that kinda sucks. That may seem obvious, but when you reach a place where you're work is selling at a consistent pace and supporting yourself and your, ahem, habits, it's very easy to feel like you've got it all dialed out. Making work that sucks suddenly doesn't seem like an option, it feels like a waste of time. It's very easy to convince yourself that everything that comes off your fingertips should be good and reflect your masterful craftmanship. When it's not, failure is something to be disposed of quickly.

Anyway, I realized I need to write myself a new job description. The new job description, aside from cranking out plates, bowls, vases, cups, teapots, sake sets, and anything else that strikes my customer's fancy in record time, is to make some work that totally sucks. Not even sellable. I realized that it's actually my right to make sucky work, and it's part of my job to waste time. When I feel the pressure to whip out nothing but perfect work that will sell, I get so irritable, and I don't even enjoy the process of making it. I get bored, and then I am absolutely no fun to be around. Can you imagine? I have the greatest job in the world, and I actually get bored with it, and myself. I think all of us artist types need to take some time out of our daily routine to make some work that probably sucks, and not get too down on ourselves about it.

As an aside, I wanted to thank the dozens of people who posted comments about my art school rant, and all the emails I received about it. I read some very well-thought out ideas, and it makes me feel good that people take the time out to give me their thoughts. I don't often post comments back, because I frankly do not have the time. But I want everyone to know that I read every comment that comes through, and I really appreciate what people have to say. Thank you!

get out of the studio!

One of my challenges as an artist is getting out of my studio and interacting with the art world and other artists. When I first started making pottery, I had no interest in taking workshops or even looking at pottery. I was zeroed in on making pottery like a laser, completely obsessed. If you got between me and my wheel, watch out! As I got be be a pretty good potter and people started looking at my work, I would always be asked who my influences were, did I know this potter, or did I like that potter? These questions would usually be met with a blank stare and a shrug. I was only interested in making pottery, not looking at other people's pottery or talking to other potters.

My approach has changed over the years as I've started looking up from my wheel and around the world of pottery. When I did my residency in Japan last summer, I finally realized that I must get out more, take some workshops, and hang out with potters whenever possible. Potters, by the way, are the friendliest and most unpretentious group of people you will ever meet. And no one can understand your pain the way another potter does.

Last weekend I had a pottery extravaganza weekend. My pal Nick, who I met in Japan last summer, drove from Tahoe with two friends in tow, Roger and Kat, who both teach at Sierra Nevada College. Nick and I went to an all-day clay symposium at the Firehouse Collective and got to watch and learn from Craig Petey, Arthur Gonzales, and John Toki. John Toki, by the way, built a four-foot high sculpture in 1 hour.

We went straight from there to Trax Gallery to watch a talk given by Akio Takamori. I bought one of his amazing cups. At Trax I hung out with Christa, Rae, Sara; talked to Andrew Martin about mold-making; crabbed with Bob Brady about annoying customers; stood near Akio so some of his magic could rub off on me. Then I was introduced to a couple of girls who are obsessed with woodfire and invited me to fire with them this Spring. I was very excited by this because I haven't woodfired since I left Japan.

The party went late into the night, and I must say I was totally hungover the next day. But I felt totally invigorated by my interactions with so many ceramic artists, and it reminded me that I need to get out of the damn studio more often!