Show and Tell

 

Last weekend, I was a small part of a very big show at the Oregon Convention Center. The Oregon Potters Association Ceramic Showcase has been helping clay artists sell their work for 40 years. I am glad and grateful to be able to show and sell my work in this show. 

Before I ever threw a bowl, built a vase or made a mask, I went to this show. I remember being in one of their very first shows at the World Forestry Center with my husband and baby. I walked around marveling at all the wonderful work. I never imagined I’d ever make anything out of clay, much less be part of a ceramics show. 

Art, like life, evolves. 

As a teenager, I rebelled against more math classes and decided to take an art class. I liked it. Even though I wasn’t very good at it, I kept going: drawing, calligraphy and watercolor. The first class I took in clay was a total failure. 

I took more classes as an adult in painting, pastel and fiber art. I made masks out of window screening and clay. I showed mixed media work in copper and clay. Then one day, a very kind man, gave me his kiln and wheel. Several years of classes later, I was throwing bowls and mugs and firing vases and sculptures. 

Thirty years later, I’m showing my ceramic work as a member of the group that inspired me. The Oregon Potters Association. 

Keep on keeping on. 

It’s easy to give up. I know. There have been many times when no matter how hard I worked, things just didn’t work out. But(ok you knew there’d be a ‘but’) I have a stubborn streak or dumb luck, that kicks me into gear. And I keep going and sometimes get a chance to turn my failures around. 

Packing up for the show took days. Setting up and taking down took hours. I did my work shifts and had some wonderful and fun conversations with other artists. Hearing their stories helped me see the process of art and life can be both bumpy and beautiful. 

 

Show set up and take down is a work out. 

But getting myself out there is worth it. 

Not just for the sales, 

But to hear other artists tell their art stories. 

Celebrate Health, Sunshine and Blooming

 

This week, I took my daughter to get her second covid shot at the convention center. I feel like a pro since I’ve been there 4 times now for myself and family members. And, really it’s amazing, so well organized from the parking to the waiting area. Everyone is friendly, helpful and supportive. I had to laugh though, when my daughter compared it to her many visits to Disneyland in California. 

I agree. There are bright color coded signs everywhere. Parking lot staff with lighted wands. Color coded roped off walkways, maze like waiting lines. Smiling, colorfully uniformed people directing you to your next stop to get your vaccine. Even after your shot, there are smiling people to give you bottles of water, a chair and a countdown clock to time your after-shot wait.

On Tuesday, we were there when cheers went up to celebrate the 500,000th covid vaccination. Wow, 1/2 million people are protected. Now something healthy to celebrate!

Sunshine in my heart and soul. 

Oregon isn’t known for its sunshine. So when I see it, my heart lifts and I get busy. It’s time to clean the patio. Scrub the furniture and grill. Empty out the old soil, fill the pots with plants and hang new flowering baskets. 

This weekend, it’s time to plant the veggies and replant some strawberry plants. Get out the bird netting to keep the jays from eating all the blueberries. And turn on the lily fountain to give the hummingbirds water to drink.  

Art, adhesives, butterflies and bubble wrap. 

This week in the studio, it was time to finish the butterflies. I made metal antennas for all of them and added copper tubes to the bigger ones. Glue is not my favorite ‘art’ medium but it is a necessary one. And there are so many different kinds of glues for so many different surface treatments. I’m lucky I have an in-house ‘glue guru’, my husband to help me figure out the best adhesive for the job. 

I have a new job: shipping clerk. Yup, never saw this coming, right? But with online site sales and virtual shows, I’m now a website builder, online marketer, virtual sales cashier and in-house shipping clerk. I never trained for any of these jobs, but thanks to other artists, friends and family, I’m learning it all. 

And I’m grateful. After a year of living under a covid cloud, finally, I feel the sun coming out. Just like butterflies bursting from their cocoons, it’s time to spread my wings. 

Inside and outside life is blooming. 

Moving while Staying in Place

I’m the first to admit, these past five months created many new challenges, difficulties, sorrows and fears. As an artist, I saw my opportunities fall like bricks one by one and the bricks keep falling. As a mother, I worried for my sons, daughter and grandchildren’s health and safety. As a friend, I lost connections when I needed them most. 

There were many times, I felt my heart and soul cringe at the hard shell building around my city and country. Seeing violence and fear shatter so many lives, I found myself building a shell around myself, too. 

Creating from inside helped me out. 

With more inventory than opportunities, my head said it was time to stop making. Stop throwing. Stop building. Stop painting. But my heart cried out louder saying making, throwing, building and painting is your only hope right now. 

Creating is your only move toward light, even if everything you create has to stay home. 

It became a very slow process. I had no normal routine. I didn’t set a schedule and there was no deadline to meet. But I threw small bowls. I built new teapots and painted new birds. 

Moving closer. 

I know I’m lucky in many, many ways. I am healthy. My spouse and children and grandchildren are all fine. Even as they struggle to juggle home, work and babies. They are finding their way in this crazy covid world. 

And they are moving closer to home. This month, after 6 years away, I welcomed my daughter, son-in-law and grand-baby back to Oregon. And my son also moved closer to us. 

Now on Mondays, we have Meyer and Cieran and Colin and Caitlin and Kyle to see. Now we  get to walk with them to the park. Watch them swing. Slide down the slide. All at the same park where my now grown ‘children’ used to play. 

Learning a new pace in the same place. 

This difficult time forced me to break the shell of routine. Work away worry. Discover moving slowly is my new pace. And welcome my family home while staying in place. 

How about you? Is it possible to stand aside from the pain and fear, just a little? To look beyond these five months and see some light, movement, possibilities and maybe, some good?

Showing my Work is Work.

For the last 5 days, I’ve been working to get ready to show my work. This is much like a marathon. It requires months of preparation, hours working out at the wheel, strength training in the area of packing, hauling and set up and pacing yourself as you near the finish line. 

As a studio artist, I work alone and I like it. I spend my days at the wheel throwing, rolling slabs of clay, painting on underglaze colors, glazing and loading and unloading the kiln. I experiment with different clays and ideas. Lately, I’ve been finding new characters popping up on my shelves. 

While there is a definite presence in my studio, there are no people present. And the loudest sounds I hear are singers on Pandora. 

Don’t get me wrong: I love the challenge, exercise and connections.

But moving my work to the areas largest convention center, surrounded by hundreds of other artists, thousands of art lovers and musicians playing live music.   

Packing up my work is the easy part, even though this year I broke a vase trying to fit into one of my plastic bins. Then the work has to be loaded into the car, driven to the site, unloaded and set up. But before I can unload, I help haul, unpack and set up the group booth where I will eventually show my own work. I zip tie shelf units, haul shelves, unfold boxes, unpack LED lights and hope they work. 

By afternoon of the first day, I get to set up my shelves and display my work. That’s the fun part and where I learn and get help from my fellow artists. It’s so much easier for me to see display opportunities with other people’s work than my own. 

Thank goodness, I’m not alone. 

Working together to surmount the obstacles setting up the large group booth helps us work together setting up our own small spaces. I help one person and two others help me. If I’m not there and a piece of mine sells, another artist restocks my shelf. I do the same for them. 

Saturday, sick with a cold, with two work shifts back to back, I was beyond hungry. I was at that dazed stage when another artist came up to chat, seeing where I was at, he went to his booth and got me two cheese sticks I could eat right then and there. 

Working by myself, I am alone. Showing my work, I am not.

There are so many fun, happy, silly and crazy moments in this kind of huge show. Seeing new work from my artist friends. Sharing silly stories. Hearing an entire shelf of work crashing down. People mistaking me for another artist(even though our work is totally different) loving my ‘new work’. And, of course, finding wonderful new homes for my pieces. 

Making my work is a labor of love. Selling my work is a lot like labor and delivery. But as with any birth, the struggle is always forgotten in the end. 

The Land of Don't Know.

I'd like to say, I'm burned out.  That would be easier do deal with, understand and get beyond.  But I'm not.  

I'm in that no-mans land of 'I don't know'. 

I do know that I've been dedicated and working hard for several years now on my clay.  I've been working hard to produce a consistent body of ceramics work. I worked to improve my techniques to make better pieces with brightly colored and black glazes.  Both types of glazes are some of the hardest effects to achieve consistently.  I worked to have more pieces so I could make more sales.  I worked on committees to gain more points to give my work a better placement in the shows.  I worked on gathering and figuring out all the details of labeling, pricing, packing and delivery.  

But it seems that the more I do, the less I know.

It was challenging, energizing and fun.  But after a recent round of shows, I learned that having more to sell doesn't equal more sales.  That better placement, more consistent work and fully stocked shelves didn't help, either.  

Where do I go from here?  Do I change what I make?  Choose different colors or shapes or items to make?  Give up on functional work and concentrate on sculptural? Do I lower my prices(which are already low, I'm told)? Or raise them to attract a different crowd?  

No wonder I'm on Netflix instead of in my studio.  

I'm in the Land of Don't Know and I don't like it.  But I've been here before and moved through and onward from this territory.  So I do know that this is part of the creative process ad I just need to be patient and trust it.