On selling

This weekend (Dec 11-13) is the second half of Thurman Street Studios' holiday open studio and sale. The first weekend went pretty well--lots of visitors, including visits from friends I hadn't seen for a while. I sold some pieces, which was nice too. But the whole selling thing has me thinking. (What I'm about to say is about my feelings about my work. Please don't read this as a judgement on the work of other artists who create work to sell. We all feel differently about our art, and that's a good thing.)

Since I was a child, I've identified myself as an artist of one sort or another. My medium of choice has changed over the years, but one thing has remained consistent: I've never wanted my artwork to be dictated by the need to sell. That's why I went to a state school rather than art school for undergrad, why I have degrees in biology and library science, and why I have a full-time career-type job outside of the studio. (Whether those have proven to be good decisions is a topic for another post.)

Pottery started as nothing more than a fun hobby. It cost a little and I produced a little bit of work, but never enough of either to worry about too much. Ten years later, it's grown into an addiction that produces more work than I know what to do with, and costs more than I can justify spending on a hobby.

I still feel the same about not wanting my work to be dictated by what will sell. I don't want to compromise my artistic integrity for a few bucks--that's why I have a day job. But I'm spending more and more time and money on this "hobby" that has become a "business" and accumulating more work than I can pawn off on friends and relatives. I'm at a point where I either need to scale back or start selling enough to defray my expenses a bit. I don't think I can scale back, so that leaves selling.

So what does that mean exactly? Well, I can make whatever I want, put price tags on the results and hope for the best (that's what I've been doing). Or I can deliberately make pieces that I know will have a better chance of selling: mugs, bowls, glossy things with lots of color and pictures of birds. It would be nice to sell some work. Nice to be appreciated, and nice to defray expenses.

A former studio-mate told me once that selling is an integral part of her creative process. Obviously, I don't feel that strong of a need to sell, but I also don't want to create work in a vacuum. As I've said in a previous post, part of creating "art" is expressing something to an audience. Selling a piece shows that the piece is effective on some level. It communicated something to someone enough that they felt the desire to posses it. There is something to be said for that. There is also something to be said for being able to afford rent on my studio.

On the other hand, is there a point where the work ceases to be "art"? If the only objective of the creator is to make work to sell, I believe that it crosses a line. It may be wonderfully hand-crafted, well-designed work, but if it is not created with the intent to convey some sort of message or viewpoint from the artist to the audience, it is not art (by my definition). I don't ever want to stop creating art.

I have to admit: the more I sell, the more I start to think about what will sell. It's beginning to guide my creative process more than I might like. Maybe that's ok. I don't ever plan to go into production-mode, (my mom should know by now that asking me to make a set of dishes is fruitless) and I'm not going to give up my "if you don't like it, don't buy it" attitude. But I have my own electric kiln now, and things like mugs and bowls are great for practicing technique. This winter, I'm going to spend some time working on my throwing, playing with some cone 6 clay, and figuring out if I can get anything out of an electric kiln that doesn't make me cringe. I'll let you know how it works out. :)

On becoming a (very) small business owner.

VolvoxAureus recently became Volvox Pottery LLC. Yep, I decided to register Volvox as a business.

My reasons for registering Volvox were mostly financial. Now that I'm paying studio rent, I can write off the expense if it's for a business (I haven't heard of anyone being audited, but according to the IRS, I have to show a profit in 2 out of the next 5 years). It also keeps me from getting personally sued if my pottery hurts someone somehow (my boss's idea).

I didn’t realize there would be unintended (positive) consequences of creating a business. My attitude has changed. Now that Volvox is a business, I’m thinking much more about my future as an artist and how I can be viable as an artist and a business. I’ve said before that I want my work to be more coherent, but that’s even more important now that it’s legally more than a hobby. I think more about getting work together for a show, and what it will take to get my work into a gallery, or find a space where I can show it myself. I have cards, and I actually give them to people. I twitter pictures from the studio to show my process to anyone who might be paying attention.

At the same time, I’m trying hard not to put the cart before the horse. I know I can’t afford (and am not really ready for) my own private studio space with all my own equipment. Given that I’m only just starting to bisque my own work, I still have some learning to do before I can go off on my own. But I can't help but think about what it would be like to have my own studio, and of course the gallery I've always wanted. Forming Volvox Pottery LLC is a step in that direction and makes the possibility of having my own art-related business seem a little more possible. Someday.

Tomorrow night!

Tomorrow night is the Premiere of Coraline, the animated movie based on Neil Gaiman's novel. The red-carpet premiere is in Portland, and I'm going! No, I'm not anyone special, I just bought them.

I wouldn't probably cross the street to see most famous people. But Neil is a good writer and a fascinating blogger. I really enjoy his books, but I read his blog religiously. It is the ONLY blog I read regularly. He writes almost every day, and I love hearing about his daily life and his creative process. Even though he writes about writing, not pottery, the idea is the same. He has ideas that he struggles with and ideas that come easily. Some ideas he puts in the attic for years, then pulls them out and writes a Newbery award winning book based on them. I don't want to go on about his blog. It's great and you should read it, but that's not really the point.

The point is that he will be there tomorrow. There is a party/reception after the movie and there is the possibility that if I come up with something to say and don't chicken out at the last minute, I could meet him. So at some point it occurred to me that I could do more than just meet him, I could give him something. I could give him a piece of pottery.

I know he drinks tea, and I've been toying with an idea (inspired by Laika's Coraline boxes) of creating tea sets in hand-lined wooden boxes. Being a librarian, I just happen to have an old card-file box, so I lined it with green silk dupioni and nestled one of my favorite teapots inside. I also put a Volvox on the lid.

So the question now is: do I give it to him at the event, assuming there is actually a chance to do so? Will he like it? Will he use it? Or will it go into a pile with all the other weird things that fans have given him over the years? And does that matter? I'm not sure.

So I think what I'll do is this: I'll get it all ready to go. I'll take it and see what happens. I know that if I leave it at home I'll wish I had it. At least if I have it and decide not to give it to him (or don't have the chance), I won't have any regrets.

Hard choices

Last month I applied for a scholarship to attend a workshop at Arrowmont. Shortly after applying, I learned that I had been invited to be on the firing crew for a great wood kiln in Oregon. The wood fire is scheduled for the same week as my second workshop choice. Two days ago I got a letter offering me a $500 scholarship for my second choice.

Going to Arrowmont will still cost me close to $1000. The workshop is a one week course on using clay "sketches" to refine ideas inspired by objects and images. I have no doubt that it will be a great experience. Getting the scholarship is a great compliment, and several people spent time writing me wonderful letters of recommendation (including a current Arrowmont resident). If I turn down this scholarship, I probably won't get another one. Of course I can always pay my own way.

The woodfire is one of the best anagamas in the state, and two of the crew are close family friends. New people are not always invited to participate, and if I turn down this opportunity, I may not be asked again. Getting involved in the local woodfire community is important to my future work.

After much agonizing and talking to several people, I've decided to stay and do the woodfire and turn down the scholarship. It sounds like a foolish choice on the surface, but I realized as I was talking to friends, I kept hoping they would give me reasons to choose the woodfire. I feel calm about my decision, and that makes me think it's the right choice for me at this time. There will be other workshops.