CONSIGNMENT REVISITED

When I first started out in with my little art biz, consignment was the name of the game.

For those of you new to selling your work, consignment is when a store carries your work, but you are not paid until after it sells. Sometimes that means the end of the month after the month it sells. Wholesale, on the other hand, means a store pays upfront for your work–sometimes on the spot, before you ship, or within 10 to 30 days of the invoice date.

Most stores like to play it safe with a budding artist. “Leave a few pieces, we’ll see if it sells”, they explain. No risk to either party.

Actually, the very thought that a store would even let me leave my work with them was a thrill. I took my friends into the store and pointed out my work with pride. Look! My work is on their shelves!”

Flush with my first success, I wanted more. And so, like most craftspeople, I sought out more stores to consign with.

Soon the drawbacks of consignment became apparent. At one point, I had thousands of dollars’ worth of product sitting in a dozen stores, with no money in my pocket.

Sometimes the checks would dribble in, but only many weeks after the items actually sold. Worse, the paperwork was horrific. Some stores would send work back and ask for newer work. Often the returned goods were shopworn, or even damaged.

Since the stores didn’t actually have any money invested in my product, sometimes they didn’t put much energy into selling it. Sometimes I’d find my work on the bottom shelf, six inches off the floor. Not exactly the prime real estate spot in the place….

Consignment didn’t look so hot anymore.

As I got more astute about the business side of things, I demanded—and got—wholesale accounts. I wanted my money upfront, and if the items got damaged or stolen from the store, that was no longer my problem.

I became totally committed to wholesale. I did only one retail show a year. The rest of my business was selling directly to stores, catalog companies and galleries. I would actually sneer at consignment. It was only for those newbie artists who didn’t know any better. I maintained only a very few consignment accounts, mostly non-profits who didn’t or couldn’t buy my work outright. And only with the people who were very easy to deal with, and who kept great records.

After almost a decade, though, something funny happened.

As I became better known and my prices rose, I realized my work—especially my fiber work—was getting too pricey for most of the craft stores I marketed to. I could see that I really should move it on to art galleries. Art galleries who now mostly work on a consignment basis. (Gone are the heady days of the 70’s and 80’s when a gallery would buy the complete body of work of an artist outright.)

Something else happened, too. I got tired of filling orders.

I would make samples for a wholesale show. Customers would make their selections and I’d write up their orders. I would go back in the studio and make up work from the orders.

But lately I found myself dragging my feet. I didn’t WANT to make a dozen more of that design. I didn’t WANT to make sure the last bear sculpture I made was exactly the same size and price as the sample they’d ordered. I didn’t WANT to make the same thing in blue.

The last few years were tough on retailers, too. Cash flow was problematic. Even after an order was bought and paid for, and “not my problem” anymore, there was still griping. And pressure to swap out work that was moving slowly.

My costs of getting new work out in front of buyers rose. Printing and mailing a catalog gets expensive and time-consuming. It takes time to keep a website updated, especially if you’re a one-woman operation. I would spend thousands and thousands of dollars to do one wholesale show–and sit in my empty booth looking at empty aisles, wondering where my buyers were.

“You need to follow up after the show–call your stores and touch base with them!” Excellent advice. But why bother doing the show at all if I still have to work each account one at a time??

I hate to say it. But lately, the thought of working with complete freedom in my studio—making just what I want to make that day, in whatever design strikes my fancy, and whatever color choice excites me—is looking more and more appealing.

I could simply make a batch of whatever—jewelry, wall hangings, sculptures—pack it up, ship it out—and make more stuff.

This is actually one of the strengths of consignment: Because the store doesn’t have to tie up money in their inventory, they can experiment with new artists, new designs, or new (usually higher) price points.

If the stock comes back eventually, it can go into stock for my retail shows and open studio events. Since I’m now making more one-of-a-kind designs, this can be a good thing. I’ll have more selections available to my retail customers, not just more blue fish earrings.

I’ve learned that if it doesn’t sell in one store, another may do better with it.

And the thousands of dollars saved by not doing wholesale shows would buy a lot of beautiful new beads and fabrics…. Maybe even a killer magazine ad or two.

Sure enough, I got a call last month from a new gallery. They’d just discovered my work, and they are very, very excited about it. I looked at their website, and it looks good. Really, really good. A good fit, a good location, a beautiful gallery.

And they only do consignment.

I found myself saying, “That’s GREAT!! I’ll just pick out a good assortment and get it out to you.”

“Whatever you can send!” the owner exclaimed.

Could it be??

Is my future in consignment again???

P.S. For more on consignment, see this article from my Radio Userland blogsite from a series I did on getting started on selling to stores:

GETTING STARTED #13 What is Consignment?

GETTING IN YOUR OWN WAY

We all know what we want and where we want to go in life. And we all work hard to get there. Right?

Sometimes I’m not so sure.

The older I get, the more I notice how often people get in the way of their own success.

People say they want one thing, but seem to be working against themselves all along.

I see people who are desperate to get on board with companies and organizations they think can further their professional goals.  They become convinced that this is THE place they have to be.  No other will do.  They are so desperate, they resort to subterfuge and strong-arm techniques.

They think they’re being subtle and “smart”. But they’re actually being manipulative and deceitful. In fact, they end up ensuring that company will never do business with them, if they can help it.

I see people who want to be respected, who want to set a good example for others. But they lead double lives, negating everything they say professionally by what they do in their private lives. They’ve never learned that “do what I say, not what I do” only works for very young children–say, under three.

The folks who think they can lead these double lives do not understand how devastating it is when their masquerade is revealed. They may mean well. But they end up doing a tremendous disservice to their cause, no matter how dedicated they intend to be to it.

On the other hand, there are people with very little personal experience who feel they know enough to tell everyone else what to do.  But they’ve never walked the walk, they can only talk the talk.  “Advice” from these people sounds good, til you realize they’ve never actually put it into practice.

As artists, we can fall prey to the same temptations.

We say we want recognition, but we don’t work hard enough to get our work and our name out there. We sneer at others’ efforts to promote themselves, calling them “self-serving” or “braggarts”. (There’s a huge difference between puffing yourself up, and simply making sure the world knows about your art!)

We say we want an audience for our work, but we don’t produce enough work to sell. We find a million excuses not to paint, not to write. I’m always amazed at the people who don’t make time or even a physical space for their art in their lives. They often don’t create a single place in their home where they can sit down and make stuff.

We say our customers don’t appreciate us or understand our work, but we don’t try very hard to find the people that would appreciate and buy our work.

Or we berate the customers we do have. In fact, customer-bashing is often a popular artist pastime. Check out any professional on-line forum, and often the biggest thread is the “stupid customer” discussion. Artists cheer each other on to come up with the best snappy put-down to what they consider rude customer questions. I’m always astounded at the phenomenon, and try to avoid it totally. It’s just not good energy. I figure it also proves that those artists are doing the wrong shows!

We’re full of advice for other people, but never ask if what worked for us in our particular situation, is actually what might work for them in theirs.

Or we don’t realize that they didn’t even actually ask us for our advice.  (Ouch!)

We all do this to some extent.  We all have a disconnect between the world inside our head and the world “out there.” It’s part of our human nature.  And sometimes it’s a necessary disconnect.

It’s when it’s not getting you what you want that it becomes a problem.  As Dr. Phil is fond of saying, “Is that working for you?”

The last few years have been a time of much introspection on my part. It hurts to look at the fuzzy zone where my words and my actions should meet, and see what’s matching up and what isn’t. Sometimes it’s downright embarrassing.

But I have to do it. And so should you.

Periodically assess yourself. Pull out your business plan occasionally and see where you stand.

If you’ve achieved many of your goals, then congratulations! Your actions are in alignment with your intentions.

If not, why not?

Did you simply forget what you set out to do? Time to think hard about what you really want, and determine if your current actions will get you there.

Did your goals change, and you forgot to change your process? Remember that sad adage, “Do the same thing, expect different results” is a recipe for unhappiness.
Did you achieve your first round, but forgot to set new goals? That’s wonderful! Time to get your Big Dream hat on again. Now you know the process works, and you can dream even bigger.

Be prepared to forgive yourself if you find yourself off target. Sometimes, I suspect we get off-course because we were never really dedicated to the course we chose. Or we honestly don’t realize how much we’ve fooled ourselves.

Or we find we really don’t want that anymore.  Our needs, our desires have changed.

And that’s okay, too.

We all do it. We are human, after all, not computer programs.

Just be willing to stop and check your map.

Ask for directions if you are well and truly lost.

Or maybe even simply enjoy the new route you find yourself on.

PERFECT WORK

It never fails. It’s only six weeks before my big retail show, the annual League of NH Craftsmen’s Fair, and I’m bursting with new jewelry designs.

Every year, this show seems to pull my best work out of me. This year is no exception. I’m stunned at the new ideas that seem to flow out my brain and through my hands. Nothing like a hard deadline to get those brain cells pumpin’!

I sometimes stop in mid-necklace design to rush over to my polymer station, feverishly making new beads that I just “have to have” to complete the look.

I have a billion beads. Yet late Sunday night I pored over one of my favorite bead sources, buying unusual new beads for a new design that’s been floating in my head.

The colors are amazing, too.   It’s like the new soapstone material I invented last year has opened a whole new color palette for my work.  I find myself digging through my bead stash, looking for those red coral beads I thought I’d never use….  I’m using semi-precious stones whose names I can’t even pronounce.  What the heck is variscite??  I thought gaspite was bad…

These designs look even more tribal and eclectic. The beading looks like someone found a handful of beads at an archeological dig and restrung a broken necklace. I know that doesn’t SOUND beautiful, but trust me, it is!

I’m just about ready to call my photographer for an emergency photo session. I want to post a sneak preview of these new creations on my website.

As I finish each piece, I take a minute to pause and admire it. I find myself murmuring, “This one is perfect!”

I caught myself at it this morning, and had to laugh.

Because every year I think I’ve found the perfect design. I can’t imagine how it could be better. I get a little anxious–“How will I ever top this??”–and fret about when I run out of ideas.

And every year, it just gets a little better, and a little more exciting.

Isn’t the creative process funny?

HOLD THE PHONE!

UPDATE: Obviously, I wrote this more than 14 years ago. And none of this works for me anymore! What have I learned from this? Go with what works, until it doesn’t work. Then try something else.

I decided to make a couple of tiny changes this week in my studio. They are working well, and I’d like to share them with you.

First, I decided to work first, blog later. (Okay, I’m bending the rule today.) I come in and get down to work BEFORE writing.

Writing is important to me. VERY important. But it often feels like I’ve “produced”, when all I’ve really done is blogged. I need to get artwork made, too.

Is that working? Yes! I’ve gotten halfway through my last order, and made a lot of beautiful new jewelry already this week.

Second, I’m checking my e-mail less. I’m trying not to check it first thing in the morning. That’s a hard habit to break, too.

But again, slogging through e-mail often feels like “working”, when all I’ve done is answered e-mail. I’m finding many of the questions and requests have very little to do with the actual work I need to do that day.

Last, I’m not answering the phone. I’m trying not to even look at the caller ID.

This is the hardest one of all. Both my husband and I work in our home. But I self-selected to be the one who answers the phone. My husband protects his work time fiercely, with great results. No one seems to hold that against him.

I want that for myself, too. With kids and aging parents in my life, it’s hard not to imagine the emergencies I’m missing. But it’s paying off big-time.

I don’t seem to be missing any opportunities yet. If they are big ones, or time-sensitive, so far it’s turning out they can all wait til noon. There’s still time to jump on them before the end of the day if I need to. Oh, Obama’s people wanted to know if they could count on my vote. I figure if he’s too busy to call me himself, I’m too busy to give a straight answer just yet.

I wonder where this habit of being instantly and constantly available came from? I’m beginning to think it’s not from people who are self-employed….

We’re told that people with good business skills and “professionalism” are prompt about getting back to people. I think this is what originally fueled my attempts to jump on every phone call, every e-mail, every opportunity as soon as it popped up on my screen.

But then I realized it said “get BACK to people.” It doesn’t say you have to respond with full force and attention to every single interruption as it comes in.

The breather space is allowing me to evaluate what needs my immediate attention. And my immediate attention. And my attention. By this I mean, do I need to respond right now? Do I need to answer this, or can I pass it on to someone else? And if it needs ME, can I do something about it later?

I’m thinking of ways to disconnect even more. Please let me know what’s worked for you!

I’d like to ideally move my computer and office OUT of my studio altogether, although that would generate some inconveniences.

And I’m wondering how to get rid of the noise of the phone ringing when I’m in here, so I’m not even tempted to answer. I’d unplug the darn thing, except I’d never remember to plug it back in. (We have that Verizon phone answering service, where you have to remember to pick up the phone and hear the “stutter” dial tone to see if you have messages—so there’s no “light on the answering machine” to check.)

It feels almost scary to be so out of touch with the world, even for a few hours. I’m wondering if the payoff in a new body of work wouldn’t be worth it, though.

What was the turning point for me? What words of wisdom convinced me to unplug, to say no, to be so unavailable to all who would need me?

It was my friend who said, “When you give away your time and energy to all these people who “need” you, are you changing their lives? If not, get back to your work. Because it’s your ARTWORK that changing peoples’ lives. That’s where your highest spiritual and emotional impact in life is.”

She has a smaller piece of my work, a framed fragment. She said, “It’s such a powerful piece, it’s alone on the wall. Nothing else can be around it.”

I think about that as I work in my quiet studio this week.

GO AHEAD, BREAK IT!

I subscribe to a newsletter from http://www.coachlee.com. Every day I get a “thought” from this website. Usually I don’t have time to read them. But today this headline caught my eye:

Just Because It Breaks, Doesn’t Mean You Broke It

Coach Lee goes on to say, “It can be so frustrating when something breaks while you are using it. The assumption by many is that if it breaks while you were using it, it is your fault. Not true. Timing is everything. When something breaks when you are using it, it is a matter of timing not fault. Things break. Don’t feel bad or guilty if it just happens to break during your time of use.”

It’s funny, but the one thing not addressed in this article is why things break when we use them.

It’s because when they are at rest, there is equilibrium. No energy in, no energy out.  No force.

But when we add energy, we disturb that equilibrium.   Think how a light bulb usually burns out when we turn the light on.   It’s that tiny surge from new energy that causes it to flare out–rarely while it’s burning.

So, too things break when we use them.  Only when we touch it/move it/use it/push it/twist it/pick it up does it fall apart in our hands.

And as I struggle to put together a new model for getting my art out into the world, wondering why everything seemed to go wrong in the first place, I realize this is the answer

Everything went “wrong” because I was doing something.

Everything went “wrong” because I was doing something.

I was making my art.

I was  getting it out into the world.

I was exhibiting it, showing it, selling it, promoting it, writing about it

f I had simply been a little lump, sitting in my studio and doing NOTHING, then NOTHING would have “gone wrong.”

And of course, what exactly went wrong?

The economy soured, massive terrorist attacks paralyzed our country, and our national shopping spree went into lock-down mode. Buyers for craft galleries stopped going to wholesale shows, stopped buying new work, and many even went out of business.

So what did I do wrong?<

Not much.

It wasn’t about me.

I just kept trying the same old things for awhile. And when they worked, I kept doing them.< (My one big retail show, the League of New Hampshire Craftsmen’s Annual Fair, just got better and better for me.)

When the same old things didn’t work, I tried something new. A new show, more self-promotion, new marketing materials, new work.

Some of it worked, and some of it didn’t. And I’m still in that process of trying something new.

Of course it all “broke” while I was “using it”!<

I was out there with my art, trying to give it everything I had. Taking risks, new ventures, putting every cent I earned back into the business of getting my art out there.

I tried new presentations for my art—framing with glass, framing without glass, smaller work, bigger work, less expensive work, more expensive work.

And of course I made mistakes.

Because, like the old adage says, if you aren’t making mistakes, you aren’t trying hard enough.

So no more apologizing from me on not having this all figured out yet. I’m in this for the long haul. It may take me twenty years to be an overnight success.

But when I make it—and there’s no doubt in my mind I will—you will have heard about it from someone who started out just a handful of years before the worst economy in 30 years—and came through the other side.

So go ahead. Make mistakes. Break it!

It means you’re working it.

It means you’re doing something right.

BORN TO BUZZ: Create Your Own Reality

I believe we chose our own reality.

I’ve seen that process in action—two people interact, and both have their own very clear ideas about what actually took place.The same event happens to two different people–one views it as a blessing, the other as a blight.

But saying we choose our reality sounds so very lightweight. There’s no getting around cold hard facts, right? Reality is reality—if your car is going off a cliff, no amount of wishful thinking is going to keep you from eventually hitting the ground.

Well, I guess there is reality, and then there’s reality. So much of what holds us back in life, and in our art, is NOT about cold hard fact, nor is it as concrete as driving off a cliff.

Most of our obstacles are tied up with perceptions and misperceptions, based in fear, in indecision, or results from unclear goals and unfocused efforts.

And all of THESE conditions are, indeed, things we can choose how we think about them.

I wrote recently about actually experiencing a thought burp up in the middle of the night—and watching my mind literally pounce on it and begin to worry a solution out of it.

Til I realized, “This is not a problem I have to solve. It’s just a thought!”

And I’ve been reading more and more about “mindfulness”, the process of observing and naming your thoughts without the compulsion to act on them or even judge them. “Oh, look, there’s that insecure feeling again….” “Wow, I feel like smacking my cat. I must be having an angry thought about her ralphing on the couch.”

But why do I…we…have to go through these processes to achieve inner peace? Why is my brain always buzzing? What’s wrong with me and my brain, anyway?

I’ve been blaming it on menopause and looking for a cessation any day now. But more and more women are telling me, “Oh, it’s not that simple….”, sending me into new panic. You mean it’s not going to just go away on its own?? Horrors!!!

But yesterday I found hope.

I read the most remarkable book excerpt in the July 2007 issue of OPRAH magazine.It’s from Ruth King’s book, HEALING RAGE: Women Making Inner Peace Possible”. You can read more about Ms. King’s book here.

The excerpt reads:

“The mind’s job is to be busy with thought—24/7. The problem is that we often confuse the activities of the mind with the whole truth…A single wave of emotion can feel like the vast ocean at any given time, yet it is still only a wave, to be followed by another…Emotions are fed by thoughts that believe they are the only reality…We can be informed, even entertained by [them] without the urgency to believe them or act on them.”

I have read and reread that excerpt.

“The mind’s job is to be busy with thought—24/7.”

Our consciousness constantly creates thought because that is its function. There’s nothing wrong, that’s just what it’s supposed to do. That’s why it’s so hard to “empty your mind” when you meditate, so hard not to think of brass monkeys when told not to.

We have brain buzz because our brains are born to buzz.

And notice the next big sentence:

“Emotions are fed by thoughts that believe they are the only reality…”

If this is true, then here is the linchpin behind the whole “choose your own reality” philosophy.

If how we feel is based on thoughts, and any given thought can be given credibility if we let it, then we can CHOOSE which thoughts we give credence to, and which ones we won’t.

I don’t think it will be easy. I’m sure it takes practice, practice, practice.

But if such peace-of-mind is really so within my grasp, I’m willing to put a little time into making that happen.

I feel like this marshaling of my thoughts and processes is going to be so good for my art, and for my life.

GOODBYE LITTLE RAT

Yesterday was a hard day. I had to take my daughter’s pet rat to the vet to be put down.

I cried and cried as she fell asleep in my hands and then died peacefully. She was the sweetest animal that has ever been in my care.

I know, I know. I know EXACTLY what you’re thinking. “Rat” and “sweet” do not belong in the same sentence, unless it’s something like, “We killed the rat, SWEET!”

I’ve never been fond of rats, and a year living in downtown Baltimore almost 25 years ago sealed the deal. Even looking at them made me nervous. Movies like “Willard” and “The Bone Collector” merely confirmed my harsh opinion. And no one ever disagreed with me.

Oh, from time to time, I’d hear people say, “Oh, but pet rats are so SWEET!” My response was, “Yeah. Right!” A stint as a rat handler at our local human society changed my mind substantially, but I still got nipped a lot. I grew to see their charms, and I could see how desperately they sought affection. But never really thought I’d grow to see one as an uber-pet.

Until this particular little rat came into our home.

My daughter bought her as a baby at a local pet store, and snuck her into the house. She hid her inside a large box in her bedroom for months before I discovered her. (Waist-high piles of clothes and books and girl trash were very effective at keeping me out of the room.)

When I discovered the rat, Robin thought it was funny her parents were so “dumb” they hadn’t known she’d had a rat for months. I pointed out it wasn’t exactly cool to have a room so messy, you could hide rats in it.

As Robin’s friends and boyfriends dominated her life more, and she spent less time at home, I felt guilty about the rat. I did a little research and learned they are intensely social animals. So social, one source admonished, that having a single rat was tantamount to….well, rat abuse. I resolved to spend an hour every evening handling the rat while I watched TV with my family.

And I ended up falling in love with that silly little thing.

Robin called her Mavra (MAHV-rah) after some Welsh thing, and we never did learn what it meant or how it’s really spelled.

Mavra slept most of the day, and when the TV came on, she knew it was social time.

She’d scrabble out of her house, a little cardboard box we’d cut doors in. Inside that box was her her nest. I now understand where the term “rat’s nest” comes from. It’s a large, carefully constructed bird’s nest made with everything they can get their paws and teeth on. Every time we cleaned her cage, we gave her a new supply of newspaper strips, toilet paper, a rag or sock. She would carefully pull each piece inside her box and trim them down to bite-size pieces. Then each piece would be carefully stuffed into the next. This would keep her busy for hours. They were amazing to look at.

I’d pick her up and let her run around my lap and legs a little, before settling in for a cuddle. Sometimes I’d stick her in a pouch or an old cloth purse, and actually “wear” her into my studio. I’d do some work or read e-mail while she scrabbled around happily, eating tortilla chips, occasionally sticking her nose out for a peek.

She was very much like a dog in her behavior–happy, affable, curious. She never once bit me or anyone else while being handled, not even when she was given food. She even learned not to pee on us, once she realized we didn’t like it. We didn’t have to do much–we would just say, “Oh, Mavra!” sadly and put her back in the cage and go clean ourselves up. She figured out what was up with that, and rarely peed on us after that.

Mostly, she loved to lie happily in my lap and have her head stroked, just like a dog. Long strokes from her nose over her eyes and deeply rubbing her ears. She would chatter her teeth, rat behavior that means, “YES!! I LIKE that!” Often she would fall asleep.

Robin took Mavra with her last fall to her first internship. I’m so glad she did! The internship fell through, but not before Robin had spent months alone in a tiny studio apartment, in a tiny town hours away, so isolated her only social contacts were at the restaurant she worked lunches at. Mavra kept her company during the long, long hours of solitude.

I owed Mavra one for that.

I guess what broke my heart as she died is I know very few people would ever look further than her ratty head and her snake-ish tail, and see deeper to the loving and gentle heart inside. Even my husband never looked at her without shuddering, and most people’s initial reaction was “eeeuw!”

But rat lovers know.

Many folks are not who they seem on the outside. Some are pretty pretty, but shallow and cruel inside. Some are ugly or unassuming, but they are loving and kind.

Give me the rats of the world any day.

I found an old soft t-shirt of Robin’s to bury her in. I tucked her in the pocket, and tucked her tail in around her. Doug and I buried her in our backyard with our other beloved pets. I found a stone from a beach in Rhode Island that amazingly, looked like a rat–gray and long, with one pointed end and a rounded end, and flat on the bottom. I put it on her grave.

Goodbye, sweet Mavra. I hope you find a warm little nest and a pile of tortilla chips in heaven. And someone to soothe you to sleep each night.

I will not forget you soon.

IT’S JUST LIFE

My husband and I had a good talk yesterday. We’re both feeling a little fragile, a little down, a little overwhelmed right now.

We talked about the same stuff we always talk about when we feel this way. Whether what we’re doing is ever going to amount to anything. Whether it’s worth doing, worth all the effort and sacrifices we’ve made. Whether we’ve made the right choices. Or if there are harder choices yet to be made.

We don’t have unbridled youth and enthusiasm in front of us anymore. We’ve long passed even the most generous outer boundary of “middle age”.

It’s a time for thinking carefully about what we want the next 20 years to look like, and what we have to do to make that happen. Is this the right work for us? If it is, why is it so hard?

Is it time to hunker down and dig in? Or is it time to move on to the next thing? When do you know when it’s time to simply try something else?<

Do we stay in this small New England town, where we’ve built a great family life and made many friends? Or do we look for another region of the country for this next chapter in our lives? It’s got to have lots of sunshine but not too hot. It’s got to have community access to a great lap pool. It’s got to have access to horses I can ride. NO BLACK FLIES!

Do we sell our beautiful but increasingly high-maintenance 1850’s home? Or put more sweat equity into it, both for personal enjoyment and to keep costs down? I want to state for the record right here that I personally get very little enjoyment from engaging in sweat equity. One of my favorite movie lines of all times is from a trailer from a movie starring Dan Aykroyd and Rosie O’Donnell as special agents undercover, infiltrating some sort of sex club. A studly club employee, wearing a leather harness, says to Rosie in a sultry voice, “How can I fulfill your wildest fantasy?” And Rosie says, “Go paint my house.”

How do we take advantage of these last few years with our youngest child at home?< Is this the time to travel more? Or should we stick close to home?

Money is tighter than ever, not what we expected to happen at this age.< Should we cut back on spending as much as possible? Or throw fiscal caution to the wind and live a little?

There’s no way to answer these questions, of course. All we can do is keep our lines of communication open. And keep our options open. And be open to opportunity when it crosses our path.

Much as we yearn for a more clear road map right now, we know there’s no such thing. Oh, people can plan and prepare. But life has a way of throwing all kinds of twists and surprises at you, some good and some bad.

I know, too, that some of our choices have been excellent ones. As I drifted off to sleep last night, I realized one of my best choices ever was to be with someone who wants to be the person I can talk to about this stuff.

There are many other good choices that are just as clear to me. Even the bad choices have been….instructional.

In the end, it’s not about perfect choices.

It’s being able to learn and grow from everything that happens. To stay hopeful. To keep courage. To try new things, and make new choices. And to muddle on as best we can.

Because as life unfolds, it affects people one of two ways.

They can get thicker.

Or they can get deeper and richer.

I already know which kind of person I want to be.

THE POWER OF TINY CHANGES

I had surgery last week, and am only starting to feel back to normal now.

It was much, much more exhausting and debilitating than I’d thought or planned for, starting with the hospital stay.

My room was across from the nurses’ station, and I could hear EVERYTHING going on. I had a talkative roommate who never quit. She was very nice, but the last straw was the “Are you asleep?” queries at 2 a.m., 3 a.m. and 4 a.m. Between that, and the almost hourly nurse visits (alternating between me and my roommate) and I was a basket case by 6 a.m. When my husband showed up the next day to take me home, he asked brightly, “Did you catch up on your sleep?”, I dissolved into a puddle of tears.

I couldn’t wait to get home and sleep, sleep, sleep. After the two-hour drive home, that is.

Finally, I was home, sweet home. And I DID sleep, off and on, almost all of that first day.

By the second day, though, I had a most unwelcome visitor. Racking back pain, sciatica, brought on by inactivity and too much bed rest. The powerful meds I was on couldn’t touch it. It was so violent, I could only find relief by walking or standing—NOT what my exhausted body, already nauseated by the strong meds, could cope with so soon after surgery.

I was in major pain, and I was terrified. I imagined every single worst case scenario: blood clot, slipped disk, permanent pain.

I felt totally out of control of my situation.

Absolutely nothing gave me any comfort, or interested me, beyond the pain.

I thought it would last forever. That’s what it felt like.

After a few phone calls to my doctor and some adjustments to my medication and regime, I was able to get some relief by the next day.

But I was STILL exhausted. And worse, still depressed. The worst of the pain was gone. Hallelujah! (The blessing was, by contrast, my incisions felt great! But I still found absolutely no interest or comfort in anything. Not my family, not my home, not the beautiful June day. I felt exhausted and used up.

My studio and the orders waiting for me there felt like a burden more than anything.

I tried thinking of the simplest pleasures—coffee and chocolate (can’t have any for two months); alcohol (can’t have any for two months); sex (OW! I don’t even want to think about it!); yard sales (What?? Bring home more junk? No way!); movies (can’t sit that long). Even reading, usually my prime escape, seemed dull and sad.

The list grew longer. This scared me almost as much as the pain. I went to bed last night feeling pale and wan and futile.

But then something happened.

I woke up this morning.

My first thought was, “I could make the bed.” (I don’t know why, but I always feel better when the bed is made.) That thought felt pretty good.

My second thought was, “I could fold some towels.< That wouldn’t be too hard.”

I did. That felt pretty good, too. (I was sure to not think too hard about the other baskets of laundry sitting there looking hopeful.)

I felt better.

My third thought was, “I could clean the rat’s cage. That wouldn’t be too hard.” Mavra is the sweetest animal on the earth, but she is a bit smelly in her old age.

My fourth thought was, “Maybe I could just do one or two things in my studio today. Maybe just get one surface clear.” I knew I would feel better if I could accomplish that.

My fifth thought was, “I can’t believe how much better I feel just doing these tiny tasks!”

My last thought? “I should blog this!”

So here I am, before I’ve even made the bed or had breakfast. Before the thought fled my mind, which so many do with frightening frequency lately.

Why do making these small changes to my environment make me feel so much better??

I think this is another version of the micro-tasks I’ve written about before. The one where, if you are trying to exercise more but can’t find the time or inclination, you just put on your work-out clothes. Because just committing to that tiny action often leads to the bigger commitment, to actually work out.

There’s something good about realizing you can make tiny changes and achieve small—very small—results. Results that make a difference.

There’s something empowering about those tiny changes, in themselves, that can make you feel much, much better about yourself. BEFORE those changes can even really make that difference.

Oh, yes, and getting some sleep.

The next time you find yourself overwhelmed about life or your work, first take care of yourself.

Focus on getting through it, even if you can’t see the end. Know that it WILL get better, eventually.

And as soon as you can, make some teensy, little changes for the better. Even if you can’t see where they fit in the bigger picture.

Because just CHOOSING to make those changes is a good thing.

And making even TINY changes is a better thing.

They WILL add up. And you will quickly move on to even bigger and better changes.

But even more importantly, they will change YOU.

WHY, WHY, WHY?? How to Write a Stronger Artist Statement

I’ve just finished the final edits for an article I wrote for FiberArts magazine. You can learn more about the magazine here.

The article is about exhibition proposals–the “pitch” you make to a venue for a solo exhibition. It’s scheduled to run in the September issue, so put it on your calendars!

I think it’s going to be a slightly different take on similar articles. I actually went “behind the curtains”to see how such proposals are evaluated. I got to see firsthand which ones had pizazz and which ones didn’t–and more importantly, why.

Coincidentally, I also just finished my first proposal for public art. When a federal building project is budgeted, a certain percentage of the money involved is dedicated to providing art to decorate it–an amazing concept, and one that has long interested me.

You can read more about public art here.

Usually the scale is out of my league, and many designated sites are not conducive to fiber (outdoor installations, for example.) But this one was of manageable size. Best of all, I instantly felt it was a good fit for my artwork.
Why? Good question.

I’m not being facetious. When it comes to submitting a great proposal, writing a press release, or creating an astounding artist statement, WHY? is the very best question you can ask.

I found this out a few years ago while teaching a workshop on press kits.

My message was, the whole point of a press release is telling your story and getting it published in a newspaper or magazine.

So how do you tell a compelling story? I started with the 5 W’s (who, what, when, where, why, and how). That’s easy for most people.

But everyone was getting stuck on “why?”

They couldn’t get past the cliches we fall into when we are afraid to dig deeper.

“Because I just love color.” “I just love fabric.” “I dunno why I do it, I just like doing it.” “It’s so much fun!”

Even more telling, no one got WHY the “why” is so important.

I had a flash of insight.

Why?” is “Why do you care?” And “Why should I care?” (Sounds harsh, but true.)

To temper the process, I would just keep asking “why?” until I got a strong answer.

So I just asked “why?”

I asked “why” over and over and over, until we got to the heart of their story.

It’s simple. And it works.

I’m reading a terrific book called MADE TO STICK by brothers Chip and Dan Heath http://www.madetostick.com/ I was delighted to read the same technique recommended to get to the “core idea” you are trying to sell to people.

I use “sell” loosely, because whatever your product is–a movie, a car, a cleaning service, a painting, a charity–you have to make some connection with your audience in order for them to want it.

That connection, that “story”, can be about value, prestige, entertainment, convenience, whatever.

For most of us, “Why?” will get you to that story faster than the speed of light.

Here’s one example. Years ago, a friend who works with young adults with special needs complained about one former client he worked out with regularly.

His complaints were funny and amusing. But his experience sounded like so much trouble, I wondered why he continued to spend time with this young person.

I kept asking him why. He kept making vague excuses, none of which made sense. I kept saying, “But if this person is SO ANNOYING, why do you continue to do this??”

Finally, our friend burst out, “Because these people are different. They’re a little weird, they’re a little goofy. It can be scary if you don’t understand. In our culture, this tends to set them apart–they get marginalized, they get put aside. “

But the conditions that make them seem “odd” also give them amazing qualities. They have strengths and opportunities to offer us. Their “differences” are just part of the full spectrum of being human.”

I’ve always felt that, if only we could learn to be a little more understanding, a little more tolerant, then all our lives would be so much richer.”

As I heard this story, I felt myself determined to be a little more understanding, a little more tolerant.

The “why” had come through. My friend had made that connection by sharing that true story.

FWIW, in my book, one powerful story comes when we are motivated to be the best kind of person we aspire to be. To see common ground with others, and thus chose to act out of love, courage, passion and grace instead of fear and hate and pettiness.

So here I was with my first public art proposal. I found many of the same principles I’d learned from my research on the exhibition proposal article applied. But the biggest hurdle for me, as I said, was simply “why?”

WHY was my artwork a good fit for their proposal?

Once I answered that question to my satisfaction (and hopefully theirs!), I felt I had a good, strong proposal. I sent it off knowing I’d made my best effort.

Try this, the next time you need to really connect with an audience. Before you write your next artist statement, or submit your next exhibit proposal. Before you do your next show. Before you are interviewed by your local newspaper.

If this gets hard, ask a trusted friend to ask you, and tell them to push until they get the real answer.

Ask yourself “why”.

But ask it more than once.

Keep asking yourself “why?” until you get to the very heart of what motivates you.
Don’t stop til you reach the truth.

Trust me, you will know.