STORIES FROM THE FLEA MARKET: Angry Sellers Don’t Sell!

STORIES FROM THE FLEA MARKET: Angry Sellers Don’t Sell!!

Yep, I love thrift shops, antique stores, and flea market! Guess where all this came from?

 

For years, I’ve belonged to an online Facebook group for artists/craftspeople who do fairs. I won’t give the name, but it’s all about the mean/stupid/careless things vendors hear their (potential) customers say at those shows. And the sellers often share the scathing retorts they give back to those visitors.

The good part is, when our own customers say things about our work that can be triggering, it can help to know that EVERY creative gets sh** like this from time to time. Not just me. Not just you.

But ultimately, it’s not a group I check in with very often. It’s so toxic to hear the responses the vendors give, often derogatory, always full of anger, at best a joke at their (potential customer’s) expense. It always…always…brings me down.

A few days ago, I had the opposite experience. Or rather, I was (indirectly) on the receiving end of that.

I went to a large local flea market, one that may shut down permanently in a few weeks. I almost always find something that begs to go home with me. But this time, nothing really spoke to me. (This is so rare!)

Like most flea markets, most of the vendors were selling cheap imports, or kids’ toys, used clothing, the dregs of abandoned storage units they’d bought the contents of, etc. I did see some very cool rocks, and some beautiful crusty old bottles. But our studio buildings are having a garage sale in a few weeks, and I already have more of those than I’ll ever use. (BECAUSE I’VE BEEN PAWING THROUGH MY OWN STORAGE ROOM and I’m well-aware of how much stuff I already have…!!) (Plus I’d just gone to a bead-and-jewelry show the day before, and I had all the pretty beads I can handle this year.  Um….week.)

Then I saw a display that caught my eye. Hey! Maybe….?? I moved closer to get a better look.

But as I neared this vendor’s spot, they went on a loud and angry rant with their vendor neighbor about the “terrible” market visitors.

“They aren’t even SHOPPING, they’re just LOOKING!” (Aka “Looky-Lou’s”) “They don’t appreciate anything we have!” “They’re just looking for a real DIAMOND for $5!!” And more derisive, insulting rants and raves.

So what did I do?

I gave them a wide berarth, turned around and left. Moved on to another aisle.

First, I don’t want to engage with someone like that.

Second, even if I did, I would not buy anything. Even if it were something I liked, every time I looked at it, at home or in my studio, I would be reminded of their seething rage. And I do NOT want that energy in my home or my creative space.

Yeah, I get it. It’s hard when it feels like the world doesn’t appreciate the work of our heart. (Or the storage facility auction we bought that sh** at.)

I also have no interest in increasing the unnecessary anger in the world.

Even if our customers ARE actually rude/clueless/not your customer, there are better ways to manage that: HATERS GONNA HATE: You’re Not My Customer!

Here’s an older article I just found while looking for the right “tags” for this post that might help us all see how to actually work with visitors. And how to encourage them to become customers. MAKE ME BUY IT

And after I got home from the flea market, I did actually buy more beads online. (Please don’t tell my husband!)

Life lessons for today? Make what you love.

Do your best to put it in the path of others who will love it, too.

Don’t let difficult customers bring you down–just move them (gently) on.

And don’t become that angry vendor for your potential new audience.

Be a force for good, and kindness, in the world.

 

 

 

HOW TO OPEN STUDIO #12: How to Get People OUT of Your Booth

Yes, you read that right. Usually we’re trying to get people into our booth or open studio, so we can sell them our work. But sometimes it’s just as important to get them out of there, too.

There are many kinds of visitors who will come to our open studios. the person who has no intention of buying anything, but is distracting you from other customers.

And okay, I’ll admit it–the title is provocative. You don’t necessarily need to, nor should you, boot every non-customer out of your studio! Not every transaction is about money, and not every comment is meant as a slam, not by a long shot. Revisit “the stupid question”, for example.

But no one needs “bad transactions”, either. There are indeed times when someone is being a jerk, a downer, a whiner or simply an energy-vampire. (I wrote this before the TV series, “What We Do In The Shadows”!) If they aren’t driving other customers out of your studio, they are practically driving you out of your studio.

You must contain and deal with that negative energy. Not only your sales, but your peace of mind may depend on it.

To save myself some time this morning, I’ll just point you to a wealth of information on this topic that I’ve written about for years: How to get people OUT of your booth

Short story: Not everyone is your customer.

That’s okay, of course. Most open studios and other events are as much about creating connections as they are about sales. Our open studio events are the most powerful, as we are on our home turf, in our sacred creative space. They get to see who we are, and hopefully learn what our artwork is all about.

And for the same reasons, this is why we can’t let people s*** in our space, either.

But there will be people who may go beyond all boundaries, from slightly-aggressive to downright boring as all get-out. The people who know, deep down, that we are a captive audience.

I get as annoyed as anyone when this happens. And yet, when I take a moment or two (or a thousand), I can get back to my happy place. Maybe they are lonely. Or lost (figuratively.) Or desperate for attention. Or need to one-up me because they are envious. Maybe they are wistful, wishing they could have a studio, a creative outlet, work that they put aside, a decision they regret but can’t fix.

These fears, feelings of superiority (or inadequacy), anger, sadness, can manifest in so many ways, from the Design Diva who will micromanage their custom order to within an inch of (your) life, to realizing your good “friend” isn’t really your friend at all.

Here’s one big tips to help you get through:

Use your words. In almost every situation, from visitors who demand a lot of your time at the expense of other visitors, to well-meaning friends who want to catch up, these three words can be a lifesaver: “After the show…” 

“Yes, after the show I’ll be able to offer classes, so add your email address to my sign-up form so I can let you know.”

“I’d love to grab coffee and catch up with you after the show, when I’m not so busy!”

“Yes, I’m happy to share the info of where to learn more about polymer clay, email me after the show.”

You are setting boundaries while still remaining available emotionally for people you care about (and those you don’t), people you want to be available for (or not), when you can be available.

Why does this work? Reasons here: Why Distraction Works

All of these suggestions and strategies echo words of wisdom my best-ever boss made oh, about 45 years ago:

“If you don’t want someone to get your goat, don’t leave your goat out.”

And yet also understand that we can all be annoying sometimes, and not everyone is trying to be annoying. (Er…I’m beginning to wonder if I’m more annoying than I realize…)

Last, a very dirty trick, but it can work:

If someone is being a total poo, and nothing I’ve tried has moved them on, I will encourage them to check out another artist’s studio. And it’s often an artist I don’t like. (Okay, I’ve done this maybe three times in my entire art career of 20 years. But I have to admit, it was very satisfying.) (I mean, I also send wonderful visitors to another artist who I DO like, too, if I think they’ll enjoy that artist’s work.) For all you difficult artists, be warned! (JUST KIDDING!) (Not.)

I know I’ve linked to a slew of articles here today. But trust me, I can guarantee you have–or will–meet at least one of these people at any art event you host or attend. Knowing how to deal with it is  powerful protective armor.

And the better you manage it, the better your studio experience will be for everyone involved.

If you’d like most of those articles in one place, you can buy my ebook on Amazon. (Maybe I should do a book on open studios?)

I would love it if you asked questions or shared your own tips and suggestions along the way!

If you found this helpful, let me know! And if you know someone else who might find it useful, pass the link to this article to them. The best gift you can give a writer is to help them grow their audience.

 

 

HOW TO OPEN STUDIO #7 Fresh Take On Refreshment Takers

In my previous article, I shared why I don’t serve food or drinks anymore at my open studio events. Now I’ll share a story about a visitor who seemed to only show up for the food.

This person is…well, a little different from most of my studio visitors. They always arrive early, are very quiet, and spend a lot of time looking at my work. When I engage them in conversation, they talk in a very loud voice. I would use the term “on the spectrum”, except a spectrum is a true range of all colors, attributes, etc. So technically, we’re all on the sprectrum somewhere. (Thanks to commedian Matt Ruby for this wonderful insight!)

They’ve attended every art event involving open studios I’ve been in, in several different locations, all walkable.

And almost everyone on all the open studio events I’ve been on, is very familiar with them. The general impression is, this person only shows up to take advantage of the free food and drinks.

And yet they always show up at my events, too, knowing there won’t be the “free lunch” thing. They sign up for my emails and give their snail mail address for catalogs, every single time, too.

Obviously, they don’t want to be left out.

Once, out of curiosity, I asked them what their creative work was.

I got the usual reply: “Oh, I’m not creative.”

That’s a conversation-opener for me. Because all humans have a creative gene, and there are many ways to be creative, if we lift those very narrow boundaries about who is-or-isn’t-a-real-artist.

We talked a little more. (It wasn’t busy, I had time to explore who this person really is.) They said they’d taken an art class, they’d made a painting, which they loved, and they wanted to be an artist, too. I told her I’d love to see their piece, and to bring it the next time they came to my open studio.

To my surprise, a few months later, they did!

They were a little nervous about showing it to me. If I had to make up a story about that, it would be that they know they are ‘different’, they know people aren’t eager to engage with them, and they might be worried I would go into full art critic mode. But I didn’t.

Of course it was amateur-ish, something I would have done in high school. (I loved to doodle and draw, (still do!) but realistic drawing and painting are not my thing.) But it wasn’t horrible, either. It was simply someone’s first attempt at making art, no better and no worse than my first attempt to paint, or yours.

I could also tell it was very dear to them.

I praised the aspects that drew my attention, and encouraged them to pursue this. I suggested they get an inexpensive frame for it. “You can hang it on a wall and see it every day,” I said. “And I hope it inspires you to keep making stuff. We all get better when we keep making, that’s how we all get better at it.” If art classes were inconvenient or too expensive, they could also start by getting some instructive books from the library. Or simply start sketching what they see every day: Trees. Flowers. Birds. People. Pets. Finding what catches their eye, and play with it.

They left with a very happy heart.

The next time they came up in conversation with my fellow open studio group, when it got to the part where “it’s all about the food”, I shared my experience. Yes, obviously they really enjoy the food!

But they are also yearning to do what those of us with studios do, with our own hunger: To make something we love. To make something so often, so regularly, that we get good at it. And when we’re ready, to find a way to share it with others.

That’s what they want, too. And that’s why they show up at all our open studios:

We are their art heroes.

It’s human to make assumptions about people. It’s normal to be uneasy about someone whose behaviors aren’t “normal”. It’s good to be cautious when engaging with someone whose problems/issues seem unusual, and to disengage with someone whose behavior is threatening. Trust your instincts.

And yet, a previous studio visitor’s ramped-up emotions taught me a valuable lesson in what it is to be human. How even a teensy bit of compassion, of being willing to go a little deeper, can create, at the very least, a tiny miracle (which is often just a “change in perception”, as a good friend once told me) can help us make the world a (slightly) better place for everyone.

I haven’t seen the hungry visitor since the pandemic shutdowns. I hope they are okay.

I hope they were encouraged by our conversation. I hope they continue to take a class or two (if they can afford it), or get those library how-to book loaners if they can’t.

I hope they know that regardless of their talent (or lack of it), their skills (same), it’s okay to pursue what they love, what they admire in other artists, and simply do it.

I hope they come back some day.

Because I hope with all my heart that they’re still trying, yearning, hoping to be a “real artist”…

Just like all their art heroes they visit.

Not all of our visitors are art collectors. Not all of our visitors can afford our work, even if they love it. And there are many different reasons our visitors are attracted to our studio in the first place. For many, like this person, there’s a yearning in them they don’t understand, that they don’t believe is worth pursuing, because they aren’t good enough.

Consciously or unconsciously, they come to us for hope.

For some reason, I thought of two articles I wrote years ago as I wrote this one. I have no idea why, except one of them is called Hungry Art (as this person was ‘hungry’ for seeing art, and hopefully making their own.) And the other one popped up as I searched for that one (thank you, Karen Cooper!) as someone I don’t even know found one of my articles helpful when they hit a slippery spot. That article is called Sipping From the Fire Hose. So there we have the cure for hunger, and the power of drinks.

And the powerful reminder that when we share our art, our words, our creativity with the world, it will meet someone who needs to hear it, right where they are, that day.

 

 

HOW TO OPEN STUDIO: #4 The Stupid Question

The question I get asked a lot: “Are these made of ivory, or wood?” It’s a good one!

(I wrote this way back in 2007! It appeared on Fine Art Views, an online art marketing newsletter I wrote for, for over a decade. It’s still the most most powerful bit of advice I can give ANYONE who wants people to connect with their work. OH, and there were some terrific comments that completely validated my position on this, if you want to check them out.)

THE STUPID QUESTION

It’s smart to be nice.

What do I mean by that?

Well, if you’ve ever hung out with a group of craftspeople who do shows, or participated in an on-line forum discussion about shows, you’ll recognize an all-to-common topic:

The stupid things our visitors say.

It’s always a hot topic, and the posts will often outnumber any other thread in the forum. Except, of course, the one on the difference between art and craft. (A word to the wise: Don’t go there!)

It’s true, of course–people will say the oddest things in your booth, ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous. They may say baffling comments, sometimes verging on the insulting.

I always held back from sharing. Because I have a guilty secret.

First, because people rarely said things I thought were stupid or insulting–just lucky, I guess. Or maybe I it was the quality of shows I was doing. Remember, I quit doing those small retail shows early on.

Second, I myself was fairly new to the craft world. I didn’t know any professional craftspeople when I started out, nor any artists. I figured people weren’t saying anything out of the ordinary, or anything I wouldn’t say under the same circumstances.

In fact, that’s my third point.

I’m one of those stupid customers.

There have been times when I’ve been in an artist’s booth and asked that same “stupid question”–only I knew I didn’t mean it to be stupid, or offensive. I knew I liked the work and honestly wanted to know more about it, or the artist.

I can tell I’ve asked “the stupid question” because I get the heaved sigh, the eyes rolling heavenward, or just as bad, the smart ass retort that makes me feel like an idiot.

My most embarrassing memory is standing awestruck in an artist’s booth at a fancy high-end retail show, just blown away by this artist’s work. I couldn’t tell what it was made of. I didn’t want to touch it–it looked special, and no touching, right? And there wasn’t a single sign or card in the entire booth explaining his process or technique. (I guess the art was doing that “speak for itself” thing….)

The artist was standing with their arms folded glaring at us. I said, “These are beautiful! Are they painted tin or wood?”

They glared at me in silence, and then THEY TURNED THEIR BACK ON ME!

I couldn’t believe it. I also couldn’t figure out what the heck I’d said that had made them so angry. Embarrassed and frustrated, I left the booth.

So when those long lists of “stupid comments” come up, I keep quiet. Because obviously, I was one of those “stupid people” they were all making fun of. And I didn’t like it, because something didn’t feel right.

Years later, I was vindicated

I learned this insight from Bruce Baker, who used to travel the country doing seminars on sales and selling for artists and craftspeople. He explained the whole dynamic of “letting people land” in your booth–they come in, take a look around, and settle in to shop. You give them a minute to catch their breath, greet them quickly, let them know you are available if they need you (“IF I can help you, just let me know.”

And then back off.

You leave them alone. They shop. You remain available but busy, not hovering, not following. Not deeply busy so they hesitate to approach you. Just….available. Doing something minimal, like dusting, making price tags, sorting your paintbrushes, etc.

Then comes that magic moment when they decide it’s okay for you to talk to them. They will give you a signal.

That’s your cue to start talking about the work.

Unfortunately, many, many creatives blow this opportunity wide open. They will take this cue and misinterpret it. They will respond with sarcasm, or anger, or indignation, or badly-placed humor.

Because that cue is often “the stupid question.”

Did you see it in my own example? I liked the work enough to stay in the artist’s booth. I looked at everything in there. I finally made up my mind to engage the artist.

I asked them a question. I wanted to meet them, to talk to them. I hoped they’d share some insights about their work with me. Maybe they’d even convince me I had to have one! Maybe there was a really cool one at just the right price that could go home with me….

Instead, they let me know he didn’t even want to look at me anymore, let alone talk to me. Because my question offended them!

Now maybe they’d heard that same question a thousand times already. Maybe they paints on some rare rain forest wood and was insulted I thought it was cheap tin. Maybe they paint on recycled tin roofs from their childhood farm and was insulted I thought it was cheap wood. Maybe it was some intricate intaglio process and they were insulted I thought it was paint.

I dunno. But now I’ll never know. And I don’t really care.

Because they missed their opportunity to answer my question (or NOT answer my question, as the case may be) in a way that would have started the sales process.

They could have have sent me off with a painted sculpture, a new balance on my Visa card, and added a new collector to their mailing list.

Instead, they dumped me in a puddle of their anger and my embarrassment. And I’ve never felt the slightest interest in their work since. (I don’t want that energy in my home, no matter how talented or famous the artist is.)

For all I know, I have been the subject of their own “stupid customer” stories.

But I have my revenge. I get to make fun of them today. Here.

Another common “stupid question”: “How long did it take you to make this?” Some artists get annoyed, thinking, “Oh, they just want to know how much I make an hour!” No, maybe it intrigues them, maybe it’s something they’ve thought about exploring themselves (classes, folks!) Even the “funny” reply, “It’s taken me 30 years to make that!” is still a joke at our visitor’s expense. Ha ha! Yeah, no.

So the next time that topic comes up, think twice before getting caught up in that “stupid customer” thing. It doesn’t serve you, and it doesn’t serve your art.

Think hard before asking for a “snappy comeback” for those “stupid questions.” You’re going to feel good for awhile. But your bank account is going to feel lighter.

Me? I have permission from Bruce to be nice.

And I’m gonna use it to the hilt!

Next article: How to respond to those “stupid questions”.

YES, COMMON QUESTIONS NEED GREAT ANSWERS! (Need Your Help Today)

This is just about the ‘neatest’ my desk gets. Ever. (Can you tell I just push things out of the way or stack stuff up, so I have six square inches to work in?)

 

 

First, a shout-out to other artists for sharing their experiences and insights, which have led me through many dark places in my artistic life.

I mean, not the unasked for opinions and advice-giving. Nor the people who “know better” on how I should make/what I should make. Trust me, I got this. I know what works for me and what doesn’t, what a ‘good’ challenge is and what isn’t, etc.

One terrific game-changer was insights for open studios and art events, on how to respond to the questions we get asked, over and over and over again.

Some of my personal favorites are gathered in my columns Questions You Don’t Have to Answer.

Bruce Baker, a jewelry artist and gallery owner, was also a great workshop/educator back in the day. I listened to his highly-informative tapes (then CDs) on my way to fine craft shows. (Looks like his podcasts might still be available at this CraftCast website.)

One of my favorite topics consisted of how to respond in a courteous, professional, and kind, compassionate way when booth or studio visitors ask those common questions.

Too often, we make assumption about people’s intentions. We can respond with frustration, exasperation, even anger and resentment. Or just as bad, making their question into a joke that turns back on them. (“How long does it take you to make that?” “It took me 40 years to make that!” Ugh.)

I’ve been the recipient of such rudeness, when I asked an artist a question about their work: Were these items wood or metal? (Not allowed to touch, no information about the work, terrible artist statement, etc.) How was I to know they got asked that question all the time? They gave me a disgusted look, crossed their arms, and turned their back to me.

I left without buying the artwork I’d had my eye on. Did not want that energy in my home.

Bruce expanded on the example.  “How long…?” His take? We assume people want to know how much money we’re are making an hour. Maybe. (Many customers don’t realize we have to base our retail price on what the item’s wholesale price will be.) But one day, when someone asked him that question, he responded with, “People ask me that all the time. Why do you ask?” And the person responded with, “I’ve always wanted to pursue a craft myself, and now I have the time to do so. So I was just curious what that part of your life is like?”  IOW, “what is it like to be an artist, to make this work? Can I do this? Will I ever be this good at it??”

That’s not a put-down. It’s a conversation-opener! I’ve had a lot of people collect my work because they love it, they like/respect me, and my work reminds them of me encouraging them to do the work of their heart. (They may also be delighted to sign up for my introductory classes I hope to offer next year!)

And of course, when something is as time-consuming as my work is, when I share that process, they almost always go into jaw-dropping mode. They have even more respect for what I put into it to achieve the results I want.

Another way to respond to common question is to make a sign. Bruce mentioned this in his CDs, and it work! I have lots of signs in my studio, ranging from “Where do you get your fabrics?” to “Why do you have so many sticks??” Some people read them, some people don’t. But depending how busy I am, how crowded my studio is (pre- and hopefully post Covid!), and how much brain capacity I have available, I can go into story-telling mode or direct them to the appropriate sign.

So here’s where you can help me today. Because I constantly get this particular question in my studio, in every single studio I’ve ever had:

“Do you actually do any WORK in here??”

If you see clamps on something, yes, I’m making something in here!

Of course, I respond politely and cheerfully, and acknowledge, “Yeah, I get asked that a lot!” and point out my work surfaces, etc.  I do have a lot of finished work on display. My work has always sold slowly (but steadily, so yeah, it can look like a “store”.) (I prefer “gallery”, of course!)

But during my last open studio, I actually dialed down on visitors. First because Covid rates were sky-rocketing again. Partly because I’m traveling to see my brand-new grandson soon, and Covid is a “gift” I don’t want to give to him. And also because I was invited to be in not one, but two gallery shows. Work was to be delivered a few days after the open studio event was over. I had to hunker down and finish some of the new shrine series I’ve been working, to meet those deadlines.

So the first day I had visitors, I was at one of my workstations, actively finishing two shrines: Painting, mounting tiny sculptures, labeling, etc.

And one person turned to me and said, “Do you actually do any WORK in here??”

My face, when I get asked this question.

I am a human bean. My first instinct was to scream, “What the h*** do you think I’m doing right now?!”

Instead, my usual response. Laugh, say yes, I do all my work in here. Here are my tools, here’s my equipment, here’s a work-in-progress, etc.

Next time, I gonna take Bruce’s advice, and ask them why they ask.

 

Til then, I’m curious: Do people ask you this, too?

If so, do you have a friendly, welcoming response?

(NOT what you would read in the Facebook group, “S*** Overheard at Art Festivalss”, which may feel satisfying, but can also shut down a conversation with a visitor who could be a real customer someday. Even if someone really means to be an a**h***, remember: Other people are listening, and we do not want to make them afraid to ask what might be a “stupid” question.)

Send me your commments, I’d love to hear them! One request: No snark, no sarcasm, no making fun of the person who asks.

And I will also take my own advice, and make a sign.

And now for the ‘ifs’…..

If you know someone who might enjoy this, pass it on!

If someone sent you this newsletter, and you found it helpful, sign up for more at my website at LuannUdell.com

 

 

 

 

NEWSLETTERS 101 #10: Share Your Process

I’ve been making my little ivory horses for decades, but the crackle effect that showed up this week is a new note! “How” did that happen?

10/20/2020 by Luann Udell
This post is by Luann Udell, regular contributing author for FineArtViews. She’s blogged since 2002 about the business side–and the spiritual inside–of art. She says, “I share my experiences so you won’t have to make ALL the same mistakes I did….”  For ten years, Luann also wrote a column (“Craft Matters”) for The Crafts Report magazine (a monthly business resource for the crafts professional) where she explored the funnier side of her life in craft. She’s a double-juried member of the prestigious League of New Hampshire Craftsmen (fiber & art jewelry). Her work has appeared in books, magazines, and newspapers across the country and she is a published writer.

NEWSLETTERS 101 #10: Share Your Process        

Explain the “why” behind your “how”!

In last week’s article is this series, I encouraged you to share your sacred creative space with your audience. Today, let’s talk about how to share your process.

Sounds easy, right? It should be. Because most artists do this already. In addition to conflating bios/resumes/cv’s with our artist statement, the second biggest artist statement mistake I see artists doing is sharing their process as the focus.

I’ve mentioned before that this can go off-course pretty quickly. (As in the Newsletters 101 #8, when I shared that Bruce Baker quote about us focusing on glazes and firing at cone 10, when what our customers really want to know is, is there lead in the glaze, and can that dish go in the microwave.) And admittedly, “how” is probably the first question most people ask us when they visit our studio, or see our work at a show/exhibit/show/online.

So our usual “how” response is probably running on autopilot right now. Or worse, running on fumes.

Of course, other artists are always curious about our medium, our process, etc., especially those who use the same medium. Visitors who collect specific media probably also know much about it, as they’ve engaged with those artists over the years. Many (if not most) artists supplement their income by teaching their techniques. And regular people will be curious about the “how” behind your work.

But to make this a truly worthwhile topic for our email newsletter, we need dig deeper. Here is where it will help to think about our “why” behind our “how.”

Let’s explore a few of the whys:

Most artists talk about loving the “feel” of the medium/technique they use. This is a great start! Painting in oils is very different than painting in acrylics. The paint can be worked longer, while acrylics dry pretty quickly. Watercolor can mean transparency, liquid movement, layers. You have to know where you’re going ahead of time. Clay, an ancient medium, involves direct contact with the material, glass takes a lot of heat and fine timing, and despite the old jokes about taking ‘Basket-weaving 101’ for an easy college course, basket-weaving is pretty complex. Think about what keeps you going in your making, where the joy comes from, etc.

And yet, within all these media, there’s a lot of variation in technique, process, and aesthetics.

Clay can be hand-built, molded, mass-produced, or one-of-a-kind. It can be glazed or unglazed, and the chemistry required for understanding glazes can boggle the mind of the most experienced potter. My father-in-law tried for decades to recreate a unique glaze that was the result of an accident, and never did solve the mystery.

Watercolor can be intuitive, or deeply detailed, fluid or precise, depending on the artist. Fiber can range from a beautiful yet simple knit top to an intricately woven Navajo rug, from an Amish quilt made with repurposed old clothing to a room-size museum installation.

And don’t even get me started on polymer clay! It can imitate glass, ivory, metal, clay, shell, stone. It can be molded, sculpted, painted, layered, carved, and yes, woven. It’s been denigrated for years, mostly because though it was created as a medium for doll-making in Germany, when it was introduced to the United States, it was marketed as a clay for children. Google “polymer clay art” and see the possibilities!

So again, take a step back. Think about all the steps behind your artistic journey. Where did you start? With what? Where did it take you? Where are you now? And WHY???

Here’s the “why” being my medium: When I was first inspired to make something that looked like artifacts from ancient times, my first thought was to carve them from bone. My first efforts were not only horrible, I quickly realized that everything involved in the process was an anathema to me: Carving means know where to start, and when to stop. I’m a person who, when I cut my own bangs, the entire world knows. Short story: I don’t know when to stop. And that means I go too far, and can’t walk it back. Carving does not “fit” me. Shaping, sculpting, adding more clay, having the ability and the opportunity to make adjustments along the way, all this is what keeps me moving steadily forward with this medium.

Another why: I use polymer clay because I can create a block of material that resembles real ivory. And stone. And shells, buttons, sewing awls. I make my own “ancient” artifacts!

My most powerful “why” behind my process: Although ancient carvings are bone or ivory, that was a byproduct of how ancient people lived their everyday lives. We live differently today. Legally- and environmentally-sourced ivory is almost impossible to find, and prohibitively expensive. Plus my early research showed potential health issues connected with carving/sawing/drilling bone. (Mad cow disease, for starters.) Deep down, in so many ways, it just felt wrong, ethically and pragmatically.

When I discovered polymer clay shortly after, I was overjoyed to find a medium that allowed me to imitate the look and feel of real ivory, but involving no harm to animals. It was a major turning point in my journey.

That’s why most of my polymer work doesn’t resort to the aesthetics, processes, techniques, etc., used by so many polymer artists, in my wall hangings, jewelry, and shrines. If I need a bead/shell/rock of a certain size, color, shape, and I don’t have one that fits the bill, then I make one. I make many artifacts in a sitting, use the one that works best, and set the others aside to use another day. That’s part of my process, too.

When sharing your process in your email newsletters, you have many choices. If it’s extremely involved, and has evolved over time, add that as a page to your artist website. You can write a short(er) summary in your newsletter, and link to the longer article.

Or you can share your process journey in bits and pieces over the months. If your journey has been a long and varied one, you can share a stage at a time, and include examples of your earlier work. Our art evolves over time, just as we do, and that’s an aspect of your process that could be of interest to our audience.

You can share variations in your process, too. Are you are still exploring and experimenting in your art journey? First, good on you! Share your experiments, how you tried a new approach, what you found, whether it was a game-maker or a deal-breaker, and why. When people see that our paths weren’t always straight-and-narrow, it may inspired them to try their own dreams and passions, with less self-judgment. (Here’s how kick-boxing taught me about the four stages of competency, and gave me a powerful insight into my own art-making choices.)

If your journey has been a steady and focused one, share that! How do your preferred work habits reflect what’s important to you in life?

What did you dream of when you started this path, and what surprises you about where it’s taken you? What were your goals? Have you achieved them? Did they change along the way?

Another why: So many artists mention the other artists they’ve studied under, especially in their credentials. The problem is, someone who’s well-known in one part of the world may be totally unknown in another. Get specific: What was your intention in taking the class?

Was it to learn a certain technique? To get feedback and encouragement from an artist you respected? What did you learn? How did it help you move forward with your own style and technique? (A ‘how’ for the ‘how’!)

Sharing our process can feel a little dodgy sometimes. We’ve all encountered the studio visitor who may actually come out and say they want to make something that looks just like our work. It makes me cringe. So sharing it in detail in a newsletter may bring up that feeling.

To be clear: We are never obligated to share our entire process! I don’t mean, leave out a step so other people will never get it quite right. That’s just mean. But we aren’t a walking textbook, either. Point them in the direction to find more about how we do what we do. (Hint: This is a great time to tell them about your upcoming workshops and classes you offer! More on that next week.)

Step outside the copyright infringement feeling. Share enough that people understand how much work, effort, training, and experience go into the work we make. Refer them to sources where they can explore the techniques if they really want to do what we do. It puts the work on them!

Last, sometimes two mindsets get us in trouble when we talk about our process. The first is assuming we are the very best at what we do, and only we can do it. The second, and worst, is being too humble. Thinking that what we do is no big deal, that anyone could do it, and that we aren’t that special.

The first attitude is good for confidence as a teacher, but bad for our students. We have to understand how long it took us to get to our best practices, and encourage them to stick with it if they want to get better, too.

The second is dishonoring our creative heart. We got good at what we do because we kept doing it. We did the work, we learned from our mistakes, and we kept trying to get better. Honor your skills and aesthetic!

Be a good human. Have an open, loving heart, not only for our art, but for our journey along the way. Be willing to share it with others. It might be just the encouragement someone else needs to take up their own creative work, today.

NEWSLETTERS 101 #6: My Creation Story’s Creation

Your story, at the heart of your art, your creative, is a powerful force for good in the world.

How I Poke(d) People Into Telling Me Their WHY 

Yet still she persisted….

9/22/2020  by Luann Udell

This post is by Luann Udell, regular contributing author for FineArtViews. She’s blogged since 2002 about the business side–and the spiritual inside–of art. She says, “I share my experiences so you won’t have to make ALL the same mistakes I did….”  For ten years, Luann also wrote a column (“Craft Matters”) for The Crafts Report magazine (a monthly business resource for the crafts professional) where she explored the funnier side of her life in craft. She’s a double-juried member of the prestigious League of New Hampshire Craftsmen (fiber & art jewelry). Her work has appeared in books, magazines, and newspapers across the country and she is a published writer.

How I Poke(d) People Into Telling Me Their WHY 

Yet still she persisted….

(8 minute read)

I know I’ve told this story a million times. But I can’t find it to share with you, and so I’m telling it again.

Soon after I heeded the call of my art, I entered my work in a group exhibition. The group was the Women’s Caucus for Art (the New Hampshire Chapter) and this was my very first art exhibit. I was already on fire with my newfound life mission, and it showed.

The show organizer asked for volunteers to present gallery talks. I volunteered, but wasn’t chosen. Which I carried NO resentment for, and when I asked, courteously, telling them I just wanted to know for my own education, they said they picked people they knew would be up to the task. And they didn’t know me yet. (Which shows the power of gentle inquiry in finding out in a way we can LEARN from, instead of simply assuming the worst.) (TWO life lessons for you today!)

Having never heard a gallery talk, let alone actually giving one, I went with eager anticipation, hoping to hear the story behind these artists’ work.

It was a long drive, we only had one car at the time, and one of the other artists offered me a ride. We hit it off and had a lovely talk on the way up. (Keep note of this!) The exhibit was beautiful, the typical run-of-the-mill artist statements were displayed, and after an hour or so, the selected artists’ presentations began.

It was abysmal. THEY were abysmal (the talks, not the people.)

The first speaker shared a lot about their process, a much-maligned medium (digital art) at the time. Perhaps to compensate for the expected push-back (digital art was not considered “real art” at that time), the artist understandably spent a lot of time on the “how”. Their talk had a good reception, though. The work was nowhere near “simple” to create. Their subject was inspired by a Greek island the artist had explored in their academic research, where a priesthood of women in ancient times had resided. Those recently-discovered images were the foundation of her work. Their presentation was quite academic in nature.

But then it was time for their question-and-answer session, and that’s where it almost fell apart.

The first questions were fairly mundane: What software had they used? Who did their framing? Etc., etc.

Then I posed my question.

WHY?

Okay, this was almost 30 years ago, and I can’t remember exactly how I phrased my question(s). It took about a dozen tries on my part. The more I persisted, the more defensive the artist became, again understandably. But my intent finally got through.

I simply wanted to know why this particular island was so important to this woman. And, to be blunt, why it should be important to us, too. (More on this at the end.)

I said, “There are thousands of islands in Greece.” (Just looked that up. There are around 6,000 Greek islands, though fewer than 300 are inhabited.) “Thousands. And people have lived on them for millennia. Why THIS ISLAND? And why THIS POINT IN TIME?”

Aha! The lightbulb visibly lit up in their head.

They unfolded their arms. They stood up, straight and proud. Their voice deepened, slowed down, became firmer:

“Because on this island, in this all-too-brief moment in time, women were revered and respected. They could walk the streets, at night, in safety, alone and unafraid.”

Boom. Mike drop.

The entire room did that gasp thing, where everyone else suddenly gets it, too.

It was a powerful moment. Still is.

The rest of the talks went the same way. When everyone was done asking the run-of-the-mill questions, I would ask the “why”.

Now, this was hard for me. I do not welcome confrontation. I usually run from it as fast as I can. It was hard for the speakers, too. They had clearly never considered the “why”.  And no one had ever held their feet to the fire to do so.

Afterwards, every single speaker came up to me. I would start to apologize: I was new to art-making, I was on fire with my art. And I wanted to know what the fire was in my newly-found community of artists.

Every single artist said, “No. I want to THANK you!” (THAT took courage, too.)

My fellow artist/speaker/driver said the same thing. I was worried that after our intense, deep conversation on the way up, that I’d wrecked it. Their work was titled, “The Hidden Story”. And I was the only person who actually asked what the story was!

“No,” they said, “I know who you are. I’ve never told that story before today, and I’m glad you asked me about it. I looked at your face in the audience. I felt safe, and I felt SEEN. I told you my story, and I’m glad I did!”

An article about the exhibition ran in the state’s largest newspaper, and I was mentioned. Not by name. I was the “persistent woman in the audience” who encouraged every speaker to tell their powerful story.

Persistent.

Yup, that’s me.

I don’t do that much anymore. I’ve done a similar process with anyone who takes me up on my offer to help them find their story. It’s easier, in some ways, to do it in person, or in a workshop. I have to show them my (persistent) intentions are honorable. Even so, there is always someone who simply can’t do this. They aren’t ready. Or the years of experience they already have keeps them from wrapping their heads around this. Obviously, this isn’t something that happens much in art school, I’m guessing, though maybe times have changed.

And even when it’s someone I know and love, it’s hard for ME. It DOES feel confrontational when I won’t let some lame response fill the bill. I keep going until I know that person is speaking their truth, because I see the same signs when it does: Posture changes, defenses come down, voices strengthen, and slows.

Truth is told.

And even when others see this, it can offend them, make them defensive. I gave an impromptu presentation when asked at a gallery exhibit a few years ago. I know my stories, and somehow I know which one will “rise to the occasion” when I talk. I’ve told them many times, there are always new ones in the work, and I rarely lack for something to say, when asked. (This from a newly self-identified introvert, remember!)

But the very next person who was asked, said angrily, “My art isn’t verbal!” and clammed up. (Too bad, because their piece was one of my favorites in that show.)

So if you did the homework assignment from last week, with full attention and intent, and are still stuck, try this:

Is there someone in your life who you would trust with your tender, creative heart?

They don’t have to be an artist, nor a collector, nor even a fan. They simply have to be someone who you trust to act with integrity and kindness. Ideally, someone who is also willing to persist.

You keep talking, and every time you pause, if the story hasn’t appeared yet, they keep asking you that question about your artwork: Why?

Why this medium? Why this subject? Why this composition? Why these colors? Why, why, why.

They need to pay very close attention to what comes too easily from you. What feels like a no-brainer for you:

“I just love color!”

“Why? Why do you love color? Why did you choose THESE colors? What do they represent to you? What mood are you striving to create with them? Why that mood? Where does that mood come from in this piece? Why?”

I don’t have any sure-fire tricks here. Every time I do this, I worry I’m doing it wrong, if that helps. When the person gets defensive, REALLY worry: Have I just killed our relationship???

But that defensiveness is exactly the clue, the proof, that we are on the right path.

Our closely-held assumptions, our protective coloration (sorry, couldn’t resist!), our cherished (yet often superficial) beliefs about our work are being challenged. That can feel like an attack. Hence, the defensiveness.

But if you truly want to get to your creation story, which you can choose to incorporate into your artist statement or not (your choice), this will be well worth your time and momentary discomfort. (It might help to have a bottle of wine ready when you’re done?)

You can also try this in writing, by yourself. I did. When I locked myself in my studio, determined to get to the heart of what I do, I started with, “Why this cave?” And after I’d write my answer, I would write, “Why?”

Until I got to my true answer.

Last, here is why the “why” is so hard:

I’m really asking you why I should care.

And here’s why you need to find it, even though it’s hard:

Everyone has a creation story.

Every creation story is a hero’s journey.

No matter where you are on your journey, there’s a story.

You are not alone, with your story.

Everyone is struggling with something.

Everyone is healing from something.

Everyone wants to be “seen”.

Everyone wants to have a voice in the world.

Everyone wants to know that they matter.

And when we share our story, there are people who are going through something similar, or know that it’s something they WILL go through, someday.

Your story will not only resonate with someone, it will uplift someone, encourage someone, inspire someone. It may comfort someone, it may give someone hope. It make clarify their own intentions, wants, and desires.

Your story, at the heart of your art, your creative, is a powerful force for good in the world.

That alone is a pretty good reason to dig deep for it, don’t you think?

NEWSLETTERS 101 #4: Know Your Creation Story

 The moment you chose to live your life and make your art with intention is the heart of everything you do, write, say.

(4 minute read)    

Last week, I shared how introverts can shine in the world, thanks to email art marketing newsletters.

Today, I had a long article planned. But, lucky you! I realized it was about two different topics I had squished into one:

Your Most Important Story of All

Before we get to suggestions about this, let’s talk about the most important topic of all of this:

The Story of YOU.

Here’s the biggest obstacle when it comes to every aspect of marketing and selling our art:

Sooooo many people don’t know their own story!

Let’s back up a little. There are two powerful stories in every creative person.

The first is what I call the ‘creation story’.

The second is our artist statement, which I’ll tackle next week. Because it helps to know your creation story first.

What’s the difference?

Your creation story marks your first step, the moment you knew you were meant to be an artist. It’s that aha moment when we realized we had to be an artist. The moment where we completely embrace what we want, regardless of whether we even know how, or why. It’s the point in your life where your deepest intention occurred.

Dave Geada, FASO’s marketing guru, talks about this story in almost every webinar I’ve watched so far. He phrased it perfectly: After a near-death experience, he vowed to live his life with intent. With INTENTION. I’ve called it our “hero’s journey story” for years, and Dave calls it that, too. (Whew! I love it when the experts and I are on the same page!)

That’s what your first step was: Your intention to make your art. Here’s mine. It’s what made me take the leap, and it still resonates with me today.

Unlike your artist statement, it doesn’t have to be public (though there are ways to modify it so it can, so don’t rule that out.)

You DO have to know it. Because once you realize it, it will provide the foundation of everything you do, write, make, talk about, going forward with your artwork. It will ground you when you are lost. It will reassure you when you are discouraged. It will lift you up when life gets hard.

Knowing it will help you lift others, too. Because when we speak our truth, it not only resonates with others, it can inspire them to see theirs.

Years ago, I created a workshop designed to help people write their artist statement. It was powerful, and eye-opening. I got to hear how several dozen people got their start, and why. My favorite was the artist who started with, “I had a baby. I nearly died. Everything changed…” I exclaimed, “THAT’s your artist statement!” What I meant was, this was the foundation of her artist statement.

To frame this better: That may or may not be what she decides to use, publicly. But it was that point in time where “everything changed.” It would inspire her artist statement, however she chose to frame it. It was her creation story, it was powerful, and she knew it.

Another great creation story was one I’ve written about before, which illustrates that our creation story will evolve. It’s about long-time artist who lost their sight late in life—and everything changed. Did they stop making? Nope. But it’s different, now. Because everything changed. But it was compelling enough for me to go back to that ‘weird crappy’ piece of “art” hanging on the gallery wall, and find something beautiful in it. Courage. Perseverance. Letting go of what was, and embracing the new ‘what is’.

Your homework: What is your creation story? Write it out, if only for your private use.

If you enjoyed this article, and know someone else who might like it, too, feel free to pass it on. And if someone sent you this and you did like it, see more of my articles at FineArtViews.com, other art marketing topics at Fine Art Views art marketing newsletter, and my blog at LuannUdell.wordpress.com.

 

 

NEWSLETTERS 101 Tip #3: Introverts, This Is Your Moment!

9/1/2020  by Luann Udell

This post is by Luann Udell, regular contributing author for FineArtViews. She’s blogged since 2002 about the business side–and the spiritual inside–of art. She says, “I share my experiences so you won’t have to make ALL the same mistakes I did….”  For ten years, Luann also wrote a column (“Craft Matters”) for The Crafts Report magazine (a monthly business resource for the crafts professional) where she explored the funnier side of her life in craft. She’s a double-juried member of the prestigious League of New Hampshire Craftsmen (fiber & art jewelry). Her work has appeared in books, magazines, and newspapers across the country and she is a published writer.

You get to ‘use your words’ in a way that’s socially-calming.

There’s a pandemic going on. It’s changed everything.

Some of the changes are harsh, some are strange, some will be permanent. And frankly, some work for me.

I’ve always described myself as half-introvert/half-extrovert. I’m comfortable talking with people, but after intense socializing, I have to go lie down in a dark room for a while.

But when I realized how comfortable I was with NO socializing, I looked up the signs of introversion. Aha! THAT’s why I hate making phone calls, and even answering the phone. I am an introvert! (With good camouflage skills) Good to know. No wonder I love to write!

A lot of artists tell me they’re not comfortable talking about their art. They don’t like artist receptions. They don’t know what to say to the jillions of questions people ask about us, our work, our medium, etc. They’ll say, “My art speaks for itself!” (It doesn’t, just so you know.)

There are work-arounds for this.

Years ago, Bruce Baker was a traveling workshop/presenter on marketing skills for artists, sharing tips and insights he’d gathered from other artists, and his own experience with selling at shows, running a gallery, and booth display. One stuck in my head. “If you get a lot of people asking the same question, and it’s getting boring answering it over and over, to the point where you feel a little grumpy about it, MAKE A SIGN.”

I never tire of answering questions, because it’s a way of meeting people where they are and connecting them to my work from their particular point-of-view.

But I did notice some people preferred to browse quietly, looking, listening to me talk to other people. They took their time to speak up. I made signs for THEM, and it’s worked really well over the years. So signs work well for introvert visitors AND introvert artists.

So consider this thought:

Your email art newsletter is like that ‘sign’ in your studio.

That’s a great way to ‘reframe’ your newsletter.

Last week’s suggestion was to write a newsletter as if you were talking to a good friend, simply catching them up on what’s new/different/exciting/ in your life.

This week, realize that “talking” by writing a newsletter is a lot easier for an introvert than talking in person.

For the next year, until it’s safe to go back in the water, we can skip those preview exhibits (unless they ‘ZOOM’). We won’t have any studio visitors for a while (or far fewer, at least.) (I actually thought I wouldn’t have to clean my studio for the rest of the year. But then I realized I need to create some video studio tours. Ack! Bring in the vacuum cleaner!!)

As you sigh in relief of how much less TALKING you’ll have to do, put that energy, extra time, and effort into writing a newsletter.

My gift to you this week is a short column. But your homework is to use this extra time to jot down ideas you can write about for your next email art newsletter.

Because next week, we’ll talk more about just that. I’d love to hear all the thoughts you come up with. I’ll have my own, but I want to hear yours, too! Remember, even ‘bad’ ideas can be edited/transformed into good ones, so don’t hesitate to share.

If you enjoyed this article, please feel free to pass it on to someone else. And if someone sent you this article, and you liked it, too, see more of my articles at FineArtViews.com, other art marketing topics at Fine Art Views art marketing newsletter, and my blog at LuannUdell.wordpress.com.

NEWSLETTERS 101 #2: It’s Okay to Talk about Yourself!

NEWSLETTERS 101 #2: It’s Okay to Talk about Yourself!

Sharing may seem like bragging. But it isn’t, and here’s why…

(6 minute read)

In last week’s post, I shared some of the basics of creating an email newsletter about our art. In the articles ahead, we’ll explore them, and address our fears/doubts/am-I-doing-it-wrong moments.

One person shared their own fear: What if I sound like a narcissist?

This one was easy: If you’re worried about sounding like a narcissist, then you aren’t a narcissist. Because a true narcissists doesn’t think they’re doing anything wrong! They truly believe they are better than everyone else in the world, and don’t understand why that bothers other people.

But I get that this might be a big concern for many of us, especially those who were subtly (or blatantly) encouraged not to be “too much” in our culture: Don’t brag. Don’t show off. Be quiet. Keep out of the spotlight. Be humble. Be all this, to the point of making ourselves so small, we can barely breathe.

I also believe this is why so many of us find doing our own art marketing so hard. We’ve incorporated those ancient beliefs that tooting our own horn is just not ‘nice’. We wish someone else would do it for us.

And so many artists end up not doing it at all.

Here’s the thing: There’s a difference between bragging, and self-confidence. And self-confidence is healthier than self-denigration!

Like any other skill in life, practice helps. Start with a short little newsletter to your audience. Pick one thing that’s going on with you in your artist life this month/week/day.

Let’s start with that ‘talking to a good friend’ analogy I mentioned in last week’s article.

Imagine you have a meet-up with a person you really like, and they really like you, and you haven’t seen them for a while, what would you talk about?

HOW would you talk?

Would it be a monologue? Would it only be about the stuff you’re proud of? Would your intention be to make yourself bigger than/better than your friend? Because bragging is a way to make other people feel less-than.

Or would you share your successes and breakthroughs in manageable “bites”, with gratitude for your good fortune, with joy for what you’ve accomplished, knowing they will be genuinely happy for your success?

If you were working on a new project, and it didn’t work out the way you intended, would you only complain about everything that went wrong? Whine about all the people who made it worse? Blame your shortcomings on others?

Or would you make it into a funny story that makes you both giggle? Or share how you worked through the hard parts and found a way through, knowing your friend would be happy you did?

Do you strive to present the “perfect life”, like a social media ‘influencer’, carefully editing out anything that would mar your dream world? (If so, you’d better treat your friend to their meal.)

Or would you go back and forth, sharing the ups and downs, checking in with them about what they’re up to, how their getting through, and sharing what’s worked for you that MIGHT work for them, too?

I’ve read some newsletters that truly brag, the sender actively applauding themselves, congratulating themselves on how amazing they are, how talented, how rich, etc.

Bragging implies that rewards, success, wealth, and influence are a finite ‘pie’. And if their share of the pie is huge, that means there’s less for everyone else.

But what if we simply acknowledging our gifts: The skills we’ve worked hard to acquire. The time we’ve carved out for ourselves, to make this work.

What if we let people have a peek into our life: Share our creative process. How we get our ideas? How we know when a piece is ‘done’? What if we thank the people who have supported our work by purchasing it?

That’s not ‘bragging’. That’s owning our own life, honoring our unique journey. Achieving what we’ve practiced and prepared for. Sharing our dreams and goals.

We get to do that.

We can share how we get ‘set back’, and how we found the courage to move forward again. It will encourage someone else to find their courageous heart, too.

We can tell how we got stuck somewhere in our latest project, and how we found our way through. It will let others know there are always things that get in the way, and help them not be discouraged, too.

We can write about something funny and charming that happened, and it will make someone else smile, too.

Acknowledging our gifts and being genuinely grateful for them is not evil. Self-confidence is not evil. There are ways to let people know that EVERYONE has a gift. This one just happens to be yours.

The pie is infinite. And if our slice is huge, that means there’s plenty for everyone else, too.

I love this paragraph from an article I found while checking my own assumptions about bragging vs. self-confidence today:

“That’s one reason many of us don’t like to show off. We live in a highly competitive world, and we don’t want someone else to feel badly just because we’re feeling good. But sometimes that concern stops us from sharing good things that our friends, families and colleagues would actually like to know. And of course, in the workplace, there’s a fine line between showing off and genuinely outlining accomplishments that can help you move forward professionally.”

(F. Diane Barth, L.C.S.W.)

“Don’t let that concern stop you from sharing good things….” Yep, there’s my entire column today in 20 words or less.

Granted, a newsletter can feel like a one-sided conversation. But it really isn’t. It’s a way of sharing aspects of our life that people wouldn’t otherwise see. Letting others in on that is courageous. Powerful. And good.

So once more, with feeling: Imagine someone who wants the best for you. Someone who loves you for who you are, and what you do. Someone who has found joy in your work, and wants to see/hear/learn MORE about what we’re up to.

Write them a letter.

Then sit back and let the magic of authentic connection, grow.

Next week, I’ll share some ideas of what to write about. In the meantime, if you’ve already found your ‘happy place’ with your newsletters, share some of your insights. Other people will be so grateful! If you’ve received a newsletter from someone else, and it spoke to you, share a) what it was that made you feel connected, and b) how it could work for YOU.

And last, if you enjoyed this article, and know someone else who might like it, too, feel free to pass it on. And if someone sent you this and you did like it, see more of my articles at FineArtViews.com, other art marketing topics at Fine Art Views art marketing newsletter, and my blog at LuannUdell.wordpress.com.

—

Luann Udell, artist/writer

“Ancient stories retold in modern artifacts:
Jewelry, sculpture, fiber works inspired by ancient art.”

LEARNING TO SEE #11: After the Sale

The ultimate in customer care creates powerful connection—and a great reputation!

(7 minute read)

When we left NH going-on-six-years-ago, I also left behind one of the biggest sources of my art biz income: The League of New Hampshire Craftsmen’s Annual Craftsmen’s Fair.

It’s a highly-respected show, lasting 9 days in early August. I loved it and dreaded it. Love: Great attendance, returning collectors, meeting up with friends near and far, and solid sales. Dread: It took me three entire days to set up my booth, it could get super hot (yes, it gets hot and HUMID in New England!), and nine days is a looooong fair. Also, storms and high winds can trample attendance. (One tiny gift of the shut-down is that this Fair will be a virtual event this year, and I can participate again. I’m ‘tenured’!)

And the first day usually brought a small wave of items brought to me by collectors, to be repaired.

That can feel daunting!

Over the years, I’ve had to repair a small wall hanging (minor), replace a broken sculpture (major!), and restring/repair/replace broken/damaged/lost jewelry. (Painters are lucky! Do paintings routinely get damaged, and repaired??)

In addition to my embarrassment of having a piece of jewelry breaking in use, some customers (not all!) take on (from experience!) a build-up of indignation. “It just broke!” some would exclaim, even though we all know things don’t just sit there and break.

It’s instinctive to react with indignation. We know we put a lot of work into our…er, work… But let’s not make the situation worse.

Instead, consider WHY they are coming on strong. (This insight was transformative for me!)

It’s because they are afraid you will either a) blame them; b) denigrate them for the damage; c) charge them for repairs; or even d) refuse to deal with them, and tell them to buy another one. (I’ve heard stories of some artists doing all combos of these reactions. I’ve experienced some of this myself, as a collector/buyer. It’s pretty awful.)

So they will build up a head of steam to get through the anticipated push-back.

What does this have to do with marketing our art?

How we handle this will affect our reputation, and possibly our sales, in many ways.

First, if we sell online, there are almost always opportunities to leave reviews on our purchases. An unhappy customer will probably not leave a stellar review. Of course, not all bad reviews are justified, but setting that aside for now as a subject for another day….

Even more importantly, we hope a happy collector will spread the word about our work. But an unhappy customer will definitely spread the word even further. Not just online, but in person, to their friends, family, acquaintances, co-workers, and anyone else who will listen, for years to come. Especially if we react badly right off the bat.

Last, when this happens on opening day at the Fair (or any event), usually a lot of other people are listening. How you handle this speaks volumes to them, literally and figuratively.

Here’s how I got to my happy place with all these encounters:

I realized the main problem with my jewelry (which is what most of these situations involve) happened because people loved my work so much, they never took it off.

Some people wore them in hot tubs, where the chemicals involved actually eat the plastic that polymer clay is made of.

Some people wore them in the shower, which is not good for leather cord.

Some people wore them to bed, where the risk of tangling and ‘catching’ on something could break a chain.

Some people soothed themselves with the artifact pendants—holding, bending, (there’s a bit of flex in thin polymer pieces) until it broke.

Sometimes people’s dogs snagged a chain, or (even as I speak today) new puppy chewed on an artifact.

Sometimes a partner buys a gift that lands wrong for the recipient.

Sometimes a cat knocks over a sculpture that shatters.

But in every case—in every single case—these people loved and cherished these items. And they were, at heart, afraid they would never get them back.

Once I recognized their pain and uncertainty, once I learned to see the anxiety behind their initial presentation, I could call on sympathy, on patience, even on pride that my work was so valued.

Here’s how I manage these incidents:

First, reassuring collectors that you care, can work small miracles right at the start. So I always meet these set-backs with kindness and sympathy. “I’m so sorry! I will fix this for you.”

It takes repeating and staying calm and grounded. But eventually, even the angriest (most defensive, usually) customer will hear me, and relax.

I explain what I may have to do: Repair the item, or replace it, and still find a way to return the original to them, if possible/

Once they realize they were being met with consideration and empathy, even the most assertive collector will relax. They know I will take care of them.

Only when we get here, to this place of safety for them, do I gently question what happened. I frame it as gathering information for me, helping me make my work better.

Then I listen, without judgment, and they open up. (That’s how I learned about the flexing, the hot tub, the broken chain, etc.)

In the case of a thin horse artifact caressed to the breaking point, I realized I had to make my animal artifacts thicker and sturdier. So I thanked the collector for sharing what happened, and for giving me this new insight. (I repaired and remade the “thin” horse into a pin, and made a thicker but almost-identical new horse for their necklace.)

For doggie uh-ohs, I’ll ask if they need a sturdier chain, or a leather cord instead. For the broken sculpture (one of my earliest) pushed over by a cat (DARN YOU, KITTY), I realized I’d used a shorter firing time, which made it more brittle—good information to have! (I told them how to repair it, AND sent a replacement.) Boy, I was grateful to learn that lesson, before I made more!

For a lost earring, I usually replace it at no cost the first time. The second time with the same set, I charge half the original price. (Yup, I had a customer who lost an earring three times! Because…she loved them, and wore them every day.) I also sometimes offer to change out the ear wires for lever backs, which are more secure.

See the gift here?

By reframing their experience, their loss, their (unintentional) damaging habits, their fear of being ‘blamed’, their fear of not having something they love, by seeing it as just this—their dismay at the loss of my work, which they love—I’ve not only kept a loyal collector….

I’ve improved my work.

And I’ve strengthened my reputation as a maker who stands behind my work.

I demonstrate my integrity, not just in the face of the best circumstances, but in the worst—when it really counts.

In this world of multi-billionaires, of the growing class of 1%-ers, of incredibly wealthy companies and people who will do anything to stay wealthy and take care of their own, at the expense of everyone else, integrity can be a rare commodity.

And once lost, it can be really hard to get back.

We can learn to see. To see our collectors as people who have put their faith in our art, who treasure it, who love it, and hate to lose it, even to their own accidental actions.

And we can help them see us as artists whose value and character don’t stop at the purchasing point. They can see us as people whose work is not just ‘worth buying’, but ‘worth having’ in their lives, for as long as possible.

Next week, we’ll talk about return policies, and how they can protect us from those (hopefully very few!) customers who abuse that privilege, in a way that benefits both us and our customer. But for now, if you have a story about how you transformed a difficult customer service issue into a positive (and powerful) one, share in the comments. It helps to know we are not alone when this happens. And it helps to see the long-term benefits of honoring those who collect—and support—the work of our hearts.

If you enjoyed this article, you can read more at Fine Art Views and my blog or email newsletter. If you know someone who enjoyed it, pass it on! And if someone sent this to you, and you enjoyed it, ditto!

SHOW YOUR WORK #2: What Is Your Process?

How much do I share without destroying the mystery of my finished work?

4/14/2020  by Luann Udell
This post is by Luann Udell, regular contributing author for FineArtViews. She’s blogged since 2002 about the business side–and the spiritual inside–of art. She says, “I share my experiences so you won’t have to make ALL the same mistakes I did….”  For ten years, Luann also wrote a column (“Craft Matters”) for The Crafts Report magazine (a monthly business resource for the crafts professional) where she explored the funnier side of her life in craft. She’s a double-juried member of the prestigious League of New Hampshire Craftsmen (fiber & art jewelry). Her work has appeared in books, magazines, and newspapers across the country and she is a published writer.

SHOW YOUR WORK #2: What Is Your Process?

Share what you want, not what you think you “have to”

Some thoughts on what to write about, photo, and share on social media.

I’m a double-juried (in two media) craftsman member of the League of New Hampshire Craftsmen, a well-established, well-respected organization that supports and markets the work of members in many ways: galleries, events, exhibitions, and its prestigious Annual Craftsmen’s Fair held in August every year. (I achieved tenure, so even though I now live a few thousand miles away, I still retain my membership.) I eventually volunteered to become a member of the Fair Committee, because I was so curious about what went on “behind the curtain” to produce these incredible 9-day long event.

One feature of our annual outdoor fair was demo booths. For a reduced rate, a juried craftsman got a super-sized booth (about 20’x30’, if I remember correctly) to not only display their wares, but to do demonstrations of their craft for the public. When I started, there were three such booths at each year’s fair.

And every year we had to beg people to sign up for them.

The reason was, sales at these booths were horrible. Even with the savings and prominent placement on the grounds (an off-season ski resort), people knew they would struggle to make any money that year. It just wasn’t worth it to them.

I can’t remember why I decided it might be something to try, but boy, did I do my research. I checked in with past demonstrators, and asked if it were worthwhile. Almost everyone said, “Not that year, but my sales afterwards steadily climbed!” So, okay, consider it a loss-leader in the short-term, and investment in a bigger audience down the road. I could handle that.

But my superpower is gathering as much information as I can from every conceivable source. And so I also checked in with Bruce Baker, a jewelry-maker and gallery/gift shop owner who traveled across the country for years giving workshops on all things craft/art business related: Display, sales techniques, pricing, etc. (Bruce has retired this part of his biz and returned to jewelry-making full-time, but his CDs live on.) He lived relatively close, so I was able to attend many of his workshops, and even served with him on panel discussions and with traveling craft biz-building workshops for a year.

I called Bruce, and he graciously gave me the insights and advice I was looking for.

My first question was, why do sales tank at demos? He replied that demos tend to be “edu-tainment”: Free, educational and entertaining. And when it’s over, there goes the crowd, on to the next fun thing (music, raffles, food, etc.) So demo booths are unconsciously filed away under “fun to watch” and not “fun to shop”.

Add to that another unconscious element: When the “edu-tainer” artist sees people actively shopping, of course they stand up and move over to assist them. And the “magic” of demonstrating turns into, “Uh-oh, here comes the car salesman pitch!” and people scurry away. “There’s a disconnect,” he explained. “And once that ball is dropped, it’s hard to get back.” Hence, maybe crowds, but no sales.

He shared insights and gave suggestions. Like setting up my demo booth on the outer border of the big tent, so people didn’t have to “commit” to coming inside. “Don’t put it in the back of the booth, because then people have to make a conscious decision to enter a big, dark tent. Put it right there on the fairway!” I did, and it worked.

Second, he said I should NOT do sales. What??

“Not “no sales”. I mean you yourself should not do sales. Hire people to do that,” he said. “Keep that divide between the creative maker and the “car salesman”.” So I hired/bribed/cajoled a team of friends to help. (I lent them all CDs of Bruce’s selling techniques. But instead of telling them what I say about my work, I encouraged them to share what they love about my work. I felt it would come across as heart-felt and more authentic, and I was right.)

The proof of Bruce’s insights? At one point in the week, all my volunteers were at lunch at the same time. (Slow day.) Some people came in, I demo’ed, they watched. And when they started shopping, I walked over to them – and they nearly ran out of the booth! Lesson learned. (No, I’m not that scary in person, the dynamic had changed just as Bruce had described.)

I made my highest sales ever that year, and the next (as I got to choose to demo again, if I wanted to, and I did.) In fact, from that year on, there was actually competition for those sales demo booths, and their number increased to five! Because every other artisan saw what was happening, and wanted in on that, too.

But one of the biggest hurdles yet remained. And it took a friend’s insight to solve that problem:

How much do I share without destroying the mystery of my finished work?

This has been a “hurt place” for decades for me. My work has been copied (although badly, I’m ashamed to admit I’m happy to say). Showing exactly what I do, and how I do it, felt too risky. Also, think of how explaining a magic trick takes away the magic. The last thing I wanted to do was to unconsciously give others permission to copy. (Most of my techniques are well-known and not original to me, but the way I put them together and the stories I tell are.)

Again, just the right person showed up.

I met Alisha Vincent when she was the show manager for the Buyers Market of American Craft (informally called “The Rosen Show” for the company’s owner, Wendy Rosen) and now known as the American Made Show.) She was/still is one of my super heroes in life, for her intelligence, her powers of observation, her wide range of experience in the world, her courage, and her sense of humor. She actually came to NH that year to work in my demo booth, and I am forever grateful she did, for countless reasons. But especially for today, this one: When I expressed my fears, she was quick to find the solution. “Look at your neighbor,” she said, gesturing toward the guy who made beautiful Shaker boxes in the tent next to me. “He says his process has 29 steps.”

“He’s demonstrated nine of those steps.”

Oh. OH. OH!!!!!! Got it!

Next week, I’ll share the other learning points from this experience we can apply to social media. For today, just this:  When I say “show your process”, know that it means you can choose how much to share.

Take pictures (or ask someone to help with that) that show your work (and you, if you like) at various stages of your process. Share, with comments. (I did this with my email newsletter recently, and the response was the best I’d ever gotten.)

Some people do share every single step. Hats off to them! They are secure in the knowledge that their skills have taken time and effort, and are not easily mastered. And that their own aesthetic and color choice are unique to them.

Me, not so much. I totally know this comes from my own insecurities and past experiences.

And so Alisha’s insight helped me pick interesting aspects to demo, but not a start-to-finish process. She helped me find my comfort level, so I could start there and go forward.

That’s the big idea for you, today. There will tons of insights, advice, statistics, and information about art marketing in the weeks ahead on Fine Art Views.

Keep note of the ones that interest you.

Note what feels like “too much” vs. what feels like a challenge you can handle.

And as you get comfortable with it, take on the next challenge.

Remember, there are oodles of steps to help us move forward in our art biz.

The gift is, we get to choose what ones, how, how much, how often.

As always, if you enjoyed this article, let me or my editor know! If you’d like to read more, you can either read more of my articles on Fine Art Views or subscribe to my blog at LuannUdell.wordpress.com. You can visit my older articles in the wayback machine at Radio Userland. (They are harder to search for, but they are also shorter!)

If you think someone else would like it, please forward it to them. And if someone sent you this, and you liked it, ditto!

WHY MILLENNIALS DON’T BUY OUR ART: Maybe They Will, Someday?

Instead, let’s all find new ways of getting our work out into the world

3/3/2020 by Luann Udell
This post is by Luann Udell, regular contributing author for FineArtViews. She’s blogged since 2002 about the business side–and the spiritual inside–of art. She says, “I share my experiences so you won’t have to make ALL the same mistakes I did….”  For ten years, Luann also wrote a column (“Craft Matters”) for The Crafts Report magazine (a monthly business resource for the crafts professional) where she explored the funnier side of her life in craft. She’s a double-juried member of the prestigious League of New Hampshire Craftsmen (fiber & art jewelry). Her work has appeared in books, magazines, and newspapers across the country and she is a published writer.

WHY MILLENNIALS DON’T BUY OUR ART: Maybe They Will, Someday?

And if they don’t, don’t worry, just keep doing what you love!

(6 minute read)

I’m sure last week’s post about why millennials don’t buy our art may have landed harshly for some. It can be hard to hear all the reasons why, especially if it’s our own attitude that gets in the way.

I’ll repeat what I’ve said, over and over: There’s rarely any art that is loved by everybody. Trying to please everyone, or even someone else, is not why we do what we do, nor why we make what we make.

We do it for ourselves first. There’s something in us that has to be in the world. Our job is to make it happen, and get it out there so others can experience it, too.

Most of the reasons we covered are physical: Younger generations haven’t achieved their peak earning level – yet. When they do, when they have discretionary income, they will be back.

Their houses may be smaller, too, if they even have a house. If, like my daughter, they’ve been collecting the work of other creatives for years (and have begun to pursue their own creative work), then there may not be room for grand-sized art.

And of course, the subject matter, matters. My own art collection (other than my own work!) ranges from a few still lifes to landscapes, abstracts to wildlife, and everything in between. What matters to me is if it speaks to me. And as I pointed out last week, if later learn the artist is a pretty nasty person, then that aura eventually overshadows the work, and I move it on. Hence, last week’s subject. (That doesn’t bother everyone, of course, but it’s actually one reason Vincent Van Gogh struggled to sell his work. His mental health issues sometimes made him a difficult person to deal with.)

So what does work for us moving forward?

Fortunately, many people generously offered insights into what works for them.

Prints and smaller works brought the price down, making art more affordable to younger people.

Some artists don’t frame their work. This can lower the price, and have the benefit of avoiding the hassle of a customer who loves the work but doesn’t like the frame. If you try this, make sure to finish the edges, though. A one-inch thick (or more) will look more finished if the edges are painted, either to match the painting itself or in a coordinating solid color.

Offering classes has always been a way to expand our income streams. If people are enchanted by our work, there are ways to teach that don’t encourage people to try to recreate our own unique body of work.

Teach and/or exhibit in unusual environments. In a recent blog post, Learning to See, I shared my own experience in a one-evening painting workshop offered by a friend at a winery in New Hampshire. It was fun, we drank a lot of wine, and a good time was had by all.

Explore local attractions and events that often attracts crowds of all ages. Brainstorm with others about what linked connections could provide art-making and art-selling opportunities there.

Subject matter: One young artist I met painted children’s toys as still lifes. They were well done, and whimsical and playful in nature. I suggested they approach galleries near the high-tech areas in California, where young people with money and young families might snap them up.

On another note, as the manager of our local open studio tours in Sonoma County said a few months ago, “Art events aren’t about making money today!” Although great sales are wonderful, not every event will be successful, for us, for everyone, every time.

Art events are about making connections.

Open studios, exhibitions, art fairs, gallery presence, social media marketing, etc. All these are sharing what we love and why we love it. Even if people don’t buy, because of all the reasons people don’t buy our art, they may indeed “be back” down the road. I’ve had people watch my work for years before decided to take the leap. People who weren’t sure I was who I say I was, who finally came on board. People who couldn’t afford my work, but came back with friends who could. People who don’t necessarily go for what I make, but have purchased for loved ones who do.

When I meet younger people in my studio, they are allowed to get comfortable. They love that they can pick things up, ask “dumb” questions, and be met and treated with respect and courtesy.

I share what is unique about my work. I share how I got there. I share what I’ve written about it. I share the “why”.

The conversation doesn’t just center on me, either. At some point, especially when I can tell they just aren’t ready to buy, I turn the tables on them. I ask what their creative work is, and listen deeply.

If I can’t share my art with them by selling it to them, I can share parts of my journey that may make their own easier. I can validate their own individual interests, skills, sense of purpose, and their own unique journey.

By encouraging them to do the work of their heart, to make room for it in their lives even if they do something else for a living, it shows I see them as not just potential buyers, but as people. Real people, with their own life goals, their own journey, their own dreams and desires, fears and setbacks.

One of our responsibilities as artists is to “pay it forward”. I want everyone who leaves my studio to go with a renewed sense of joy and “what if?” I encourage them to come back if they need advice or just someone to listen to. When they share setbacks they’ve encountered in their own work, I try to share a name, or a book, or a solution that could help. After all, there were plenty of people who encouraged me to stay on my path. I want to do the same!

And even as I finish this series, I realize there are real opportunities for me to take my own advice. People are begging me for classes, and though they are a lot of work (and take away precious time from my own work), I know it will benefit me and them alike if I make that happen!

I hope if you’ve find an approach that helps you attract a younger audience, you’ll share in the comments below. Don’t worry about the “pie getting smaller” if everyone has a slice. When it comes to the work of our heart, the universe is pretty big, and the pie is infinite.

Oh, and please, no more negative comments on millennials! This entire series was to expand our thinking, and our hearts. To be open to kinder ways of being in the world. If I didn’t change your mind, that’s okay. We are all entitled to our opinions! But trash talk and negative thinking doesn’t help anyone, and shuts down the conversation.

Instead, let’s all find new ways of getting our work out into the world, so that the world can be a happier, more beautiful, more loving place, for ourselves, and for others.

As always, if you enjoyed this article, let me or my editor know! If you’d like to read more, you can either read more of my articles on Fine Art Views or subscribe to my blog at LuannUdell.wordpress.com. If you think someone else would like it, please forward it to them. And if someone sent you this, and you liked it, ditto!

And your bonus for today, a comment left by a reader on Fine Art Views:

There was a panel discussion a week or so ago on this very topic at the Booth Western Art Museum’s Gala. Brad Richard, the owner of Legacy Gallery, and Tim Newton of Western Art and Architecture were among the panel members, and the discussion was led by Seth Hopkins the executive Director of the Booth Museum. I didn’t ask Seth about it, but I suspect the question might have been prompted by your blog. Anyway, the conclusion was “Don’t worry about it!”. if we think back to when we were the age of the Millennials, we weren’t buying much art either. Most people don’t begin to have much disposable income until their 50’s. The Millennials are busy finishing off their massive college loans, building careers, and growing families. Few are in a position to buy art! They will come around and we will see the market for quality art surge! Of course, the panel members admitted to trying to find ways to attract the Millennials now. The consensus was to keep educating and to keep on producing quality art. One very encouraging development is the resurgence of an appreciation for fine representational art. Art designed to lift the spirit rather than to match the sofa! Don’t sell the Millennials short! They will soon become very discerning buyers!

Posted by Michael Strickland · via fineartviews.com

 I’m so grateful Michael shared this, it reinforces everything I said in this series! Thank you, Michael!

WHY MILLENNIALS DON’T BUY OUR ART: The Hardest, Harshest Reason(s) of All

There are many ways for our work to become a part of someone else’s story, someone else’s world, and someone else’s journey.

2/25/2020  by Luann Udell
This post is by Luann Udell, regular contributing author for FineArtViews. She’s blogged since 2002 about the business side–and the spiritual inside–of art. She says, “I share my experiences so you won’t have to make ALL the same mistakes I did….”  For ten years, Luann also wrote a column (“Craft Matters”) for The Crafts Report magazine (a monthly business resource for the crafts professional) where she explored the funnier side of her life in craft. She’s a double-juried member of the prestigious League of New Hampshire Craftsmen (fiber & art jewelry). Her work has appeared in books, magazines, and newspapers across the country and she is a published writer.

WHY MILLENNIALS DON’T BUY OUR ART: The Hardest, Harshest Reason(s) of All

(11 minute read)

The next-to-last article in this series about why millennials etc.

We’re on the home stretch!

In my articles, and in the comments section, we’ve shared many fact-based, data-driven evidence about the different world millennials grew up in. It is simply different than the one we grew up in. EVERY generation faces the same challenge: New conditions, new “rules”, new obstacles, new solutions. The bad parts aren’t necessarily our fault, and it’s usually not their fault.

I also shared these setbacks and obstacles with one hope: To soften, and encourage us to change our assumptions and opinions. Only when we open up to seeing life from the other’s person’s point of view can we connect, with compassion and respect.

I knew there could be tremendous pushback against these thoughts, and there was. That’s okay. I will say it again and I will keep on saying it:

My art is not for everyone.

And neither is my writing.

Which means your work is probably not for everyone, either.

I’ll be honest. It’s hard to hear the anger and criticism these articles have generated. Just as it for all of us when someone walks into our booth, and then declares in a loud voice that they don’t like our art, and then proceeds to list the reasons why.

We may be angry, threatened, threatening, sad, resentful. These are human responses, normal responses, when we encounter something that seems harsh, insulting, frightening, upsetting, or baffling. It’s called a flight-or-fight response. It’s almost impossible not to feel these reactions when we experience something that seems to upend everything we thought was true.

But one of my superpowers in life, a hard one to use, but one that’s served me well is this:

We can’t change how we FEEL. But we can choose how we ACT.

This has helped me change my opinion about quite a few big issues in my life. It’s expanded my world view, opened new territories, and inspired me to write so I can share these insights with others who are ready and/or willing to consider them.

Not everyone will. But again, it’s their choice.

So take a deep breath, because today we’ll talk about the most important reason millennials don’t buy our art:

1)    The don’t like your art; or

2)    They don’t like you; or

3)    Both.

Harsh, I know. But take a deep breath, settle your heart, and read on.

Because these are also the reasons why all our non-buyers don’t buy our art, too.

This is the harsh reality of all the endeavors we take up in the world.

There will always be someone who couldn’t care less. There will always be someone who is lukewarm about our work. There will always be someone who doesn’t like it, for all kinds of reasons, reasonable and unreasonable.

But there will also always be someone who loves it. Even if they can’t afford it, or have no room for it, or they aren’t at the point in their life when they can act on their love for it. It won’t matter how good you are, nor how bad we are.

So if someone tells you/lets you know they don’t care for your art, what is your reaction?

Some people get cold and huffy. Some act out on their feelings. There are groups on Facebook for creatives to vent their anger at ignorant, insulting, clueless, gross visitors at fairs and shows. It can be fun to read these stories, because it helps us see this is a pretty common phenomenon. We are NOT THE ONLY ONES who experience rejection, not just from galleries, or juried shows, or guilds/leagues, awards, etc.

But when the stories get toxic, it gets harder to read. Because artists also share their sharp retorts, their indignation, their snarky thoughts about those visitors.

It’s okay. I get it. I love to blort with the best of them.

But what happens is, this turns a potentially powerful human connection into a battleground.

It’s not necessary to get into that fight. In my blog series and eBook “How to Get People OUT of your booth”, I discuss how difficult people can be challenging. But there are diplomatic ways to circumvent their behaviors, ways that help get us to our happy place, so we can deal more effectively with the people who DO enjoy our work.

Because the worst thing that can happen when we “let loose” with anger and bile is this:

OTHER PEOPLE ARE LISTENING.

In encounters where someone has said something rude, mean, whatever, and I meet them with serenity (YES, the serenity is a facade, I’m seething underneath. I’M HUMAN, just like you) other people in my space come up to me after, and say something like, “I can’t believe how kind/patient/powerful you were with that person!”

They now know that even if THEIR question is “dumb” or unintentionally rude, they will still be treated with respect and kindness.

In other words, it is SAFE to interact with me.

When we eagerly jump on others who we believe are behaving badly, there’s a side effect: We contribute to the toxic environment ourselves.

I was lucky. Early on, I held back from “confronting” and “challenging” visitors who were less-than-enthused about my work, (and my writing.) I had the good fortune to live in the same region as Bruce Baker, a former nationally-acclaimed speaker about how to strengthen and improve our creative work on many levels: Booth display, jury slides, signage and customer relations. He drew from his own wisdom gained from doing shows and fairs, but also benefited from other like-mined, experienced artists who shared what had worked for them.

The trick is to anticipate the questions and comments that might trigger us (the flight-or-fight thing), and practice our best response to them.

Because if someone asks us what we consider a “dumb question”, or says something insulting (whether deliberate or unintentional), and we respond with our “fight” reflex, other people who DO like what they see, will think twice before asking their own questions.

Because once people have entered our booth, once they’ve had a chance to look at our work and decide they kinda like it, once they’re ready to talk, they do the thing that will determine where we both go from here:

THEY ASK A QUESTION.

Maybe they can’t afford it – yet. Maybe it won’t fit in their living room – yet. Maybe it creates yearning whispers of what it might be like to pursue their own work of the heart.

Yes, maybe they’re so clueless about “good booth behavior” that they bungle the question. We can get really good with that, if we are willing to change our own attitude, and meet them halfway. (Or 3/4 of the way!)

If we can do that, a door opens. There is an opportunity for a rich exchange of questions and insights, a chance to either a) inspire a sale, if they’re ready, or b) lay the groundwork for future sales. At the last show I did, the second one after a total flop the year before (5 attendees for the entire day, no sales), a customer approached me and declared, “I saw your work last year, and I COULD NOT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT.” They bought a special item and companion piece for themselves, and pricey gifts for two friends. I could hardly operate my Square, I was so excited!

If I’d harbored resentment about the lack of attendance, if I’d sat around complaining within hearing of guests about the lack of sales, I could have squished that connection forever.

Instead I have a new collector who has already shared their love of my work with their friends, who may also consider buying my work. And share it with THEIR friends.

It all starts with staying calm. Leaning in. Curbing toxic assumptions and impulses. Staying focused on our work, the work we love, the work we make room for every day (if we can) in our lives.

If millennials are not your audience, let it go. We’ve shown that they have perfectly good reasons, just like ANY OTHER people who aren’t.

But if you are committed to blame them (especially for the reasons that are beyond their control, and NOT THEIR FAULT), believe me, they will know.

To all the people who commented with compassion and empathy, to those artists who (mostly) contacted me privately (I’m guessing because they didn’t want to expose themselves to criticism) who ARE MILLENNIALS, THANK YOU! Your experience either confirmed my research, experience, and thoughts, OR you were willing to reconsider what is going on. I’m grateful.

To all the people who disagree, please, as always, do what works for YOU. My advice and words are free, and therefore worth every penny you paid for it. :^)

Next week, I’m going to ask people whose work DOES sell for millennials, what has worked for them. Is it their style? Their subject matter? Their price points? Their willingness to engage and connect? I’ll do my best to collect the people who have already shared, and put that in the article for your convenience (and theirs.)

But I do want to leave you with this last story, which isn’t mine.

It’s my daughter’s.

First, both my kids were the inspiration for me to step up to the plate with my art. When my daughter asked if she could work booth with me at fairs, I agreed. It was a powerful shift in our relationship as she entered one of the most difficult part of her life.

She began her art collection with purchases from my fellow exhibitors, and continues to this day. You may find some valuable insights into millennials and their buying habits this Fine Art Views column from last March.

And here is the “spoiler” from that column:

“My daughter still wants something of beauty that came from another person’s hands, and heart, especially when she started to make and sell her own work.

As she browsed for an urn for the ashes of her stillborn child (Sam died 8 months into her pregnancy), she became frustrated with the same ol’ same ol’ look of them. Nothing felt personal enough, or fit the emotion of the event. When I suggested that a good friend who works with wood might make something especially for her, she lit up. (She found a maker on Etsy who resonated with her.)

This box will be in their home forever, and every time they see it, it will bring a bit of solace amid the sorrow. They may not know, or care to know, the story of the maker. But it holds their own story of this time, and that’s what matters.

I just spoke with my daughter again, and she added more about her purchase.

She wanted something unique, related to cherry blossoms, because that’s around the time of his birthday, when the cherry trees bloom here in Washington, D.C. She wanted wood because it’s warmer. She wanted something personalized and not mass-produced.

She wanted “something that fit us”, her and her partner.

There is appreciation for the maker, as it fits her needs as the collector.

The maker may have no idea of what my daughter and her husband were (and still are) going through.

When I hear people my age disparaging this age group, it breaks my heart.

And when I hear people with their own thoughtful, kind, compassionate, positive, uplifting experiences, my heart is healed.

So when you go to your studio today, when you make that time to do the work that is important to you, know that someone, somewhere, someone will be lifted up.

When you are discouraged because you can’t figure out why your art doesn’t sell, focus first on the fact that it uplifts YOU.

When you put it out into the world, know that someone, somewhere, needed to see it, for reasons we cannot even imagine.

And when you are healed, and share it, someone else will be healed too.

Next week, I’ll compile and curate the ways some of us have found a way to gain millennial collectors. There are some strategies that will work for some of us, but maybe not all.

My only goal was to encourage your heart to open up to new understanding, and new possibilities. To expand our rock-hard definitions and assumptions that not might only hurt others, but might also hurt ourselves.

And to echo the last words of that column I wrote, “So let’s open our hearts, and our minds, to these changes which time will bring.

There are many ways for our work to become a part of someone else’s story, someone else’s world, and someone else’s journey.

Keep hope in your heart, and be open to new possibilities. And be patient with yourself, as we all navigate these new waters.

Art is part of us, no matter what it is, no matter where, or how, or when we find it. Online markets can be just as powerful as in-person encounters, if not more. (Many in this age group never even think about going to traditional art galleries. Yet.)

And I will hope ALL of our art, mine, and yours, will be “found”, someday, by the people who will love it and enjoy it for the rest of their lives.”

As always, if you enjoyed this article, please feel free to share it. And if someone sent you this article and you liked it, you can sign up for more articles at Fine Art Views or more from from my blog by subscribing (upper right hand corner of this page.)

Reasons Why Millennials Don’t Buy Our Art

1/21/2020  by Luann Udell
This post is by Luann Udell, regular contributing author for FineArtViews. She’s blogged since 2002 about the business side–and the spiritual inside–of art. She says, “I share my experiences so you won’t have to make ALL the same mistakes I did….”  For ten years, Luann also wrote a column (“Craft Matters”) for The Crafts Report magazine (a monthly business resource for the crafts professional) where she explored the funnier side of her life in craft. She’s a double-juried member of the prestigious League of New Hampshire Craftsmen (fiber & art jewelry). Her work has appeared in books, magazines, and newspapers across the country and she is a published writer.

REASONS WHY MILLENNIALS DON’T BUY OUR ART: Examine Our Assumptions

We can tell a different story that just might open doors

(7 minute read)

At last, we’re ready to dig into the many reasons millennials don’t buy our art.

As you guessed, there are many, many reasons. And there are many, many wrong assumptions. If we are willing to have our assumptions challenged, this series might be helpful. Read on!

In hindsight, I wish I’d co-authored this series with fellow/former FAV author Lori Woodward. As you know from the wealth of insights she’s shared over the years, one of her superpowers is digging into the actual numbers and data to verify if an assumption, or a marketing strategy, is truly useful or not.

I can’t do that. Or rather, I won’t. I tend to read a lot about whatever it is I’m writing about, note what resonates with me, and share a narrative. If the information is solid enough, useful, makes sense, it can change my narrative for the better.

That’s why I swapped “useful” for “true” above. You may have your own version of what’s “true”, but if it holds you back from finding your voice, and an audience, then consider framing, and embracing, what’s useful instead.

So if this series doesn’t work for you, I get it.

My first insight is that being annoyed/frustrated/less-than-impressed/derogatory about younger people is not new. I shared that in the original article and yet it didn’t seem to affect the tone of the comments. About a third to half of the comments were “negative” in tone, or started out positive/sympathetic, but ended up negative.

New technology, online media, discussion groups, video/computer games, were blamed for everything from “lack of attention span” to “shallow world views”. Lack of exposure to “real art”. A fixation on “likes”, popularity, expensive clothes, etc. Perceived lack of appreciation for the values we have, and yet this same argument has been used for many millennia.  (No put intended!)

People in 1816 bemoaned the disgusting erotica of new dance called the “waltz”.

In 1859, an article in Scientific American complained about the inferior amusement gained from a popular new game called “chess”, You can read more funny, crabby moments in history here and here.

After I was done laughing, I realized that complaining about “kids today” is nothing new. We’ve been doing it since Bork made a lumpy hammered iron knife to kill a wildebeest, and the elders complained about “young people today!”, asking “why do that when a simple rock will do the trick??”

Short story, this is a story, an attitude that always has been, and always will be, with us. If it’s been going for untold generations, I doubt there’s anything I can say that will change everyone’s mind! (I’m hoping to encourage a few.)

In fact, I read a review of a book I recommended last time, KIDS THESE DAYS by Malcom Harris. Halfway through, the columnist berates Harris for not coming up with solutions to enable future generations to work together (he does) and then admits their “quibbles” are just that—pretty minor—and also acknowledges they might seem to be a “grumpy Gen Xer” themselves. (This is the generation following us Boomers, people born between 1965 and 1980.)

An even more poignant take on generational differences is, we tend to judge quality by what we loved, what caught our hearts, when we were that age, too. Amidst all the angst and drama surrounding the prequels and sequels to the original Star Wars series, a long-time, avid Star Trek fan explained why the latest TV series is not respected by the earlier generations:

 “…So this isn’t your grandfather’s Star Trek. As someone pointed out about the new Star Wars trilogy “It’s not for you, it’s for people who are your age when you started liking Star Trek”.”

In fact, we, the Baby Boomers, were judged pretty harshly by the previous generation, too.

Your homework for today, should you choose to accept it (I’m guessing by now you realize I’m also a Mission Impossible fan), is to make a list of all the awful things said about our generation, all those ago. What did The Greatest Generation say about us?

For me, art was a frivolous pursuit. Growing up, my family found my interest in art “interesting” but baffling. I was encouraged to find a “real” job that paid well, never mind whether it was emotionally or spiritually fulfilling, get married, and quit complaining. Every grade I got in school that was less than an A came with anger and a scolding. Many of us, especially those who had young kids to care for, turned to art later in life, either through yearning, a sideline, a hobby, or after we retired.

TGG experienced some major world calamities: Two world wars, the worldwide influenza epidemic in 1918, the Great Depression in the ‘30’s. Harsh realities of an older time.

Yet they came home from WWII to GI bills, affordable college educations, a housing construction boom, vaccines to fight polio, and a booming national economy. They worked hard for their progress, too.

They considered boomers to be frivolous and privileged, focused on getting high and zoning out. No morals, no discipline, spoiled, lazy, and lightweight.

We are not evil people—no one generation is–but we had our moments, too. We were ridiculed for “Make Love, Not War”, and were considered rebellious idiots for protesting the Vietnam War. Some of us marched with King, risking life and limb, but most of us didn’t. And once the Civil Rights movement created legal protections for people of color, we thought we were done.

And now? The complaints, the ridicule, the slams we face, and give. How we found ourselves in a pivotal moment in history, and took all the credit for it.

We were lucky. We found our wave and rode it out. Most of us were able to buy homes, find careers, create families, and retire in comfort, too. Workers at auto factories in Michigan were well-paid, and often owned second homes (lake homes, at that!). Many companies offered pensions, too, and matched retirement investments.

We cannot conceive the realities and disappointments “young people today” face: Robotics and automated assembly lines; the gig economy (where neither benefits nor health insurance are offered, let alone pensions); recessions just when they would have reached higher income levels, etc. I had an apartment and a car while making not much above minimum wage in the early ‘70’s. Today, minimum wage is a little over $7/hour, though many states are higher. Yet, one estimate is that if that had been adjusted over the years for inflation/purchase power, it would be closer to $11-$22/hour. The official federal poverty level income is just over $25,000 for a family of four. A family would need 3-4 jobs to jump that financial strata.

Gah! I’ve actually overwhelmed myself researching these facets of the generation gap. Thank you for bearing with me!

My sole point today is to show how even a few major insights can help us change our attitude towards millennials:

Every generation criticizes the newer ones. Every generation is told “they are doing it wrong”. And that creates assumptions, grudges, resentment and lack of connection among us all. How will younger people even connect with our art when they know we already feel they are “less than”?

Every generation faces unique societal, financial, moral issues that are not simple to resolve, and difficult to understand once we’ve gotten passed them. The Spanish influenza epidemic killed more people world-wide than WWI, and killed almost as many soldiers as combat did. That is unimaginable today. Oh wait: Millennials are facing the possible death of our entire civilization due to climate change. Yep, that’s pretty scary, too. (Update: This was two months before we entered our own pandemic! And now we know from our own first-hand experience how hard that epidemic was! Literally, live and learn.)

So…if we can sit with the discomfort, we can shift our thinking just a little, we can exchange judgment for insight. We can turn resentment into compassion. We can trade disappointment and the fear that no one wants our art, into creating a bridge between our experiences, and the younger generations coming up.

Stay tuned for more myth-busting next week!

As always, if you enjoyed this article, please feel free to share it. And if someone sent you this article and you found it helpful, you can sign up for more articles at Fine Art Views or read more from me at my blog LuannUdell.wordpress.com. 

SUPPORT YOUR MEDIUM: People Are Listening!

2/16/2019 by Luann Udell
3 Comments
Topics: advice for artists | Art Business | art collectors | art criticism | artist statement | creativity | FineArtViews | inspiration | Luann Udell

This post is by Luann Udell, regular contributing author for FineArtViews. She’s blogged since 2002 about the business side–and the spiritual inside–of art. She says, “I share my experiences so you won’t have to make ALL the same mistakes I did….”  For ten years, Luann also wrote a column (“Craft Matters”) for The Crafts Report magazine (a monthly business resource for the crafts professional) where she explored the funnier side of her life in craft. She’s a double-juried member of the prestigious League of New Hampshire Craftsmen (fiber & art jewelry). Her work has appeared in books, magazines, and newspapers across the country and she is a published writer.

I have very good reasons for choosing polymer. Simply put, I could NOT do the work I do without it!

I recently wrote an article called SUPPORT YOUR MEDIUM: Consider the “Why”. In it, I shared how we can positively frame our choice of media, especially ones that are considered “less than.”. (I was going to say “justify” in that sentence, but it sounded like an apology. Let’s just stick with “frame”.)

There is a hierarchy in art media, just like there are hierarchies in any creative human activity. For example, even the worse presentation of ballet may be seen as more “sophisticated” than tap dancing, or break dancing.

In art, oil painting may be considered more “real art” than acrylics, which is “better” than watercolor, which is “better” than colored pencil, etc. Many even consider pottery and fiber art to be craft rather than “real art”. (It used to be, if you wanted to start a flame war on the internet, you would just ask what the difference is between “art” vs. “craft”. Actually, that argument’s probably still raging!)

My friend Nicole Caulfield is an extremely talented colored pencil artist. She chose this medium for a variety of reasons. To my eye, they are as beautiful and compelling as any oil painting I’ve ever seen. Yet her work commands far lower prices than even a mediocre oil painting. Does it weigh her down? Nope. This is the work she loves, and excels at. In my mind, she is an art hero! (I’ve linked to one of her website pages, but her portraits are jaw-droppingly beautiful, too!

Over time, new media (especially polymer clay) do gain respect and followers. And yet, there will always be those people who will find fault with them. In the article, I shared how I got to the heart of my “why”—why I chose to work with this material, and its advantages over others, to make my art.

Today I share another insight into why it’s important for us to find these reasons:

When we are challenged by these people who imply (or outright tell us!) our materials are “less than”, we need to be prepared with a great answer….

Because other people are listening!

I did an entire series of articles on awkward, obnoxious, aggressive/dismissive, simply ignorant, or even innocent questions or comments that may startle or stun us.

As artists and makers, whatever our choice of medium, we need to be prepared for an answer that modifies and redirects the conversation on our own terms.  We need to do it with patience, and dignity, and without anger, defensiveness, or apologies.

For one, we gain nothing by responding with anger or snark. We’ve simply lowered ourselves to our detractor’s level. We help create a hostile environment that works against us. (In fact, that’s why some obnoxious visitors do this, consciously or unconsciously. Why else would someone go out of their way to be rude, when all they have to do is walk away??)

But more importantly, when we address our detractors, other people around us. Whether it’s at an art opening, in our booth, in our studio, or even in our family and circle of friends, other people are paying attention to how we handle it.

If we learn to handle these difficult situations with respect, and reframe it to our advantage, we will really impress the people who are listening, who are/could be our real customers.

I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve had someone say something awful to me, sometimes out of ignorance, sometimes because they are simply an awkward person, and sometimes, because my work has triggered something in them. (I’m guessing envy, and perhaps insecurity about their own creative efforts.)

I realized those questions and comments fall into several categories: My choice of media (not just polymer clay, but fiber, and jewelry.) My source of inspiration. My color palette.  How I talk about it.

I sat down and thought hard about how to respond in a positive way, without being defensive. This actually gives me the power to reframe the conversation in a way that serves me well.

And every time there has been an “audience”—other people browsing, for example—it’s obvious they’ve been listening to how I responded. Because they do one or more things:

They look even deeper at my work.

Often they come up to me afterwards and compliment me on my restraint. (Fortunately, no one can read my mind yet, where less pleasant responses are swarming.) (Yes, I have a lizard brain, too!)

They often buy something, too.

That “difficult person” gave me the opportunity to share my outlook on life, my art, and my medium, in wonderful, positive, life-affirming ways that resonate deeply with my audience.

Again, this took time. I was fortunate to find Bruce Baker’s seminars early on in my art career. For almost two decades, Bruce gave seminars and sold CDs offering great advice on marketing and display skills for artists and makers of all sorts. (He has now returned to his original work of jewelry-making.)

I used his advice (and words!) when two women entered my booth at my very first major show. One looked at a large wall hanging, featuring my own handmade polymer faux bone artifacts. She said, “You’d have to live in a very different house to hang this. A VERY different house!” (It was obvious her “very different house” was not a desirable house…..)

I’d practiced Bruce’s suggested response to detractors, memorized it (so I wouldn’t be caught off-guard) and went into full reframing mode:

“Yes”, I replied cheerfully, “My work IS unusual, and unique. I’m inspired by the Lascaux Cave in France, which for decades was considered the birthplace of human art. I work with recycled fabrics to make each quilt, layered and stitched to look like it’s passed through many generations of family. I make my own faux prehistoric artifacts, one at a time, to embellish them.”

And the kicker line: “My work isn’t for everyone. But the people who do appreciate my work, love it passionately.”

Why is this so appealing?

I established my cred as an artist. I shared a bit of the process behind my work. I emphasized the time involved, and where the aesthetic comes from. I showed I’m not looking for mass appeal, but the story in my heart.

And I issued a small “challenge”: Maybe it’s not for you…or is it???

This is the power of discovering our “why”: Why we use this material. Why we make this work.

And why someone else’s negativity won’t stop us from moving forward with all our heart.

But the biggest gain was the people who came up to me after that person left, and congratulated me on my response!

They saw someone who hoped to get a rise out of me, sent on their way with courtesy, patience, and respect. They heard a response that answered some of their own questions, questions they may have hesitated to ask. (Because some artists can get pretty snarky about what they perceive as “stupid questions!)

It started a whole nother conversation about my work, where I could share how I came to be an artist, why I chose this cave, and why polymer is the perfect medium to tell my story.

So think about why you chose your particular medium. Think about why you choose to make what you make. Think about the questions that have stopped you in your tracks, making you wish you had a snappy response in return.

Then take out the “snappy” bits, and reframe it to your advantage.

Be careful about making a joke, because usually those jokes are at our customers’ expense! I myself have been the butt of such remarks, and even though they make me laugh, I’m also slightly ticked. (See that same “questions” series for ideas!)

And practice your response(s) until you don’t even have to think about it.

If you, too, have found a way to frame your response to detractors (it could be medium, subject matter, color palette, in a positive, respectful way that benefits you, share! Someone else is hoping you’ve found a beautiful way to not only deflect, but perhaps even engage, a difficult person.

SUPPORT YOUR MEDIUM: Consider the “Why”

Don’t focus on the “what”. Focus on the “how” and the “why”.

What’s it made of?

This used to be my most dreaded question to answer. Until it wasn’t.

Recently, Cynthia Tinapple, a long-time polymer clay artist/teacher/writer/curator, told about a recent visitor who said she “loved polymer clay.”

Cynthia was caught off-guard. Usually, we polymer clay users jump “defend” our choice of medium. This visitor acknowledged it, respected it, and praised it, all without prompting.

Polymer clay is an amazingly versatile, adaptable, and accessible art medium. And like any other medium, you can use it to make crap, or to make something astonishingly beautiful.

It was originally used in Germany as an art doll medium, and well-respected.

But when it was originally marketed in the U.S., it was framed as a simple clay for children and amateurs to use, especially Sculpey: Supersoft, easy to work, quick to fire in an ordinary toaster oven.

Those of us who worked with it soon found ourselves constantly judged as “less than”…. Less than “earth clay” artists. We worked in “plastic”. It was cheap, and it broke easily. I remember my first little craft fair, featuring pens I’d covered in patterned mosaic polymer, selling for a few bucks. A couple stopped by, and the guy picked one up. “What is it?” his partner asked, and he responded in disgust, “A cheap pen covered in plastic.” He put the pen down and walked away.

I felt flatter than a pancake.

Innovators like the late Tory Hughes (who inspired my faux ivory work), City Zen Cane, Kathleen Dustin, and many others, soon showed us what could be done with this material.

Still, the stigma remained.

Years ago, I noticed a disheartening phenomenon: Whenever a booth/studio visitor picked up my work and asked what it was, I’d reply brightly, “It’s polymer clay!”

And they would put it down again and move away.

I realized I had to reframe what this material meant to me, and why I chose to work with it.

First, I created a few small “sample” card of things I’ve made with the clay. There are faux bones and pebbles, mosaics and buttons, pieces of turquoise, coral, and amber, tiny fish and other wonders, all arranged attractively and attached to a piece of poster board.

Then there is my “Welcome to my world!” sign next to it.

I frame what my work is about, and why polymer clay is the perfect choice to make it.

I’m much wordier when I talk about it. I show them the little sign-with-samples that’s now an instant attention-getter in my studio and at shows.

I remark on what a miracle it is to have this material in the world at the same time in history that I’m in the world.

I put a little horse, or bear, into their hands, and tell them the story of a customer who chose her horse necklace based on how it felt in their hand.

I show them the grain, and tell them about the guy I met at the Boston Gift Show years ago, who owned a company that makes artifact reproductions for museum gift stores, who said they can’t make a scrimshaw reproduction that so beautifully mimics ivory like I do.

I share how important it is to make “bones” and “ivory” without harming animals, a choice that better reflects our modern times.

And I always add, “It’s not what the material is, it’s what you do with it.

So once again, I am grateful to all the innovators and early-adaptors of polymer clay, for curators like Cynthia and others, new teachers who share their expertise and knowledge about this amazing medium, and the amazing, talented, unique artists who have chosen it to work with.  Thank you!!!

I would show you the sample card, but I’m not sure where it is right now. I’m moving to a new studio in a few weeks, and my space is filled with boxes, packing tape, and boxes marked like this:

Yes, I have a small collection of puppets in my studio. I LOVE THEM!!!

Which reminds me of when we packed for our move to California four years ago, and Jon labeled THIS box:

I love this man. He always makes me laugh!

It is the fourth time I’ve moved my studio in four years, and we also moved our home twice times in four years.  I’m a lit-tul bit exhausted. But I think I see some light at the end of the tunnel!

STAY IN TOUCH: Newsletter Tips for Artists

by Luann Udell
12 Comments
Topics: advice for artists | Art Business | art collectors | art marketing | email newsletters | FASO | FineArtViews | inspiration | Luann Udell

This post is by Luann Udell, regular contributing author for FineArtViews. She’s blogged since 2002 about the business side–and the spiritual inside–of art. She says, “I share my experiences so you won’t have to make ALL the same mistakes I did….”  For ten years, Luann also wrote a column (“Craft Matters”) for The Crafts Report magazine (a monthly business resource for the crafts professional) where she explored the funnier side of her life in craft. She’s a double-juried member of the prestigious League of New Hampshire Craftsmen (fiber & art jewelry). Her work has appeared in books, magazines, and newspapers across the country and she is a published writer

Keep it real, keep it human, and be yourself.

In my last column, It’s the Little Things That Count a reader asked what we should write about in our email newsletters.

Short story: Our email newsletter is how our audience gets to know us.

And long story (which follows): There is no single “right way” to do that.

I have seen beautiful, heartwarming, informative newsletters that I eagerly read as soon as they show up in my inbox.  I have seen pompous, bragging newsletters that make me stop reading after the second paragraph.

I have seen brief notices of an event, and I have seen long, meandering missives that wander here and there and everywhere.

All of the writers have an audience, so just because I like them or don’t like them doesn’t mean they are necessarily “doing it wrong”.

I do see (and you are all going to laugh knowing this comes from ME) that keeping it short and to-the-point makes it more likely people will actually read it!

Here’s the thing to remember: If someone signs up for your newsletter, they already believe you have something of value to share with them.  So really, all you have to do is be the best “you” you can be.

Of course, usually I create a newsletter to inform my audience of an event, whether it’s a show, a meet-the-artist event, or an open studio, or even a sale.

But many artists share tips on how they actually make their work. Or they share WIPs (works in progress), providing a little behind-the-scenes peek into their creative process. Or they share a little life lesson or funny story. (I tend to share this kind of stuff on other social media, but that’s me.)

In short, every single newsletter is a reflection of who that person is. Their newsletter tells us what they want us to know about them, and their work, what they’re up to, where they’re heading.

So think about who you are: Confident? Humble? Cheerful? Grounded? Funny? Very serious? Quiet? Talkative? A sharer/teacher? An eternal student of life?

Show that in your writing!

Be authentic. Write about what matters to you.

Write simply, and get to the point.  Some of the newsletters I get go on and on, as if I’m listening to a stream of consciousness in the author’s head. Not fun on a busy day…

Be funny (if that’s your style.) If not, be serious.

It’s also okay to experiment with different styles and approaches until you find the one you’re the most comfortable with.

Now, for the concrete: I’ve written many blog posts over the years, about what I’ve learned about writing effective press releases to magazines, newspapers, etc. and I consider an email newsletter a personal, mini-press release.

So when you’re setting one up, think about the 5 (or 6) W’s: Who, what, when, where, why, and how (okay that’s not a W, but you get it) if you are including something educational.

• The “who” is you, of course.

• The “what” is what you want your audience to know: An event? A class? An honor/award/prestigious show you’ve been accepted into? A new gallery? A new body of work? A sale?

• The “when” is obvious. Nobody will show up to your event if you don’t let people know what date and time it is.

What is not obvious (and what I struggle with) is, email newsletter experts say you need to let your audience know multiple times about the “when”. That is, if you have an open studio event, you need to not only let people know in multiple arenas (email, Facebook, etc.) but multiple times. Give people plenty of time to plan ahead. But then remind them over and over that it’s coming up.

The “where” is obvious, too. But you’d be surprised how many emailers assume their audience KNOW where the where is. I finally replied to one gallery newsletter last week, asking them what CITY AND STATE they are in. (In fact, I just realized I did not do that in my most recent newsletter. OOPS)

• The “why” is trickier. But untangle it a bit, and it becomes obvious. For events, the “why” is, “Because I’m hoping you show up and buy something!” For notices of awards and honors, it’s “Because now you can see other people/organizations think my work is pretty cool, too!” For a new body of work, it’s “Because you love my previous work, you might REALLY love my latest body of work!”

The “why” could also include your call-to-action. That is, what do you want people to do with this information? Do you want them to come by? Share/tell their friends, so they can help you grow your audience? Order something online? Be happy for you? How about just to say “thank you”? That works, too!

• The “how” can be an interesting tip, suggestion, insight into what you do. Some people want to know as much as possible about our process. Others want to take a class, and this can encourage them to do that. Sometimes, they just appreciate the fact that you care enough to share!

The only caveat (beyond the ones I’ve already mentioned) is to tread carefully about the hard parts of your life you’re dealing with. It’s okay to share a setback, or to explain why you’ve been out of touch, or why you had to take time off from your art this year. I would advise you not to overdo it. Here in Santa Rosa, the fires last year devastated a lot of lives, immediately and peripherally. It will take most people years to process their loss, and heal.

But to make every single newsletter/conversation/announcement about that is overwhelming to our audience. After all, we are all struggling with something. We are all broken, someplace in our heart. We are all healing from something.

Asking for a little sympathy and understanding is human nature, and support from others can be a healing factor. But asking someone to listen over and over and over to our sad story is exhausting.

It also doesn’t serve us, in the long run. I’ve had a rotten year myself. I would say “nobody died”, but actually quite a few people died, and quite a few involved let me down horribly. It was hard, and trust me, I’m happy to tell everyone about it.

In the end, though, where the most powerful healing came from was, getting back to my studio and making the work of my heart. It helped restore me to my better self, the person I chose to be.

And that message, a message of healing, and restoration, and solace, and hope, a message of what our art does for us and for other people, is the message we really want our audience to hear.  

As artists, we want our art to inspire, to bring joy, to lift hearts. We want to bring messages of hope, and love, to others. We want to provoke thought about difficult issues, and to share our own personal view of the world and our experiences.

This is our job, as artists. And the people who are attracted to our work, who want to see more, learn more, hear more, are just waiting to get more of that from us.

I hope this encourages you to reach out to your audience, and let them know what’s going on in your world! Clint Watson, founder of FASO, has written great articles about the more practical points of producing an effective email newsletter, and I encourage you to go back and read them.

But I assure you, if you approach this with as much integrity and openness as you approach your art, you really can’t go wrong.

HOW NOT TO SAY HELLO

 

There are polite greetings, there are annoying meaningless greetings, and then there’s true engagement. You choose!

Recently my husband and I visited a chic little town north of us. A friend had mentioned some gorgeous galleries that might be a good fit for my work, and both of us wanted a pleasant road trip.

Things started out well, but ended….well, rather badly on several issues.

First, as we crossed a street, I tripped and fell on a complicated section of curb. (Very high and uneven curb, above an equally-uneven sort of culvert-shaped road edge.) I took a serious fall, wrenching my knee, straining my back, and smashing my glasses, which also gave me quite a headache.

We found a delightful hardware store nearby, and the clerk gave me excellent customer service. She walked me over to the glue section and helped me select the right glue to repair my glasses. It didn’t work, but I have no complaints, because she “met me where I was” and did her best to help me move forward.

We continued on to a beautiful gallery. By this time, I was really starting to feel the effects of the fall. I tried to focus on the artwork, but I was suffering. My back was spasming, my shoulder and knees hurt, my head and nose hurt.

The gallery attendant was busy and didn’t look up when we entered. That’s actually a good thing, giving people a minute to “land” once they walk into your booth, studio, or gallery space.

But what happened next was a travesty of good customer service.

They said, “How are you today?”

I was struck speechless. My bad. I wanted to say, “Fine, thank you!” But the reality of that fall was kicking in, and I was momentarily confused. I didn’t want to say, “Not well.” But mostly, I didn’t want to engage in small talk.

So I hesitated. And things went downhill from there.

The person seemed to take offense. They repeated the question again, louder. This was annoying. Because of this, I admit, I was unsure how to respond, and didn’t. (I was thinking, “Really? I have to take care of YOU?!”)

And while I gathered my wits and words to defuse the situation, they grew angrier still.

They threw their hands up in the air dramatically and snapped, “Fine! I get it! You’re on vacation and you don’t want to be bothered!”

Okay, that pissed me off. What an assumption to make on their part! And how not to win over a customer, on their part!

I politely said, “I apologize, I took a terrible fall on the sidewalk a little bit ago, and I’m in a lot of pain. I’m pretty distracted right now.”

Of course, they were embarrassed, and instantly apologized. But the damage was done.

Anyone who gets offended because a visitor doesn’t want to respond to empty greetings and conversation is not going to represent me or my artwork.

Anybody who leaps to conclusions about why someone is quiet, or reluctant to engage (what if I didn’t speak English?? What if I were hard of hearing? What if I had cognitive issues?), and anyone who responds in anger within ten seconds of this interaction, is simply not someone I want to have a conversation with.

And many of us do this all the time. We pressure people to engage in meaningless conversations, thinking we are doing it right.

Consider your visitors’ journey to see you. If you are doing a show, they may have wandered into a dozen or more, maybe even 50 or 100 booths before they get to yours.

And every single booth holder has greeted them with phrases like these:

“How are you today?”

“Nice weather today, isn’t it?”

“Are you enjoying the show?”

Or we jump into asking for too much information right off the bat:

“How many years have you been coming to this show?”

“How did you hear about this event?”

“I work with stoneware fired to cone 10 with copper oxide glaze.” (I have no idea if that even makes sense, which should tell you something. I collect a lot of pottery, and I don’t know, or care, about the conage or the glazage…. I just know if I find it beautiful or not, and if I can afford it.)

By the time our studio/booth visitors get to us, they are tired of talking about the weather, they want to wear a sign that says, “I’m fine, thank you”, and what they really want to hear about your pottery is, is it lead-free, and will it go in the oven.

What’s a better way to engage a visitor?

Don’t pressure them.

After a they take a few seconds to look around, and decide if they want to stay, you do a brief introduction of yourself, the setting, the work, etc. (“Brief” is the operative word here!)

When someone enters my booth or studio, I give them that moment to settle in, a quick hello if anything.

Then when they “collect themselves”, I say, “I’m Luann, and this is all my work, jewelry, wall hangings, sculptures. I make all the artifacts you see here that look like bone or ivory. It’s okay to touch the pieces, it’s okay to pick things up, and if you have any questions, I’m right here.”

Their response?

“THANK YOU!!!”

Always. They have been acknowledged, they are not being forced into silly non-conversations, they have been given permission to relax and enjoy my space.

And so they dig in, and start looking.

Then I shut up and go back to work.

“Work” being relative term. I work on something simple I can pick up and set down at a second’s notice. I am “engaged”, but also “available”.

This is all I want to share today. There’s a lot more on how to proceed, when to talk, what to talk about, what not to talk about. There’s knowing that when people are ready to talk, they will ask a “stupid question” that may feel annoying to us, but is simply their way of saying, “It’s okay to talk to me now, and I want to know more about what you do!”

For example, if someone says, “How long does it take you to make that?” the worst answer you can give is, “It took me 30 years to make that!” (And saying it works because people laugh when you say it, is not understanding that people laugh when we embarrass them. Because you just made fun of their ignorance, and they KNOW that.)

So for today, think about a softer way to address visitors.

Something that doesn’t force a person in pain to put on a cheerful face. And doesn’t force them to apologize to YOU when you take offense, if they don’t.

Think of a simple greeting that doesn’t put them on the spot. An opening that doesn’t force them to respond, or engage. An introduction that allows them to explore your work, and to approach you confidently when they are ready to talk.