Category Archives: Emotions

Interrupting Cow

(Note: I wrote this yesterday, but for whatever reason, didn’t actually post it. So, the Wednesday Business and/or Entrepreneurial post, which is being altered for the time being, is being posted, in altered form, on a Thursday because I guess sometimes stuff just happens. I’m not deluding myself in thinking there are people out there who are champing at the bit to see what I’m going to whine or ramble about in my posts either! Ha! Anyway, here’s my post!)

My Wednesday posts are intended to be devoted to my entrepreneurial endeavors. I want to talk about marketing, money, online store fronts, in-person sales, patterns, dolls, teaching workshops, etc., in these Wednesday posts. I’m going to suspend the entrepreneurial content for these post for the foreseeable future, or at least until the world returns to more normal functioning. Another reason that I’m making this small change is because frankly, I’m tired of feeling like a big, fat, whiny baby about my (lack of) business. I’m just so very tired of hearing myself complain about it. The negative aspects of my lack of business progress, and talking about them is just making me feel like crud. I know it’s important to acknowledge my feelings and where they’re coming from, but I’m tired of wallowing in them. At least for now.

With all that being said, I did have one sale this week! I’m tremendously happy about it and got it sent off to the buyer earlier today. I hope that the tiny little dolls I sent make the buyer and the person they are intended as a gift for happy!

I’d been thinking about questions that have been asked of me about my dolls in the past. I thought that it might be an interesting idea to document these questions and my answers to them. I’m not sure how many questions there will be. If you’re a reader of my blog posts, contact me with any questions you might also have that you don’t see here.

Questions and Answers Regarding my Recent Doll Creations:

1. Why are you making all these tiny dolls lately? What happened to all the paper maché dolls that you had been making for the past year?

Okay. Starting off with a two-part question. Good. The tiny dolls, and why am I making them? I’ve always been fascinated with tiny things. Tiny dolls in particular. As a very small child (3 or 4-ish?) I had some mass-produced dolls that I adored. I cannot remember anyone giving them to me as gifts. I think that the majority of these dolls were once my older sisters dolls. I’m not sure how the dolls became mine. My sister could have given them to me because she was getting older (13-14-ish) or it could have been that I just claimed them as mine and took them. Toddlers have a nasty habit of doing that at times, and I was quite the sticky-fingered kiddo.

I remember called these tiny dolls ‘Bitsies‘. I guess a take on ‘itty-bitty‘. The dolls that I had were anywhere from half an inch to two inches tall (There were some that were closer to four inches tall, but I don’t remember them). They were colorful and detailed and I loved that they could be tucked-into pockets because they were so tiny and they had tiny accessories. Their hair was so cool too! So long!

These tiny dolls were Liddle Kiddles. They were a line of dolls by Mattel that ran roughly from the mid 1960’s until the early 1970’s. I had quite a few of them. The dolls that I had were mostly from the Kola Kids and Kologne Kids series, and the Lucky Locket series, with a few of the storybook dolls and the tiny jewelry-themed dolls thrown in here and there. I lost some of the clothing and most of the accessories fairly quickly. Many of the Liddle Kiddles I had just had their little dresses on. I loved their sweet little faces! They were so adorable, with great big eyes! When you look at their faces, you can tell which ones were made by Mattel and which ones were cheaper knock-offs. The 1994 Tyco dolls I think lack the charm of the original Mattel dolls.

I remember being fascinated with the hair colors of Liddle Kiddles. Orange hair!? Green hair!??? I loved their little themed names and outfits for the different lines of dolls. I can look at these Liddle Kiddles Kola Kiddles (OH! The spelling! It BURNS!) and know exactly when my fascination with color and specific color combinations started. My color fascination was furthered by Sesame Street, but that’s another post entirely.

It cannot be overlooked that the Liddle Kiddles came in series. The way in which I’ve been creating the tiny and small dolls that I have since the beginning of the year are all part of a series. The Creative Experiment dolls, especially the small ones using buttons in lieu of faces were a long series (approx. 200 dolls, give or take). The number of pieces in a series I create seems to be dependent upon my personal curiosity regarding the series. By the time I’m a dozen deep into the creation of a specific type of doll (or any other art) creation, I know that there is something that I’m trying to figure out or decode that is coming from deep within my personal identity.

I wrote a post last December (Wringing Meaning from Turnips) about creating the tiny dolls had become my attempt at reconnecting with a place and time in which I was content being me. Not happy. Happy is a fleeting concept. Being content for me is finding a balance within my own mind in which my inner and outer worlds are working in concert, with neither one of them figuratively screaming at me for attention.

These Liddle Kiddle dolls came into my life as I was just nearing the end of that time in my life in which I remember being the most content. Before the world became more ‘screamy’ at me. They were so tiny and precious. They were colorful and sweet. I have intense memories of looking at their little faces and realizing that each separate doll had slightly different faces, but they all looked like they belonged together. Like they were related. In retrospect, I suppose my little toddler self thought of these little dolls almost as some sort of religious talisman. I wanted to protect them and keep them safe. I wanted to tell them all my secrets. I felt like they were safe receptacles for them. They wouldn’t tell on me or laugh at me. Being that I was on that cusp of having the outer world rush in to begin its influence on me cannot be ignored. By the time I was five, I knew there was something wrong with me. The outer world was telling me so. I was too loud. I was too obnoxious. I was selfish. I was fat.

Screamy. Screamy. Screamy.

So yeah. I’ve been making tiny dolls. It’s personally therapeutic for me, and creatively satisfying.

2. Now, for the second part of the question, regarding the larger paper maché dolls. I have been calling them ‘playset dolls’ because their construction is more complicated with lots of moving parts. I mean for these larger paper maché dolls to actually be played with. It strikes me as odd that when I show pictures of them, or when I had some of them in a small exhibit locally, no one who was looking at them knew about all those moving parts and all the things that were hidden away in the drawers within their bodies.

As these dolls grew larger and larger, they took on a guardian-like presence within the world I’ve created with my dolls. Very simply put, the big, scary, weird, strange outside keeps the tiny, delicate, sweet, doll parts safe on the inside. I’m completely aware of the metaphor working here. It’s kind of a metaphor delivered with a sledgehammer, but I guess I gotta be me. Connecting this metaphor to my personal childhood experience, to a cornerstone of the beginning of my creativity seems natural.

I will be creating more large paper maché dolls in the future. I have two or three that are getting rather noisy inside my head and are itching to come out. No skull splitting required!

Birth of Athena, from D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths, 1962

Thanks for reading, and I will see you again next Wednesday (even though I know it’s Thursday, but then again, what do days of the week mean now anyway?)

Links:

D’Aulaire’s Book of Greek Myths, by Ingri d’Aulaire and Edgar Parin d’Aulaire This is one of my favourite books from childhood. I was twelve or thirteen when I won a $20 gift certificate to Cambell’s Books store with a piece I had entered in a county childrens’ art show. I bought this book. I can still remember how the floorboards creaked as I walked through the store, right over to this book on the shelf. I didn’t need to look around. I knew what I wanted.

Vintage Liddle Kiddles I didn’t have any of these larger Liddle Kiddles, or any of the big accessories like the carrying cases or playsets. This video is a little funny, in that some of these poor little dolls are naked! They look a little sad, but I’m guessing that they were well loved because so many of their accessories are gone. The Lucky Locket Kiddle Kiddles are the ones I had the most of.

 

Your Move

“Close ups reveal the weaknesses of the whole premise.” (1)

I didn’t write any update for my entrepreneurial pursuits last Wednesday. I was just not in a good place mentally speaking to do so. I’m an ambivert, so I’ve been relying a lot on my more introverted tendencies throughout this weird time. Staying in, making art and basically nesting, has been totally okay with me until last week. The staying in and maintaining social distance is beginning to wear a bit thin for me. My husband is far more introverted than I am, and is also is a person who is in a higher risk category related with COVID-19 infection. This means that even as the restrictions are eased a bit here, we’re still social distancing and continuing with other precautions.

I don’t mean to say that I’m climbing the walls or anything. I’m just beginning to get tired of it. I know myself well enough that I need to acknowledge my feelings so they don’t get so large and cumbersome that I find myself becoming overwhelmed by them. I know myself well enough that figuring out my feelings takes me some time, and I need to let them percolate through my mind so that I feel as though I understand them, myself and how I’m reacting to them.

Making art is my therapy. Making art is my passion. Teaching people how to make art is my vocation. Selling my artwork is (sometimes) my Waterloo, or perhaps my windmill? It could be many things.

If only I could pay my bills in personal fulfillment. My life would be damned near perfect!

ANYWAY…

I’ve been working on some new pieces and have begun some planning for some larger and more complicated pieces. My artwork to a great extent, guides and informs itself. I’m basically the one with the thumbs that brings the art into existence. I’ve had some things (ideas, thoughts, concepts, techniques, materials, etc.) swimming around inside my head for quite a while that I feel are ready to be created.

This is one of the hardest things to try and explain to a person who does not make art of their own. Differentiating between when it’s time to create a piece of art and when it’s not. There are some pieces, like the series of small dolls that I’ve been working on for the past few months, in which I can have an idea, sit down and complete the piece in relatively short order. I can see the results of the idea fairly quickly, then move on to the next idea. I can process through a lot of smaller ideas and acquire a lot of creative, emotional and mental satisfaction in doing so. I suppose I could liken my creative processes in this regard to hors d’overs and a main course. One is a lead-up to the next.

To date, the largest and the smallest of the dolls that I have created.

The part that can be the most baffling is knowing when is “when”. I cannot pinpoint when an idea or concept is ready to be created. I just know when it’s ready. There seems to be a point in which my brain or my sketchbook just isn’t a satisfying place to work on them anymore. There’s this weird tight-rope walking element to the whole process as well. If I start working on a piece too soon, the entire experience is somehow less satisfying mentally and emotionally for me. The art was not ready to come into existence. On the flip side, I run the risk of losing the entire idea or concept if I begin it too late. The finished piece of art lacks some je ne sais quoi that renders it a failure in my mind.

I’m struggling to discover how to make this sense of knowing work for me as an entrepreneur attempting to sell her artwork. My sense of knowing when to do something, when it’s right for me, should be a transferable skill. This ‘instinct’ for knowing when a my artwork is ready to be created is ephemerally ill-defined. Just because it works well in one capacity does not guarantee that it will work in another, wholly different capacity.

I suppose that when I say instinct, I may be referring efficacy in part. However, I don’t believe that they are the same thing. I see them as related, or perhaps working in concert (or at odds) in different circumstances. Instinct is different from acquired knowledge. Instinct can be based partially on acquired knowledge, but it’s more primal than that. Instinct is a gut-feeling. That little tug on your thoughts that says, ‘Wait a second.‘ This tiny amount of time can be invaluable in decision making processes. It can aid in building positive experiences that are an integral part of personal and professional efficacy. Acquired knowledge is everything learned in structured settings (schools, churches, clubs, etc.) and unstructured settings (family, friends, society, culture, chronosystem, etc.). Every event in my life has added to my acquired knowledge, making me a unique individual.

None of the above will get me a seat on the bus unless I learn how to use it to my personal, and yes, monetary benefit. Otherwise, I will simply be the most self-aware person walking her ass home in the rain.

I hate having to go out in the rain.

Thanks for reading, and I’ll see you again next Monday.

Links:

(1) Episode 912. “The Screaming Skull.” Mystery Science Theater 3000. Film Short, “Robot Rumpus.” 29 Aug. 1998

(This dialogue is Mike Nelson, during the film short. This short never ceases to make me laugh until I have a stitch in my side. I love MST3K, but some of the comedic writing for the film shorts is some of the best writing from the entire series in my opinion.)

What is an Ambivert?

Ambiverts – Introvert and Extrovert? The Best of Both Worlds

Yes. “I’ve Seen All Good People.” (“Your Move” and “All Good People”), The Yes Album, 1971.

Jethro Tull. “Skating Away on the Thin Ice of a New Day.War Child, 1974.

Natascha Rosenberg. She’s an artist and illustrator whose website I stumbled upon while looking for something else entirely. Her work is tremendously cool. Go and look at it! If you don’t like my work enough to buy it, buy hers!

Burn It Down!

First, all the fun creative stuff. Second all the strange stuff.

I’ve been working on a few tiny pieces over the past week. I wanted to see if I could create a tiny bumble bee. The answer is, yes I can. I’ve got two bee dolls in the works right now. One has a larger head, more like a drone bee I suppose and the other one is a Queen Bee. I’m still working on her crown. Well, I actually need two crowns, because I want to have a Queen Bee and Baby Duck from the Eagles of Death Metal song that I like a lot. I’ve already got Baby Duck finished, but he too requires a crown. I’ve tried making some out of paper and other materials, but I’ve found none of them to be satisfactory. I’ll be breaking out the clay at some point today. I’m sure I can come up with something I’ll like.

These two are difficult to take pictures of.

I did create tiny bee wings that I’m satisfied with, however I think I want to create some new sets of wings, because the colours I used are not right somehow. I’ll be going out tomorrow and will pick up a few new colours of acrylic paint. Then I can make some more sets of wings. I’m getting fairly quick at creating the wings with the recycled plastic sheets I’m using. I’ve figured out how to create the etched lines without making myself so nauseated. This helps quite a bit.

I started some wings for two other dolls last night. I got the first colour down and let it dry overnight. I finished them up this morning.

The wings for the two dolls pictured above are a little different from the wings I’ve done previously. I wanted something that would lay flat against the doll instead of extending several centimeters from the back of each doll. I was shooting for something like a cicada and one of those maple tree seeds, which I now know are called samaras, among other things. I miss the sound of cicadas in the summer. My husband isn’t a fan of the insects. I suppose that I associate happy memories with them. They sang me to sleep when I was a little kid, as the house I grew-up in was at the edge of wooded area. They’re the music of summer time to me.

ANYWAY…

These wings aren’t exactly what I want, but they get me a little closer to something that I know I will be happy with.

Which brings me to to some things I’ve been thinking about, and that tie into the title of this post. The orange doll with the green clothing and pink flower cap I made hit a lot of nostalgic buttons for me. I didn’t set out to especially explore smashing around on those buttons. She just happened. I wanted to make an orange doll. Then she had some pink and fuchsia flowers, and then some green leaves, then the yellow hair happened. Smash, smash, smash. Buttons got smashed. Not in a bad way at all, just in a way that explains why I like certain colour combinations and general designs for dolls.

I also started thinking more about the dolls that I’m creating right now. What the real reasons are behind them. I’ve talked about it a bit in a previous post, but I tend to have multiple reasons for doing anything, consciously or unconsciously. There has to be some need that’s being met in the creating of them. I think I’ve started figuring it out, and it’s tied to some fairly common types of behaviour, or perhaps ways of thinking. Or at least I think it’s fairly common. I may be totally off the mark on this one. It wouldn’t be the first time either!

While examining some of the buttons that got smashed while creating the orange doll, I was again reminded of the fact that while I have always loved dolls, the one type of dolls that I never really got into were baby dolls. I didn’t hate them or anything. Once past a certain age, I just didn’t seem to have no interest at all in them. I’ve always preferred dolls that were either more like me, human/humanoid or animals and monster types of dolls. I’ve talked about this before. I was always more inclined to think of my dolls as my friends. Someone to talk to or create a home, or safe place for. I was never the ‘parent’ in relation to my dolls.

Since the beginning to the year, I’ve been creating almost nothing but extremely small dolls(8 cm tall and under). When I get into a type of work, or a theme, I know that there is something that I’m trying to figure out mentally or emotionally. Two different doll-like concepts have kind of become fused in my mind with regard to these small dolls. Guatemalan worry dolls (sometimes called trouble dolls) and ancient Egyptian ushabti. The two different doll-related objects have smashed into each other inside my head somehow. Realistically, I know that the dolls that I make cannot solve my problems for me while I sleep. Nor can they spring to life and do my bidding when I require their assistance. This does not mean that I’m not having conversations with them as a piece of art, while I am in the act of creating them. Again, I know they cannot talk. These conversations are an integral part of the creative process though. Sometimes these conversations go on and on and on until I consciously understand why I’m creating what I’m creating.

Each finished piece therefore, to me, in imbued with a certain amount of life, or energy and time. They’re a unique combination of my curiosity, talent, efficacy, and need to be seen and heard as an individual. I need to understand myself, and the world I inhabit, as well as where they overlap. I do that by making art. I’ve never been quite sure if that makes me smart or stupid or something in between.

What makes me surprised thought, is how I feel the ‘call of the void‘, as it relates to the physical artwork. The artwork does begin to pile up. That’s one reason why I have to sell it. I actually start running out of room to keep it. When it doesn’t sell, then it becomes something that can be a physical manifestation of my failure. The failure being I cannot seem to sell it and make money from it. That resentment begins to build and it turns into that call of the void thing. However, with regard to my artwork, it’s more along the lines of ‘BURN IT DOWN’. At my worst emotional lows there are times I want to pile all of my artwork up on the lawn, douse it with kerosene and light it all on fire. That way, it won’t be there reminding me of my failure to sell it. I created it. I can destroy it. And anyway, if it’s not selling, then no one will be mad that I destroyed it all. (Too Much Thinking: This all has to be rooted in fear, via not being in control, and the act of burning all of the work is taking back my control by controlling the existence of the work at all.)

Like the call of the void, I could never do that to my artwork. I could never burn it all up and destroy it. This concept does make me wonder if the act of destroying my artwork would somehow make me a more ‘legitimate artist’ in the eyes of gallery owners. I’m a creator, not a destroyer. So this is never going to happen. Just like as the thought of stepping in front of an on-coming bus will never happen either.

Man, the places my brain goes.

Thanks for reading, and I’ll see you again next Monday.

 

Links:

The Second Coming (Burn it Down) Seth Rollins entrance music on the WWE. I’m not a huge fan of Rollins as a wrestler, but his theme music is kind of okay. The double bass pedal is way over-done though. There are other wrestlers that I like a great deal more, like Randy Orton and Daniel Bryan.

 

 

What Business?!

There’s only so much that I can realistically post regarding how I’m ‘businessing” my business. I can’t advertise workshops or apply to teach workshops in and around the city. I can’t sell my artwork in person at art and craft fairs, or at arts pop-up shops. There are things that are still within my immediate control. I can keep creating artwork. I can keep working on lessons and workshops that someday I will be able to teach. I can keep working on my website. I can keep writing posts for my website. But I need to be honest, the current trajectory of my business just makes me incredibly depressed. I feel as though I’m failing, and failing rather spectacularly at that. My sales are horrible (I had no sales at all in April). I’m not driving enough people to my site, so my views are also horrible (averaging around three people a day for the months of March and April).

And don’t get me wrong. I know there are definite reasons for why I cannot go out and sell my work and my teaching in person. I don’t want to get sick and I don’t want anyone else to get sick because of me. I know how important it is to continue with social distancing. I’m following the guidelines set by the government and my city to ensure that the spread of the virus is mitigated. I totally agree with these guidelines! Health and safety or not only myself, but the people within the city and country are so much more important than my teaching an art workshop or selling some artwork.

That all being said, I also think it’s important that I acknowledge my personal feelings regarding how my business is just tanking at present. If I don’t take the time now to understand these feelings, they’re just going to get bigger and nastier and so much harder to deal with when I finally have to sit down and sort them all out. By the time I do that, there’s all kinds of damage that more than likely has already been done, and then I have to sort that all out and make the requisite repairs to myself mentally and emotionally.

I’m finding it hard not to spiral downward as it regards my artwork. I find myself saying, “Well…if your artwork was better, you’d have more sales.” and “You’re just not a good artist, and people can see that.” When it’s your artwork that you’re trying to sell, the absence of sales usually means that you’re work is just not good enough to make people want to buy it. These kinds of thoughts are not conducive to building a business.

There’s this particularly nasty little part of my personality that usually starts picking at my insides when the above thoughts start swimming around in my brain. That nasty little part of me that thinks that all of the people who give my artwork thumbs-up’s and hearts and leave me positive comments on Facebook or Instagram (not my fellow art creators on Instagram) are all just lying to me. In the best case, they don’t care for my work, but just leave the positive comments because it’s easy and considered good manners to do so. In the worst case, they’re just yanking me around and giving me positive feedback while laughing behind my back.

Yeah. I know. This nasty little part of my personality suuuuuucks. No matter how much I think I’ve gotten her shrunken down to the most miniscule size, rendering her powerless, she springs back to life and spreads like mold on everything she touches.

I don’t like feeling this way. I feel like a petulant child. I know this will all pass.

I will just have to sisu myself out of this.

Thank you for reading, and I will see you again next Wednesday.

Fnck Cute

I was around two years old when this picture was taken. I think I was pre or post nap time. Either way, I had a blankie and something to read.

Okay. Buckle-up. This gets wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey type strange fairly quickly, even for me.

I’ve always had a love hate relationship with the artwork that I create. On one hand, it’s my mental health therapy. It’s the action I take every day that helps me to maintain the integrity of my core self, my “Katie-ness”. I remain intact because every day I work on stitching my inner self together. Making repairs here and there. Destroying portions and making them over completely, using a pattern of my own creation. I do this over and over and over and over and over again. I could look at my behavior, creating artwork as a means of self preservation, as metaphor. I’m the priestess who performs the ritual that makes the rains come, or the crops to grow. I’m the sorceress who staves off her own inevitable demise by reciting magical incantations and scrawling protective signs. I’m the deity, bringing my own avatars into existence to do my bidding.

In all of these metaphors, the element of control is paramount. Just as I’m in control of my own mental health and the continual maintenance of it. I take my meds every day at the same time. They allow me to function within an area in which my highs and lows are not earth-shatteringly chaotic. I cannot create artwork with I’m manic or depressed. I want to stay in that deep, wide middle area. That lovely ribbon of gray that swims between those extremes. I’m not an emotionless automaton. I cry. I laugh. I get mad. The difference is that the emotional response do not envelope me and pull me upward or downward with them. My meds and my therapeutic art practice allow me control over these extremes.

Within my art practice, I make what I want to make. Answering no one, save myself. The level of control I seem to require over my own creative output made me a really pitiful professional graphic designer and illustrator. While I may have some talent for graphic designer and illustrator, I am so, so, so, woefully ill suited to having them be a successful life-long career for me. I’m too personally invested in my own artistic creations. I am them. They are me. Having someone tell me how and what to create was interpreted by me (unconsciously at first) as a client telling me how to be me. How to express my Katie-ness. And that ate at me in the worst way. It’s one of the big reasons that I left that work and became an art teacher, which is a much better fit mentally and emotionally for me.

I’m in kind of this strange place right now. I continue to make my own artwork for myself, but I also am creating artwork to sell. It can be a bit of a mental minefield at times. I’m completely aware of where my mental buttons, switches and trip wires are. I’m not as unconscious of what and where my feelings are coming from. I think I’m doing fairly well at dealing with my emotions regarding them right now. The hardest thing for me is allowing myself to acknowledge the feelings that are rooted in envy, pride, greed or anger. These types of emotions aren’t pretty and I don’t like admitting that I have them, even if it’s just to myself. I view them as just annoying and useless (in the sense that they won’t get me what I think I want) emotions. I view these kind of negative emotions as just another trap to be avoided.

Knowing that a trap exists is the first step in avoiding it.” Yeah. I just went there. I went to a Dune quote. This one is Duke Leto Atreides, from the first Dune book.

But, it’s not always that easy. “Ohh! There’s a trap! I’ll just go another way!” Nope. It’s always a lot harder than that. And if you’re me, you start tugging on an errant thread and then all the sudden you’re trying to stuff your entrails back in ala, ‘The Running Man‘.

So, what thread I started pulling on?

Cuteness.

Me, displaying maximum cuteness as a Michelin-Man-esque Goo-goo diaper baby. I swear I can remember how it felt to wear those clunky Franken-Baby shoes. I hated them!

An oldie, but a goodie for me. My ever-present artistic nemesis. Cuteness. Being cute. Having my artwork interpreted by those who view it as so sweet and soft and squishy and cute. And as the creator of said cute artwork, I too must be cute and fluffy and soft and squishy and not exactly intelligent or particularly creative.

Yeah. Like I said, I have a long history with cute.

I know that I’m an artist. It’s who and what I am. I struggle with how I feel that the greater world sees me and interprets the artwork that I make. I know what my artwork is about. I know where it comes from. I know why it comes out looking the way that it does. I know my artwork is not some quickly dashed off empty pieces of fluff. I just don’t know, with absolute certainty (Uh-huh. Like that’s even possible, Katie) that everyone else who is not me know this. And this is what ends-up bothering me. It makes me doubt my worth as an artist.

Having my artwork called cute makes me doubt myself as a serious artist.

I suppose those who view my work as cute and largely meaningless besides that singular observation, aren’t looking close enough for the cracks in the surface. Not everyone is as observant as a ten year old Amy Pond.

Okay.

Here we go.

Some background…

I cannot remember a time in my life in which I wasn’t told that I had an excess of imagination. I think that the people around me, family and friends just attributed my over-abundance of imagination as to do with my being creative and artistic. Growing up, I never thought that my imagination was any kind of hinderance, except at times when I realized that not everyone processed information the way I did. It was when I was in art school that I realized that I could spend long stretches performing fairly monotonous tasks, while at the same time designing projects within my mind, playing entire LP’s in my head, manipulating components both two and three dimensional and problem solving. It’s all as vivid and real to me as if I were holding it in my hands. It was like having my body on autopilot, but my brain was running multiple subroutines at the same time. I could experiment and plan in my mind, without wasting materials in the real world.

This was me in the 4th grade. I liked this picture. I managed to get my hair and my clothing and the smile and everything looking fairly normal. I look at this picture and I don’t see anything wrong with me, but others did.

I honestly thought that every person on the planet could do this; seeing and manipulating objects within their minds. I couldn’t understand how not to visualize things in my mind. As a child, characters and places in books were alive for me. I could place myself into the stories that I read, and it was all as real as if I were there. “I don’t understand how you can do that.” was what my older brother told me once when i tried to explain my imagination to him. I had thought that of all my family members, he would understand. He was in art school with me at the time. He didn’t understand. And I never mentioned it again, because he looked at me so strangely.

Recently, I began seeing vlogs and reading information about how some people cannot picture things in their minds. What piqued my interest initially was that I had encountered people as an adult who alluded to the fact that they couldn’t necessarily visualize objects in their mind. They are have aphantasia. Wow. I guess it makes sense. I’f my imagination is turned up to 10, that allows for the possibility that there are those who have their imaginations turned down to 0.

I began looking around to see if my brain was just wired a little differently. I thought that maybe it was Aspbergers Syndrome. But after reading more about it, I’ve ruled that out as a self-diagnosis. What did fit me to a T was Maladaptive Daydreaming. This personal diagnosis better describes who I am and how my mind works, or at least how my imagination works. I can spend an inordinate amount of time within my own head and be completely content. I feel like I’ve known about this tendency within myself for a very long time, but just didn’t have the correct way of defining it. While in talk therapy, many years ago, I remember making a concerted effort to ‘stay out of the pit‘ (the pit being daydreaming) while I was working to improve my mental and emotional health. This lasted for about five years. And I must admit, it did help me a great deal. However, I made very little artwork, while experiencing a relatively stable time as a working graphic designer and illustrator. Once I felt that I could let-up on my restrictiveness towards my imagination, I began creating in earnest again.

I’ve established a balance between the potentially harmful parts of maladaptive daydreaming (I’ll abbreviate it as DM from now on) and being an artist. For lack of a nicer term, I’ve compartmentalized the ‘when’ and the ‘where’ of letting my brain just run inwardly amok. I know it’s not a perfect system by a long shot, but like I said in the beginning of this post, I’m constantly stitching myself together and making repairs every single day that I make art. Keeping that MD part of me under control is just part of that daily stitch work for me.

The artwork that I create is part and parcel of my own MD tendencies. It’s the part that spills over the side and falls out of my hands. My artwork is the part of my inner world that cannot be entirely contained. It must be born. I’ve heard it said that artists create the world in which they want to live by altering elements around them so that the world makes sense. My artwork is much the same. It all comes from my maladaptive, over-active imagination that I have harnessed the best parts of to work for me as an artist.

So, what’s with the title of this journal post, “Fnck Cute“? What does that have to do with having interestingly wired brain?

Well, for me, there is a gar-freakin’-gantuan difference between my inside world of imagination and real, physical world of art creation. These two sides work in tandem and help me keep myself together mentally and emotionally, but they have absolutely nothing to do with how my work in received in the real world. In the real world, my work is cute.

I’ve always thought that cute was something a viewer says when they have no other idea of what to say about my work. It feels dismissive. “The costumes were very realistic!” (I think this is from the movie Ed Wood with Johnny Depp) What happens next is that I interpret this cute comment as my artwork missing the mark. That it’s not conveying any other meaning other than outward or surface appearance. It’s a hollow, meaningless, fluffy and useless.

And if we’re continuing to tug on that thread, remember I am my artwork and my artwork is me…and I’m being judged by outward appearances…then this would mean that I’m as useless as my artwork is. Damn.

There are those in the world who see me and my work for who and what they are. I cannot adequately convey to them how much I appreciate them and their ability to see that there is more than cute to my artwork. I know that there is more to my artwork than being cute. I know what it is and where it comes from. I will never be able to control how my work is understood or interpreted by people and I need to find a way to better deal with that, while remaining true to myself as an individual and as an artist. It’s a never-ending task.

This was a photo of me that my father kept in his wallet. I wonder if it was partially to do with the fact that I was holding our much loved cat Sam? Pop loved Sam. So did I. I think we were around the same age in the picture, around three.

Thank you for reading, and I will see you next Monday.

 

Links:

Dune by Frank Herbert, 1965

The Running Man by Steven King (as Richard Bachman) 1982

Amy Pond, Doctor Who, 2010-2012, companion to the 11th Doctor, Matt Smith

Mental Imaging

Tiny Elephants

I feel rather uniquely well-suited to remaining at home and limiting my time outside of the house to one grocery store trip per week. I do have some things coming up that require me to leave the house this week. It makes me a little nervous, but I’m confident that my chances of becoming ill are significantly less here in central Finland than in other parts of the world. It seems like every morning, the numbers of people diagnosed with COVID-19 just keep going up and up and up. The virus seems to be galloping through the population. It’s scary.

I’m trying to keep my own anxiety down to a dull roar. Making art has always been my preferred method of therapy, so that’s what I’m doing. I made two elephants yesterday. I’ve never had any reason or need to make elephants. I just wanted to see if I could. I basically created a problem for myself, and then made attempts to solve it. Making a tiny elephant or two was something that I could be in complete control of. There were no other people outside myself that were controlling it. It was all me. I called all the shots. I was the one who made the decision to use the materials that I thought would work the best. I’m the person who decided how to alter the pattern for the second elephant so that the ears would fold and kind of droop the way I thought they should.

When I’m making something, there is something about the act of creating. It’s the opposite of destruction. It’s ordered. Methodical. On the surface, not at all chaotic, or at least not the worst parts of the concept of chaos (panic, fear, non-thinking). This brings to mind “I thought I could organize freedom, how Scandinavian of me” from the song Hunter by Björk. Somehow, I always change the word ‘freedom‘ to ‘chaos‘ in my mind. There must be something Freudian about that, I’m sure. But I digress.

The act of creation, breathing life into something that on the surface, seems lifeless it’s a divine act. Rooted in the past and looking, hoping, striding towards the future. Acts of creation come in as many different forms as there are individual people on the planet. I make art. What I create perhaps seems to some people as trivial. I make dolls. This is where I have to start internally fending off “Katie doesn’t make friends. She “makes” friends.” that at times in the past has gotten the better of me. Is this an attempt to make my acts of creation seem childish, meaningless, small and inconsequential? No act of creation is too small. Small things have a way of growing into larger things over time. At least, if they are carefully nurtured.

Times like the ones in which we are currently living is a time in which all of that nurture can begin to pay off. Not necessarily pay off in the monetary sense, but more in terms of the mental and emotional sense. I’ve said this so many times before; making art keeps me intact, mentally and emotionally. I feel fortunate that my personal methods of self-soothing and self-medicating are potentially far less destructive than alcohol or illegal substances. (Okay. I do want coffee. I’m a huge fan and require two cups prior to 12 in order to function without a headache. Here, go listen to the Descendants sing about coffee, live and from the album I would think that the entire country of Finland might feel the same?)

COVID-19 is scary. At times, it can be huge-Godzilla-sized-scary. An individual person can feel helpless and without control of their life. They can’t go to work. They can’t get together with friends and family. Some are in full quarantine, while other people are dealing with being in isolation, either state or self-imposed. Children are out of school and at home. There are bills that need to be paid and perhaps no money coming in. Or even scarier, you are one of those people deemed ‘essential’ and you are at work, serving the public by doing your job. (Thank you for doing this. You are an amazing person and you deserve more consideration and compensation for your service to the communities in which you live and work.) This is all weird and scary and dangerous.

Take it all in. Acknowledge what is going on. What you are in control of and what you are not in control of. Be honest. Look inward. Find yourself. Make art.

I’m not at all trivializing the danger that many people are in, especially those essential workers. It may seem like I’m saying, “Hey! Make some arts and crafts and everything will be okey-dokey! All your worries will just vanish!” No. I’m not saying that at all. What I’m saying is that being creative, making art can help a person deal with all of the scary-weird-crazy that seems to be happening in the world. A person can find one tiny area of their life in which they have control. No one else can tell them what to do or how to do it or where to go, or where to stay…it’s just them and the art. It may be only for a few minutes per day. Singing a song. Take a picture. Writing down their thoughts. Drawing a picture. Cooking a meal. Dance a dance. Planting some seeds. These small acts of creativity can grow into larger ones that help keep a person intact mentally and emotionally. COVID-19 will still be there after the art is created. Your mind will be different. You will be more yourself and feel as though, even though things suck right now, that you can get through it. You will get through this and it will change you.

So, I make tiny elephants. After I post this online, I’m going to make a third tiny elephant. I feel as though the pattern and the sequence of construction will be in the final form once I’ve completed it. Who knows what will come of my tiny elephant dolls and pattern? Maybe they will grow larger?

Thanks for reading, and I will see you next Monday.

Links:

A song by The Double Clicks, “Tiny Paper Elephant” seems to be a good song for everything that’s happening in the world right now. Listen to their other songs too. I love the Double Clicks! They’re amazing!

I know that the Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear has become quite popular right now. I’m a sci-fi fan and have actually read all six Dune books. (You can stop after the third book.) Here are two different versions. One from the really not-so-great David Lynch version, (some great casting, especially Sian Phillips) and one that’s a musical version from Akira the Don and Comic Girl 19. It might also be a good time to read the books, but remember! Stop after the third book! I mean it!

I’ve been watching/listening to a lot of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 over the past two weeks. It’s wonderfully funny and goofy. Right now, some people need that more than anything.

The Bugs are Taking Over!

I usually post here on Tuesdays and Thursdays. With the Tuesday post being more of a rambling, personal and artistic stream-of-consciousness kind of post, and the Thursday post all about the business, marketing and entrepreneurial part of trying to sell my artwork and my art workshops and teaching abilities. I’ve been wanting to change around my established posting days for a while, and right now this seems like a good time to do it. From this point forward, I intend to post on Mondays (rambling stream-of-consciousness posts), Wednesdays (business, marketing and entrepreneurial posts), Fridays (about the artwork that I am currently creating) and Sundays (photo posts). As always, what works will stay, what doesn’t work will be changed. 

Bernard is practicing his elevator spiel on Howard and Walter. I’m not sure that they are really ‘into’ what Bernard has to say.

The last two weeks or so has been a bit of a blur for me. The whole world seems to have been up-ended for just about everyone. I work from home, as does my husband. Self-isolating is not as much of a burden upon either one of us, as it might be to many, many other people in the world. My husband has done a fantastic job of making sure that we have food to eat, with the intent of only going to the grocery store once a week. He’s always said that as long as he has an internet connection, he can work. This is exactly what he’s done. I have plenty of art supplies and tools. I’ve always been tremendously good at being a self-entertaining, and largely self-contained entity, so staying home isn’t so bad for me.

What has taken a bit of a smack are the plans I had for advertising the art workshops that I am available to teach to individuals, as well as small and large groups of people. That whole idea has had to take a backseat in my entrepreneurial plans for now. It’s disappointing, but looked at from a wider, more community-based perspective, I do not want anyone to become ill or potentially die because I just had to teach a workshop. So, they are on hold for now. They’re shelf-stable. Nothing will spoil. I’ll get to teach again in the future.

I’ve been working on some ideas for another project, as well as making some new tiny dolls; bunnies and bears. Last night, I created a tiny duck (I named him Bernard this morning). I’ve done some work on the website, hopefully to make it a little easier to navigate. I’ve also investigated adding an actual shop to the website, but at present, I’m not quite ready for it. I should have a steadier rate of sales before I do that. Right now, I’m still kind of in the ‘feast or famine’ part of my business plan. This indicates that I need to work on my marketing and advertising, so that people actually know that I have artwork for sale on my website.

I am so flippin’ bad at selling myself though! I keep telling myself that I need to take every opportunity to utilize the ‘shameless plug’ (insert the sound of a little bell here — ding!) to get my name and my artwork out there for people to see and perhaps purchase. This is not natural for me. I tend to want to blend into the background when it comes time to be the center of attention, with the weird exception of teaching. I’m completely and totally comfortable in front of a classroom of student teaching. Give me thirty squirmy seven-year-olds and I am in my element. Ask me to give a self-promotional 30 second elevator spiel to three people and I’m a knot of unbelievable tension and fear. I truly understand the fight or flight response in these situations.

There are some key differences between teaching art and talking to people I don’t know about my artwork, and maybe why they should perhaps sign-up for my art workshop or buy my artwork. The key component is control. In the classroom, I have a lot of control over the physical space, the objects within the space, the way the time is spent within the space, etc. When teaching children, there is a lot of implied control simply because I’m an adult and they are children. Children are expected to obey an adult in a position of authority. I’m also working, teaching, within a realm that I find incredibly comfortable, art and creativity. In some instances, I as the adult am there to assuage the fears of children who may not have the real world experience to deal with new and unexpected situations, materials, spaces, thoughts and ideas. Because of my comfort with the level of control over various aspects of teaching art to students in the classroom, I’m more comfortable letting students push boundaries, get a little messy and a little loud. If things get a little out of control, I know how do deal with it. A sharp look at a student, a vocal indicator, “Hey! We need to bring the noise down a little everyone!” or a practiced reaction to an accident, “Okay. Go get the paper towels by the sink and a box of baby wipes. Let’s clean this up.” This also relies of the students in my classroom knowing that what to expect from me as a teacher, mentally and emotionally, as well as their levels of familiarity with the space, the supplies and the general course of any given lesson taught.

When speaking with someone, often times a total stranger, about my artwork, my creative process, my theories on creativity, etc., I’m dealing with a lot of unknowns. If we use the elevator metaphor, I’ve never met these people. I don’t know if they have any experience with art, or creating anything at all, ever. Maybe their art teacher made them cry, or someone called them a crappy artist when they were a kid. I have no understanding of how they interpret the concept of a doll, or how I have fused them to core parts of my internal mental and emotional self. I have no idea if they will even respond to the way in which I speak about the world or my art. They are giant, blank, scary, tall, scary people who I feel are more than likely judging the holy crap out of me based solely on my physical appearance. So I choke. I often times head down the path of self-deprecation, which down-sells me and my work, and does nothing to make me seem like i have any idea of who I am or what I’m doing.

As an art teacher, I feel so at home in front of a bunch of kids. I feel like I can show more of my true self to them than I can to some adults. I can be goofy and fun with kids. When you do that with some adults, they think you’re a weirdo. I’m an endlessly curious person who has reveled in a lifetime of learning and exploration of all kinds of different thoughts, ideas, concepts and creations. Some of my own creations, some by others. There is always something new to learn and explore and sometimes I feel as though some of the adults I encounter have kind of put the learning and exploring away as part of their childhood. That perhaps, because I make artwork, I make dolls, it looks as though I’m a child playing, and children are simple, therefore I must somehow too be simple? I’m not sure. These things run through my head as I’m trying not to choke on my fear when presenting myself as an artist who makes dolls to scary adult people I do not know.

So, where does this leave me? Well, I do know what’s going on inside my own head, that’s one. Knowing that I have these thoughts and feelings is the first of many steps in figuring out how to deal with my own internal difficulties. I have been working on some online advertisements for my website, and my artwork. Creating a wording that strikes the right balance between quirky enough to get a persons attention and being out-right weird as all get out has been an interesting exercise for me marketing wise.

I don’t think that these advertisements are earth-shatteringly amazing or anything. I don’t think they have to be either. As always, I’m trying to build upon successes, and learn from my mistakes. Thank you for reading, and I’ll see you next Monday.

Musical Links:

There have been times in my life when the words of either Henry Rollins, Elvis Costello or David Byrne flash to the forefront of my mind, offering some sort of wisdom to get through a given situation, or simply to offer a sense of artistic solidarity during a trying event in my life. I’ve been an Elvis Costello fan since I first heard My Aim is True. He is a masterful lyricist who packs every single song so tightly with lyrics that I swear you can’t wedge another syllable in, lest the whole thing blow apart. If you’ve never heard of him, give him a listen. I’ve always personally thought that everyone should have his first three albums in their collections, but I’m a fan.

Elvis Costello and the Attractions Fish n’ Chip Paper (Trust, 1981)

Elvis Costello and the Attractions  Radio, Radio (1978)

Elvis Costello Hurry Down Doomsday (The Bugs are Taking Over) (Mighty Like a Rose, 1991)

Candle Holder

St. Dominic, founder of the Dominican Order. There is a story about how he made a bothersome devil and/or demon monkey-ape ‘be still’ and hold his candle while he worked.

(I realized, last night that I had forgotten to post my regular Tuesday journal blog post on my website. It honestly slipped my mind. I had plans for Monday that got postponed until Tuesday, so I was doing some of the things on Tuesday that I had planned for Monday…so, I guess I felt like I had two Mondays? The weather here in Finland isn’t doing me any favors at the moment either, as it’s cold, damp and overcast, with the daily temperatures in the positives. This means it’s time for some barometric pressure headaches. They suck. Right now, it feels like someone is pinching and pulling the bridge of my nose, while simultaneously pounding nails into various points from my temples to the back of my head. My eyes hurt every time I move them. Bleh. Hopefully the ibuprofin will kick in soon. Anyway, on with the post!)

I’ve had competing urges over the years. One is to categorize myself and my artwork, and the second is to scrunch-up my face and declare that wish to remain outside of any type of categorization. The problem with this is that I already have self-categorized my artwork, and what the rest of the world (art world, craft world, people who are completely outside those worlds, etc.) thinks of my artwork is much more complicated. Where these two conflicting categorizations prove the most difficult for me is when it comes to the marketing of my artwork.

I am an artist. I identify myself first and foremost as an artist. This is something that has not changed much over the years, with the exception of adding ‘art teacher’ to it. I am an artist and art teacher. This is correct. I feels right. They are essential parts of who I am as a human being. Yadda, yadda, yadda, and so forth and so on, ad infinitum. You have heard all of this from me before. A lot.

I had a bit of an epiphany several days ago after some conversations with my husband (Berin Kinsman) regarding the problems I feel as though I am having in marketing myself as an artist (with artwork to sell) and an art teacher (with workshops to teach). Part of the reason for the conversations was a prompt from Meet the Maker, ‘Love to Make’ from day eight of the challenge. I had taken some pictures of pieces that I had created that were in many ways very different. They were all examples of the element of experimentation that is an integral component in my love of making the artwork that I create.

I love to experiment. My curiosity drives this love of experimentation. I think it also is a big part of why I’m such a magpie, using all kinds of different materials that I either pick out of the recycling or find at second hand shops. There are some tools, materials and supplies that I purchase ‘new’. I just bought some felt at Eurokangas earlier in the week, as well as some lovely decorated papers. The fact that I can do this does not prevent me from buying a shirt at a second shop and taking it apart for the fabric and buttons or saving the foil wrapping of chocolate bars and mailing circulars to use in my artwork.

Part of the difficulty of working with materials that are kind of finite. I can’t just go to the corner shop and pick up the lavender yarn that I found at a second hand shop a few weeks ago. Sometimes that materials, especially the fibers and threads, at second hand stores are from the stashes of people who purchased them twenty years ago or more. My chances of finding more of the insanely lovely yellow thread (on a wooden spool!) that was of Finnish manufacture, around the early 1960’s, is almost zero. Once these materials are used up. There simply is no more of it. Each of the dolls I create is made more one-of-a-kind because of the supplies that I use.

The other part, the mental one, is that I tend to create my work in groups. I get an idea. I start creating a pattern, and choose my colors. The materials are gathered. I sit down and start making. Before I know it, I’ve created dozens (or sometimes hundreds) of pieces working within a theme, and with some of those finite supplies described above. I usually have a a technique I want to try, or am trying to figure out how to make the materials and supplies I have do the thing I want them to do. Most of the time, the materials and supplies start asserting their own will, and compromises are struck between what I want to do and what they will do. I continue working. I refine ideas. I change around the sequence of construction. I add elements. I subtract elements. I note changes I want to make in subsequent pieces. I keep making the art over and over and over again until I feel as though I’ve exhausted the possibilities within the work itself.

In other words, I get bored. I make a thing until I get bored with it, and am seduced by a new idea or thought that I feel like I could form into something interesting. The ‘interesting’ should be construed as learning a new technique, or solving some kind of challenge in using a type of material I have and really want to use in some way. This means I will furiously make a thing until I don’t want to anymore. Then I’m done with it and am on to something else. It’s rather dog and butterfly of me. I’m completely focused and working on a series of pieces. Eyes and nose down. Ignoring everything else, until…I’m not. Once that new idea is seen, I’m off chasing it. And I’m done making the previous art work.

While Berin and I were talking, he pointed out that he, as a writer, works to create products expressly to sell. I create artwork because I have to. The thought of selling it, comes second. It’s not the reason for the creation. While this allows me a great deal of creative freedom, it makes successfully marketing my work to potential buyers much more difficult. As an art teacher, this ability to change the lessons, materials, ages taught, etc., work from a marketing standpoint, because what I am selling is my ability as a teacher of art first, and what the participant in the workshop will learn and make a very close second. Being flexible and well-versed in teaching methodologies as well as tools, technique and materials usage, is what a good art teacher should be.

As an artist, and an artist that is essentially a great big nobody from nowhere in the larger art world, my ever-changing series or groups of artwork, can be off-putting to a potential buyer. I cannot be depended upon to create a specific type or style of artwork for any set length of time.

I had been mulling over ways in which I thought perhaps I could alter the Little Ladies to make them sell better. Alterations that would make these tiny dolls more attractive to a wider-variety of potential customers. I found myself internally hesitating at each of these ideas. I felt that these alterations would make my artwork more derivative and less referential. I would be doing something that I felt had already been done, and done better by others as well. The purpose of these Little Ladies is tied so tightly to my own childhood and the toys I had and loved. Most importantly, as an adult, revisiting these things from my childhood, I am able to create what I wanted to be able to create when I was little. I wanted to alter those toys and dolls I had to better fit what I needed them to be within my tiny, little-kid Katie world that is decades past.

I feel as though it comes from a place of privilege that I can say, “Oh. I won’t compromise my artistic principles or my artistic vision!” I can honestly say, if I weren’t married, I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss making alterations to my work that would make it more marketable to a greater number of people. Not everyone has the luxury of not selling the work that they create. Every piece created is a monetary investment in a future that hopefully sees its purchase. These are those artists and craftspeople who hustle. And I admire their abilities, because they’ve got things figured out that I am still stumbling through.

Now that I know that I’m kind of working at marketing my work is a rather challenging manner (the cart before the horse?) I need to be creative and figure out how to make it work for me. The artwork comes first, with no thought of who would buy it or how it can be used. And the marketing aspects coming second.

Thanks for reading, and I’ll see you next Tuesday.

Apples and Oranges

Participating in Meet the Maker March is forcing me to think about some areas of my own entrepreneurial plans that aren’t as solid as I once thought they were. In the past, this type of realization might cause me to panic, but it’s not. In fact, there’s no panic at all, merely some annoyance at the fact that I have areas within my plan that have not completely gelled. Perhaps a little annoyance at the fact that I have to come up with some kind of answer or solution for them as well, but I kind of figure that is part and parcel of being a one-horse small art business!

During the past week, I’ve been thinking a lot about where I fit (I wrote a blog post about it) in an amongst other groups of artists, creators and makers. Where do I fit mentally? Creatively? Where does my artwork fit in the incredibly large, and ever-growing sea of artists, creators and makers who are trying to sell their art and/or craft? That last one, regarding where my artwork fits, from the standpoint of marketability, as a generator of that modicum of income I would like to be able to achieve…that is the point in which I don’t feel as though I have everything quite figured out yet. There are still areas that are more or less ‘un-gelled’.

In the post that I wrote previously, I talked mostly about wanting/needing to fit in with creative people, to find that community in which I could feel as though I was creatively and emotionally supported. What I’m talking about here is how do I categorize myself and my artwork for in the entrepreneurial arena?

If you’ve not familiar with exactly how large this creator-maker-artistic sales arena is, it is huge, like, Godzilla-sized huge, and sometimes just as pants-sh!tingly terrifying to contemplate as an insignificant little one-horse shop, like I am. I stand in awe of the creators and makers out there who are busting their butts as they hustle and work hard every day just to keep up with the ebbs and flows of this market. I admire them, while at the same time, I know I cannot be like them.

I had an exchange with another maker recently regarding the element of time and how it’s used as a creator. Specifically, the amount of time that is spent creating the artwork that we each sell. This maker said that they had worked to cut down on the amount of time devoted to the creation of their work, so that they could create work at a price point low. When I really thought about it, I seem to create and sell in almost diametrical opposition.

All artists and creators, after a certain amount of experience, can gauge how long it will take them to accomplish a task required by their craft or art form. How long to rough cut the wood for a set of chairs. How long to prep the loom for a weaving. How long and what ingredients are required to bake and decorate a wedding cake. How many Berol Prismacolour pencils in peacock green will be needed to finish the background of that illustration. How long it will take to crochet a queen-size blanket. For me, how much felt to do I need and how long will it take me to knock together a 6 cm doll? What can I essentially ‘batch’? Like covering the bases or braiding the yarns that go around the edges. I’ve got a pretty good sense of time when it comes to these sorts of tasks and batching does make them go faster. But reducing the amount of time that I spend on the creation of a piece of art so that I may lower a potential selling price never enters my mind.

Time for me is an essential component of the price of the artwork. Yeah. There are parts that I can make go more quickly, but then there are other parts of creation that just take time. If you have seen my artwork, I do a lot of embroidery work in and on all of my pieces, even those that are papier maché. To reduce the amount of time spent on my artwork would require me to fundamentally alter the artwork in a manner that I do not find creatively satisfying in the least. I could make strictly papier maché dolls and completely forgo any surface decoration, either in pencil, paint or embroidery. I could make tiny dolls with clothing that has no embellishment. No embroidery. No crochet work. No bases for display. I could do that. But I don’t want to.

That last comment makes me sound like a petulant three-year-old! “I don’t wanna!” accompanying by little clenched fists and stampy little feet. Here’s the thing that I realized as it regards where my artwork fits in this sea of artists, creators and makers: I have my own visions of my own artwork and create using those visions and with the aid of the influences of my personal past and the larger world I was formed it (I’m a Gen X-er). I think part of my difficulty is that I’m trying to force my work into a category in which it does not belong. I am first and foremost, an artist. I love being an artist. I revel in wallowing and mucking-about in my own personal artwork creation on a daily basis. I strive to be uniquely myself in my actions and products as an artist. I have constructed my entire life around being able to create artwork. I have made specific decisions regarding this. I have had to forego some parts of what some might think of as a more normalized life, in favor of giving myself the ability to let art take precedence before anything else. It is one of my strongest internal driving forces.

I suppose what it all boils down to for all of those potential buyers of art an craft work is whether they would prefer an apple or an orange. It’s just a matter of preference. Sometimes the price point is a major factor in their choice, sometimes it isn’t. I know who I am, and I feel like this Meet the Maker challenge is helping me get those weird un-gelled areas figured out for myself and this can only be a good thing for me as an artist and as an entrepreneur.

This post got a little strange, so thank you for reading! Here are some links to things that have been rattling-around in my brain for the past week or so, each making their own contributions to the verbosity of the above post:

Todd Rundgren: ‘Day Job

Henri Tajfel: Social Identity Theory (Research Gate; Encyclopedia of Critical Psychology)

Santigold: L.E.S. Artistes

Pixies: Debaser (Which I cannot listen to at anything less than ear-splitting levels)

Henry Rollins: The One Decision that Changed My Life Forever

 

Time

I make my own sketchbooks and notebooks. Rarely do I purchase them. I make them to my personal specifications and they serve my creative needs well.

I wrote yesterday about participating in this years Meet the Makers challenge on Instagram. Yesterdays prompt was ‘Time’. Time seems to be something I always feel in short supply of as an artist. I feel extremely fortunate to not suffer from artist block. Time for me is short, but I have more ideas than I can possibly create in my head and in my sketch and notebooks.

I mentioned in my Instagram post that I have been told “You have a lot of time on your hands!” in the past by some people looking at, or experiencing my artwork for the first time. I said that I kind of smile and shrug it off in my post, but it goes deeper than that. I smile and shrug it off to the face of the person or people who are saying this to me because I don’t think that they have any kind of ill intent towards me or my artwork. I don’t think they are trying to demean me in any way, as if by saying the aforementioned phrase, the true meaning is, “Wow. You have nothing real or worthwhile in your life. No husband. No kids. No real job. No house to take care of. No one and no thing that demands your immediate attention all of the time. Oh. And cats don’t count. They just make you sadder and more pathetic.” Yes. I know. I kind of go off on a bit of a tangent with the reading between the lines. There are reasons why I do this, even if it is just internally: I’m a woman and I’ve been ‘Queen Bee’d’ since I was a kid; I had a caregiver that is the absolute monarch of passive-aggressiveness, meaning, I learned from The Master of the craft from an early age, and I’m weirdly sensitive, even though I seem like I just smile and shrug it off, while at the same time I’m screaming like a banshee in my head.

That all being said, last year, I wondered how much time I was actually spending creating my artwork. How much time did it actually take to create one of the Creative Experiment dolls? I decided to gather some data and crunch some numbers and see what I could learn.

I recorded my start and end times during periods of work, as well as what exactly I was doing during that specific time. I conducted five separate tests; four with completely original doll designs, and one in which I duplicated a doll form, but created different appliqué and embroidery work on. Upon completion of each doll, I went through my recorded data and came up with how many hours it took me to complete the piece.

Man. I hope my math is correct. I feel like I’m letting everyone look at my homework for third period algebra class.

I then gave myself three separate hourly wages; $20, $10 and $7.25 per hour. As a public school art teacher, I was earning around $22.50 per hour. I chose $20 (17.98€) per hour as my top-end, because of the length of time I have been a practicing artist, as well as my possessing a bachelors degree in art. The $10 (8.99€) per hour, was a kind of middle of the road kind of hourly wage that I have been paid in past employment situations. $7.25 (6.52€) per hour is the US minimum wage. I also used an arbitrary set price for the given doll of $100 (89.90€), and then worked out how much I would be earning per hour, if the doll sold at that price.

I did not figure the price of materials and tools in the creative process. Nor did I include utility usage (water and electricity), or the square footage of my workspace within the residential apartment in which I live. The element of time was my sole concern for this experiment.

I knew that the $20 per hour wage would make my artwork completely unmarketable. No one would buy one of my dolls for $431.60 (21 hours, 58 minutes to complete doll).Perhaps if I were a better known artist, or had the stamp of approval from a gallery, museum or show space, there could be a possibility of selling my work for that price, but the gallery, museum or show space is going to take a chunk of that money. Many artists like myself have difficulty even getting a foot in the door for spaces like this, because we are (as one gallery owner told me years ago), “You are not a proven seller. I can’t risk the floor space on you.” I’m not saying this is a good or bad thing (that’s a topic for another blog post entirely!) but it’s the way that it is for many artists.

The $10 per hour wage was not an attainable price point either. That $431.60 doll, goes down to $251.80 (226.36€) at the aforementioned hourly wage. Still, much too high for many, many people to readily afford. There have been times in the past in which I have broken down the price of a doll into payments for a buyer who really wanted a piece, but that is few and far between. To be honest, I do that for people that are past customers or who I really trust, because I’ve gotten burned on propositions like this in the past. Really, really burned.

The $7.25 minimum wage in the US brings the price further down to $156.45 (140.64€). For a set few people, perhaps the types of people who regularly buy artwork from local or regional artists at galleries and shows could purchase them. But if they don’t like  style of my work, or are part of the ‘niche’ that gets my work, likes my work and wants to own my work, the chances of them putting money down for my work, even at this lowest price, is relatively slim.

When I set an arbitrary price of $100 on this piece, my hourly wage is $4.63 (4.16€) per hour. And remember, I’ve not even factored in the tools, materials, rent and utilities involved in creating the piece of artwork. There is also the personal and professional efficacy (knowledge, experience and ability) involved in the creation of the piece. Nor is there any accounting for the creativity and personal artistic expression accounted for in this calculation.

Now, all of this being said, I do not feel that the world owes me. That the world must buy my artwork. No. Not at all. Nothing is guaranteed like that in life. It would be super-nice if I could occasionally sell my artwork at prices that better reflect my personal investment of time, efficacy, energy, creativity and craftsmanship into the artwork itself. For those reading this, I would hope that the next time you look at the price tag of a piece of artwork in a gallery, or at an arts sale, that you stop and think before rolling your eyes at the high price. Know that there is a lot of furious, dedicated work going on prior to you setting eyes on it. When you buy that artwork, you are buying a part of a persons life. A specific length of time, a period in the evolution of their own unique creative vision, that has come and gone and left the artwork as a mile-marker. If you love the work and can afford it, buy it! If you can’t buy it, but still love it, please tell the artist how much you love it and appreciate their time and energy being spent in the pursuit of making the world more unique and beautiful. Please do not say, “Wow. You have a lot of time on your hands!