Christmas Shows in August

Okay, not quite what you might think. I am working through the craft show schedule just now trying to figure out where I can go and make my mortgage money during the christmas season without losing my shirt! How would anyone separate myself from my shirt, you ask?? The craft show ((that a fellow vendor at the Farmer's Market runs, who is very nice and sells onions and carrots with the rest of us every saturday)) has the audacity to request $720 for three days in a stall that is 10 feet by 6, almost the smallest spot they offer.

A quick calculation adding gas and food for the 125 km round trip gives me a rough total of a thousand dollars before I have sold a pot. Then you take into account the fact that clay and glazes cost a lot of money, not to mention how much of the christmas bonuses paid out to the executives at BC HYDRO comes in the form of the massive kilowatt charges that my kiln gobbles up making mugs!!

If I sell my art work for twice the price I pay for raw materials (not that that is how I figure it out) I would actually have to sell $2000 worth of pots in those three days to take home $500. Again, read previous blog rants, the money goes from your carefully guarded pocket into a lovely mug, then into my hand and then gets torn in half and given to "ENTER NAME OF RANDOM CRAFT SHOW HERE" and then bc hydro and I arm wrestle over the last few coins after the mortgage has bitten off what it could chew!

This is the real reason that I have my own show every year. This year will be the FOURTH annual Trial By Fire Pottery Show and it will be on the last weekend of November 2010. I rent the Clements Centre (who uses the money to help disabled persons and their families) and pay for some advertising and use the free ones and then each person who comes out to buy the perfect little jug for cranberry sauce {that goes in the oven to keep it hot while you mash the potatoes and then goes in the dishwasher once the sauce has been licked off the outside so that you can get on with the family stuff} I can buy more clay and stay in the mud through another winter.

I have found a couple of Christmas Shows that are affordable and well organized and have a decent of return on your investment. I will post an official list of shows where people can come and find me during November and December this year. So far I am in Christmas Chaos and the Providence Farm Christmas Show both in Duncan both very nice shows and well organized although the Christmas Chaos Craft Fair has absolutely NO WEB PRESENCE and doesn't even ruffle a feather in google.

I am going away for a while with Dave to support his Ironman Triathlon in Penticton and look forward to seeing some family during and after the event. We are going to make a trip out of it and stay with my sister in Canmore for a few days and hopefully have some nice chats over a cool beer with both of our sets of parents and siblings. For now I have to trim and handle some mugs that will dry slowly in the damp shelves while we are away and harvest the chick peas and set them in the sun to dry so I can plant them next year and grow some more. Then I have to pack for myself, the dogs and for the cat to stay here, while trying to encourage Dave to remain calm and laugh a lot so as to avoid turning into "race dave" which he hasn't been doing for the last few years. I must add lastly that I will try to relax while I am away as I have realized that working for 25 cents an hour from home has turned me into a bit of a work-a-holic who might just need a vacation with my super fit husband.

The beautiful photo was taken last winter during one of Dave's hundreds of training rides by his dad, Lloyd. So there, it does snow a little here if you get up the 'mountains' high enough!

Deep breathe, in through your mouth, out through your nose

I found my trip over to Salt Spring Island to be many things and the daily phone calls home were a testament to the variety of days I had. The course started with the usual introductions and "tell a little about yourself". Each person said what they do for a living and how they are involved with clay. There was a software designer, a couple of office types and some very well travelled others whose stories would fill the afternoons while I was dishing fresh bruschetta onto local chevre smeared across a crisp bread. I have to say that I really enjoyed sitting in the shade and eating (as I love to do) listening to people talk about clay and life. When it was my turn to say something, I introduced myself as a potter who works full time (plus a part time job as a potter, hahahahhaha) about 50 hours a week and that I sell my work at Markets and a gallery and a few coffee shops. Everyone was suitably impressed and ooohhh'd and aaahhh'd that they just can't wait until they retire in a year of two and really go for it.

As the days wore on, however, there was a certain amount of distance growing between myself and the group who were all at least 25 years older than I am. It started with the ease with which I throw things. Not just small things but after you have made a zillion pots with care and attention they all get lighter and more pleasing. I was asked to make a set of various shapes and made the assigned work in the morning before we broke for lunch. It was actually a little embarrassing to see others struggling to center their second attempt at "the cylinder" after we came back from the garden lunch break. I was challenged to throw an enclosed donut on the wheel and gave it a try, as I had never made one before, it was exciting. It closed for me and I wet trimmed it and cut it free from the wheel head and picked it up!

One of the skills that our instructor was trying to get across was the reduction in water use. Every beginner uses litres of water on each piece because they feel like their skin is sticking to the clay, which of course it is, but this takes a long time to get used to. The plan was to practice using metal or plastic ribs (the shape of a capital "D" cut out of stiff material) on the clay to compress and stretch the clay without using water for the sticking. It was a little ironic though because I will throw all day and have a dry catch bin at 10pm when I call it a day.

I was interested in using the Laguna B Mix, Cone 10, as I have never thrown it before and I have heard it is really buttery. It was as soft as they say and I soon realized that the reason you needed to throw with ribs and slip instead of water was that it had a bit less wet strength than my usual Plainsman clay. The other thing that became painfully obvious the morning of the second day, was that it also became rancid over night, as I gagged after dipping my sponge into the throwing water I would be re-using. I have smelled humans decomposing, cadavers full of formaldehyde and necrotic tissue on people who were still very much alive but this powerful black sludge would be proud of it's smell amongst them all.

I was camping on the gorgeous property and so was up at 7 and over making breakfast and coffee and reading a pottery book a full hour before the rest of the class would arrive. Once the class was over each day, I would find some more food (glorious food) and sat and read books about pots and potters until I would have to brush my teeth by the light of my cell phone and pump up the air mattress in total darkness as the wind up LED lantern would only last a few minutes with each winding.

I learned some really great ideas about how to be a potter in the future, the instructor was 78 and could work just as hard as I could (I'm 32) she walked every day and the food producing part of her garden was the same size as mine and she was replanting for the second go round of peas this year. Her garden was also surrounded by another huge flower garden that would grace any magazine cover that ever took a look! She had retired from her life as an academic from Alaska to Salt Spring in the early '90's and had pursued potting full time, after almost 20 years of potting starting in '72.

I tried things that I would have never tried to make because they may or may not be successful and most things need to be dried/soaked/reclaimed and wedged back up by hand if they are terrible. Her magic pugmill was a thing of beauty and I spent three hours on the first afternoon helping the studio assistant re-work the clay from that day. It could really work clay back up and if you got the wet and dry stuff balanced just right the clay was workable. It was however full of crap. I was very surprised how many times everyone was stopping each day to bellow or groan about a chunk of "sh*t" in the clay that was ruining the item they were working on. I didn't figure out of the little black or beige lumps were in the boxed clay or were a part of the pugger or just random bits from the studio.

I was also weirded out by the plywood work surfaces that were everywhere, the slightest contact with the sticky wet clay would leave bits of wood in everything. I have a piece of canvas on my wedging table and once a piece is thrown it goes onto a drywall batt (that a new house construction waste pile was kind enough to donate) that has a very strong edge of duct tape. The only bits of junk that end up in my way are tiny (though largely infuriating) bits that break off my sponges. Too many sponge bits and I cut a new synthetic sponge into 4 pieces and throw the old ones into a jar that I donate to whomever wants them.

The class and trip were wonderful and I am a better person for going. On one hand I am simply more focused on being a potter and making my work and then selling it, but on the other hand it was quite disappointing that no one else understood that process. The instructor has a pension and all the other classmates were looking at clay as a hobby whereas I see it as the life blood (though quite thick and hard to pump) that is my life. I guess I thought that there would be a kindred spirit feeling there but I ended up leaving two days early with a taste in my mouth that they had all decided that I simply made clay crap that I thought would sell to pay the bills and that there was a decidedly higher meaning in it for them and they were "artists" who made clay work only to suit their whims and no other (dirty) purpose. I had to suggest that the opportunity to sell one's work was a nice way to be able to buy more clay but it seemed 'low' somehow to do so.

I had a funny little image in my head while I was there of the "clay artist" buying a box of clay and carrying it to the studio and building something out of it and carefully firing and glazing it and being excited with the result and then walking out to the backyard and standing over a huge pit that they had dug and throwing the latest pot into the huge hole. They would then go back through the studio and get back into their car (i hate cars) and drive to the pottery supply place and buy another box of clay and repeat the cycle with all the pots until they too were cast into the huge pit of their pots that were made purely for the amusement of the artist.

Frankly, I will keep making pots that are lovingly referred to by complete strangers as "everyday pottery, that you would just take for granted" hearing that at the festival I was at on Monday made my heart grow two whole sizes. Imagine the perfect mug, whose shape settles into your hand as though made specially for you, the glaze is smooth and pleasant to the tongue and lips and you make tea or coffee each morning for that perfect mug that you bought from some woman at a Market, or the lidded casserole that you bake brie in for girls night at your house, or maybe you have a huge bowl that you make bread in for special occasions, you really didn't have that much money but it has been a beautiful part of your kitchen for years and years. If all I ever make is pleasant pots that really work for people and last for years, I am deeply satisfied, others may happily continue to fill that hole in the backyard while I take your $20 bill to the store and buy more clay to make another pleasant pot.

On my studio walls there are sticky notes with sayings on them and this one fits here well:

"We can do no great things , only small things with great love." ~ Mother Teresa

PS Hello to Charlene an artist trapped in a cubicle which pays for her home, welcome to the conversation!

Trip Prep

I have been throwing a lot lately trying to get a little bit ahead as I have committed to going to the Sidney Market on thursday evenings and two of them fall inside of the workshop that I am going to on Salt Spring Island from July 19-31. I will make the trip back by bicycle and ferry to get here in time to throw a load of clothes in the washing machine and jump in the shower and then load up for the trip down to the show. I will then sleep in my own bed that night (which happens to be my birthday) and then ride back to Crofton at 5am to catch the first ferry off our island to the othere island and back to the pottery course.

I am really looking forward to getting away for a while and reading some of the books in Judy Weeden's vast library of clay literature. Mainly I look forward to not doing production for a few days and just working with clay in a way that doesn't relate to a customer, also I am looking forward to not having any lessons, the last few months seem to have been filled with other people's kids who range in age from 6 to 16.

I might also be away from the Market and all that it entails, but it depends on how things are going with my sales whether I might come back for a few. It is funny but I am really starting to feel like I am attached to the Market and have committed so much time and thought to the good governance of the society with all it's foibles! The one true beauty of pottery is that you can put on the radio and be fully engaged with the first person account of the second world war that you are listening to or you can work in silence and be truly in the moment, in yourself and in your own space like other jobs I've had don't allow. You can also put your old Moxy Fruvus CD in and yell along to the words while you load the kiln and despair about the destruction of our planet. That came out sort of sad sounding..... I am finally very happy, I love my job and what it allows for. I can come upstairs at 230 and make a fresh meal for Dave that simmers and bubbles until he bumps his bicycle into the front door reaching for the doorknob, he opens the door and I am careful to watch as he pulls a huge breath of sweet smelling aroma into his nose and wonders what I've made him for dinner. You can't buy that with all the $8/hour jobs in the world.

Spend a Week in My Tree

That was by far one of the longer weeks in my life, perhaps not quite as long as the week I spent crawling around on my hands and knees in fire school learning search techniques, but long enough indeed! The bruises were getting worse every day and there wasn't any part of my lower body that I could rest against the tree to hold myself in place without pressing on a contusion. There were lots of emails coming in saying that what I was trying to do wasn't crazy but brave from family, in-laws and complete strangers!

Some pottery customers (Brenda and Brian) brought me an amazing gift basket with all sorts of fruit and snacks, even a box of danish brie that I nibbled with the crackers they gave me. I haven't had a gift box since I was starving my way through college and had forgotten how neat it is to open each jar of thoughtfulness and realize that each item in the box was carefully selected with you in mind. I lost 9 pounds in the tree week and needed a little extra food to get my strength back.

The long weekend ended with a cold rain and my coming down from my perch at 10pm to go home get a hot shower, nibble on some food and fall asleep on the couch until Dave made me get up and go to bed. I set my alarm for 4 am and was already awake as the alarm went off, in my Our Lady Peace T-shirt and out the door before 430. Dave buying and giving me the shirt with the tree on it was such a boost of support for me every time I looked at it or thought about it I felt accepted (even acting out like I was).

There was also a lot of support at the tree itself. All sorts of people came and chatted and a lady that lives on the creek that flows around the park we were in, came out for a walk the Tuesday morning and leaned against the tree and couldn't leave! There was a whole group gathered the morning that the workers came back to work. We all sat and waited and they talked among themselves, some of them talked about how they had called the municipal office when it was open and then called the mayor at home and talked to his wife. The thought of all these beautiful people calling the elected municipal counsellors at home during the long weekend made me laugh, maybe it wasn't just my weekend that was ruined by the decisions they had made to randomly cut trees down, maybe the people who actually approved of the plan could have a very long and tiring weekend!! (hahahhaha)

The City counsellors that had come to talk to me and see these gorgeous trees, worked through the weekend trying to get a consensus to ask the Municipality to sit down with them and find a way around the trees. There was a meeting scheduled between the two groups of politicians for the Wednesday. When I was told that meeting and was assured that no more trees would be cut until after they had talked, I assured them that I really appreciated all the hard work but that I wasn't getting down until I had a written letter proving that they would not cut anything down.

So I sat. I read aloud from a James Herriot. I adjusted on my bruises.
The assembled group stood, handed me tea and apple cake (made from local apples) and one of the naturalists, Genevieve Singleton, lent me a book about the ecosystem that lives around and under the Garry Oak trees full of beautiful photos. They chatted, took photos, shot video and everyone waited in the rain.

My little red cell phone rang in my zipper pocket, I answered, "Tree phone, Hilary speaking!" and it was the Mayor or North Cowichan. He told me that he was just stepping out of an unrelated meeting and had found out that the baseball people had found a way to work around the existing trees. I listened and wasn't sure what to say. I was happy but I guess I had never actually thought of what I would do if we won. I thanked him and then said that I would get down when I had that in writing. He explained that his staff was sending an official press release to all involved and the papers as we spoke!

I hung up and yelled for everyone to focus on me for a minute and then yelled that I had good news. A huge cheer went up from the group and everyone hugged the person beside them. What a lovely sight from way up there to see all these strangers embracing and laughing and in their own small way...winning.

They had done it! Each phone call and every email was counted and answered and applied the pressure that it was intended to. Each one of them owned this victory, they had become "public pressure"!

I got a group of rapid fire calls from the press and they said that they would bring down a copy of the press release that they had received, for me to read. I agreed to stay for a few photos and an interview and then started to undo my shelter and all the ropes that were securing my things.

It was funny how little a person really needed, mostly it was the support that everyone showed for the tree and the reasons that I was up there. My amazing husband was shocked when he called a while later and I told him I was back on the ground, I think he really expected to have to call all his friends to try to raise money to bail me out of jail. I handed my tarp and tea and backpack down to the helpful hands of the people who were waiting.

I climbed down and was hugged.

They took pictures.

They smiled and laughed and answered questions and dispersed slowly, very satisfied.

I was feeling a little lost, like I had been pushing against a huge brick wall with all my might and then the wall just disappeared.

I fell over, emotionally and felt kind of shocked. I automatically packed all my bits and pieces into and onto my back pack and decided to walk out through the middle of the construction site. I wanted to say good-bye to the foreman who had to worry about me on his site for a week. He stopped the machine he was in and walked over to the mucky road that I was on and grinned really wide. I had made my point and no one had gotten hurt or even really been confronted. I asked him if he had heard the news. I wanted to know if the politicians had told the only people that really mattered in this struggle, the guy with the plans and the chainsaw. We walked out to the paved road and he made a silly attempt to show the other construction workers that he was hauling me out by my arm. We had a good laugh and walked on.

Once at the edge of the construction site, we both instinctively turned around and looked back across the 30+ acres to admire the grand old tree glistening, maybe even sparkling in the pre-noon sunlight, her canopy full and strong.

A small breeze fluttered all her south facing leaves. She was saying thank you. She was tall and strong and staring me right back in the heart. She was saying.....nothing. As if she had always known that she was only alive by the mercy of her neighbours.

That day, that week, I was her neighbour. Then everyone was a good neighbour, they gave a damn, a phone call, an email, a gentle nudge to their friends, they pushed back.

Then the sun broke through the clouds and in a way that only happens here, the fresh rain really did sparkle off of every surface of that grand old tree.

Just a tree....my ass!!! (pun intended)

Tree Sitting

Okay, that was a very weird and painful week! I was having a pleasant morning sleep-in with my husband Dave, when we were awakened to the sound of chainsaws. It sounded like the neighbour was cutting his house in half, long, sustained high rpm, chainsaw noise. I was raised in a house that afforded Saturdays to the delicate art of cutting up wood and chopping it and loading the old pick up and then sharing tea and ginger snap cookies.

This was not the short sounds of slicing a tree into fireplace sized logs. I listened for a while in bed and then heard a sound that was also a new a terrible one, a tree hit the ground and shook the whole area! My mind raced to the park behind our block that was to be under construction to build a large baseball park. Surely they weren't cutting down those giant grand old oak trees that give the entire park it's validity. I have taken every island visitor to this park and the gravel pathway allows the dogs to run wild without vehicle traffic and the less mobile to still walk comfortably.

I had some toast and coffee and listened to this chaos and then told Dave that I absolutely had to see what was going on! I threw some clothes on and went to ask the first person I saw with a reflective vest, what they were cutting down. The lovely young lady that was directing traffic was a bit shocked to encounter my questions and I was off across the mucky, sticky ground that had been scraped clear by the bulldozers to find the contractor, in no time.

I found him in the job site special: large, white, company work truck with the window open and papers everywhere. He was a warm, friendly man only a few years older than I am with an easy smile and the firm handshake of a hard working honest man. I asked what they were cutting down and he simply got out the large area maps and showed me.

This proposed ballpark is (I'm guessing here) at least 40 acres and has a gigantic Garry Oak in the back right corner of the one side. It is a magnificent specimen, rounded, full canopy, a huge, tall behemoth, starting with a trunk thick with age, that has to be 800 years old! She is beautiful! He laughingly assured me that no one would get any where near that huge old tree as it was set aside from the beginning due to it's high public profile and stature. The crew had lovingly named the old tree the 'hanging tree' as anyone who got too close to it would have been hung. (hahahaa, he smiled wide at this)

I asked about the other large oaks just behind and further from us and he brought a strong, caloused finger over the map to the place where the survey showed two small circles that had a computer line to the words "remove existing tree" which caused me to catch my breath short. I asked him if he had seen the trees and he explained that there was a project that he was working on in Nanaimo that was halted by someone discovering a Garry Oak with a trunk the size of a pop can!

He was shocked by the Municipality suggesting that he get the faller to cut all the trees on the slope, some of which had trunks that were 6 feet across. Someone had given the workers the 'heads up' that once the public sees trees fall down they go a little crazy so they should get there and get them cut down as close to the 7am noise bylaw as possible.

As nice as this man was to me, I knew that I was going to have to do something serious about this situation. I told him that I was going to go home to get a ladder to climb the tree, I wasn't sure what he thought but he smiled and waved goodbye. I went home and raced all over the house to do something to get this tree cutting stopped before they killed any more of these monster trees. I called the muni office, the MLAs (both of them), the municipal parks and rec guy, the Sierra Club, the environmental protection branch of the government, the MP and then in desperation the editor of the newspaper. Strangely enough, the editor had a few moments to talk when all others were way to busy to talk to me, he sent out a reporter and I was to meet him by the park.

I tore through the house putting things into the red backpack that had seen me through many difficult situations; rope, water, sleeping bag,nut bars, leather gloves, a tarp, wool toque, old wool sweater....I was running out of ideas and really had no idea what I was packing for! I was jogging with the back pack by the time I saw the reporter and was right mad that it had come to this. I lead him onto the pathway takes everyone right by these huge trees.

He asked what the backpack was for and I said that if I told him he would be an accessory. That only stalls a real reporter for a minute, he asked what my plan was, what I was thinking, what I was going to do, and then followed me to the tree that was next to be cut down and took a look at all of the stumps already cut. When his eyes came back to me I had tied a rope to the back pack and was (unceremoniously) clambered up to the first bifurcation in the tree. I hauled the back pack up and started to get to know my new home.

I honestly had no idea what I was doing but I really thought that they wouldn't cut it down with me in it. Yup, that's as far as I had thought this thing through! The car was at home and I was supposed to be picking Dave up from work later that day, it was looking like he would walk home with no explanation.

So there I was in the arms of a beautiful 800 year old tree, shaking from the natural fear of heights, and absolutely no plan what-so-ever!

Philanthropy, Cobble Hill Cross Country Mountain Bike Race 2010

First, I would like to reference the photo here from a local mountain bike race that we held this weekend on Cobble Hill on Vancouver Island. I have been involved with this group of cyclists for as many years as I have been on this glorious rock/island. They have encouraged me up the mountains and laughed when I ride off into the bushes and fall over from my own uncontrollable laughter. They have also straightened my handle bars and checked for broken bones when I have really crashed hard and stayed down for a while!
I am honoured to create the four, first prize beer steins for this race, which I volounteer and really enjoy making. I also have had a few really cute comments about trying to win a stein during the rest of the year when I have met up with people who were at the race and will be returning. The reactions that I got from both the race organizers and the racers was uplifting and humbling, I can't wait to make some more work for the next race we hold.
Donating pottery, in this case, warms my heart and makes me smile in the studio on a sunny afternoon, as I am trying to use a syringe full of runny slip clay to turn a line and blob of clay into a bicycle shape that will still look like a bike after it is covered in glaze and fired twice.
Now that is a donation! It starts in my soul and I actually laughed out loud (yes, as always, I was alone in the studio at the time) making the steins and remembering the precious afternoons I have spent on the mountains: riding, watching Dave race, cleaning up after the races and leaning on the car after a good ride hashing over how I finally rode that bridge or log that I have been scared of for--ever!
This year's Cobble Hill Cross Country Mountain Bike Race drew out an elite crowd, some pictured above, the likes of Melanie McQuaid and Drew McKenzie and other famous racers including Wendy Simms and Norm Thibault who showed the adoring crowd what real mountain cyclists look like in action, not the bumping into logs and bouncing back and "oooofffffff" noises that we normally see (looking down, that is, hahahahahhaa).
The little bike club that I happily support is not only a non profit but allowed Dave and I to take the cheque for their donation to the food bank here in Duncan, and give it to the manager there and get a little sunshine in return from her, she must be 80 years old (oh to be so involved when I'm 80!!).

Arts Funding Up-side-down

I attended the local art show here in the valley and was struck by the odd approach that arts funding users have taken. I think that if money from the government is being assigned to the "arts" whatever that means, that the general public thinks that the artists might be getting at least a portion of it. In fact, that is not happening.

Money comes in as a grant from the government (insert your name here) and the arts council uses it to pay rent on a building and staff costs to open the doors and answer phone and email. Now, as an idea this makes sense, a place for artists to set up a show and rotate through a whole community giving time for every artist to show their work to the public. What is missing here is any money going to the artist as VERY FEW items are sold from these installed shows and the commission paid out on a sale is between 30 and 60 percent off the top.

Lets say a $200 item is sold and the price was based on the artist's time and supplies (too numerous to list here) not to mention the talent, skills and education already invested. There would be a tiny cushion of money to buy more time (literally and figuratively) and more raw materials. With the $100 taken from the artist to pay for the building rental (etc) that doesn't leave any money to start the next work. The same work of art at $300 (just mark the price up to reflect the gallery cut you might suggest) would not sell, as we all know the market drives the price of the art, and that would leave the artist working two or three shitty jobs to pay their own rent. We haven't even touched on the fact that art needs to sell for a profit (read "retail" here) to keep anyone doing it.

I don't think that you, the government, wants the arts funding money to end up in the pocket of fat cat property owners but that's exactly where it ends up! One tiny wage is paid out to an office assistant and the rest goes to the very rich who can afford to own buildings in the downtown core where a gallery might survive, and the rest goes to (also painfully well off.....conrad black....need I say more) advertisers. Around here we have wonderful small papers that incite riot in the letters to the editor section and have biting criticism of really crumby local issues, but still, was that where the money was said to be going?

Arts funding should be spent having a large show or two a year, like the Ladysmith Arts Council puts on every year. A small fee is charged to cover the costs of the tent/hall rentals and the artists happily pay that. A small army of rugby players/band students who are fund raising for a trip somewhere or other, move all the tables and get a nice donation. The beauty of this type of show is that the artist is standing out there IN PERSON and meeting the public and when you select the perfect mug/carving/painting/basket you hand the bills to the person who desperately needs them to buy food and keep a roof over their head!

This type of event is exciting for the public. There is lead up and stories about the artists that you can meet if you attend the show and it is like a special trip to another world where people do what they want all day, a far away place from where the customer lives working 9-5 slinging hashbrowns at A&W.

I have had about a million people walk over to my stall and gaze over the pots only to have their eyes settle on me frantically knitting a warmer garment as the leaves fall around me, and say...'it must be such a wonderful life to be a potter...you know... full time'. I smile and put down the knitting and decide if I think they have any intention of buying anything before mentioning that I personally squeeze thousands of dollars out of the skin on my finger tips to pay the mortgage.

I also almost never start the bitter diatribe about how nowadays all houses require two incomes and a rentor, to stay afloat (not to mention $2000/year in property taxes) and that almost every artist I know has a full time job to support their habit, or as I call it: my life affirming work.

I understand the drive of a local small arts group to have a tiny gallery of rotating shows from the obscure to the grotesque on a monthly basis but this thinking is quite flawed. All of the money goes into building rental and trying desperately to create interest in the gallery, it also tires out each and every volounteer artist who sits in the window and waves to anyone passing by to come in and see the show. If anyone does enter the gallery, they politely walk around and try not to react to what they see and then drop a quarter into the large, truly oversized, donation jar by the door and leave, never to return.

A big, sexy show a couple times a year when everyone pulls together and works hard to make it into an event is a much better way to go. So the next time you consider the systems of thinking that surround you and SPEND YOUR/GOVERNMENT money, try to turn it upside down and look up a local artist who would really appreciate that money to buy a loaf of bread or some seeds to plant veggies to eat. After all, we may not have any money but we do have the early morning all to ourselves to weed the garden and watch the sun dance accross the grass towards our humble ambitions.