Slightly Off Center

Was scrolling Instagram yesterday, and saw that Ursula Vernon (@redwombatstudio) was in Australia and had posted a picture of a black swan. I'd just seen one much closer to home.

In the new rain diversion garden at Saturday Market.

Yup, it's a swan dive into the new Market Season. All the usual features were there: dozens of new members, grey skies, cold wind, rain during takedown. Street preacher with a megaphone.

It was great to be back.

Set-up in slow motion, trying to remember back to the last time I did this, in October. Nothing forgotten at home, and only two mistakes: I put one shelf on backwards, and had to remove the stew mugs and banks to flip it around, so the anchors for my magnetic signs were facing me, rather than the neighbor's booth. And I had to make an extra run up to the OverPark to fetch the fire extinguisher I'd left in the van. Good thing, too. The Fire Marshall came through on inspection not fifteen minutes later, and my neighbor, Cheri, got a scolding for leaving hers at home.

What with the cold and wind, we had a slow start; think I'd only sold one piece by the time Denise arrived at 11:30. Things picked up after lunch, and I sold a few larger pieces, a serving bowl, a couple of bakers, two banks, as well as the usual mugs and tumblers. Had a nice chat with the chair of the Art Student Association at Lane Community College that might lead to me teaching a brushmaking workshop there. I've done it in the past, though it's probably ten year ago by now.

Talked lots of college students. A few bought Mother's Day presents, one got a couple of Denise's watercolor cards to frame as tiny wall art, and a bunch of them took cards and talked about what they wanted to get when they moved into their first apartments next year. One of them said "Minimalism is out. White is boring--we're bringing back Maximalism!" A girl after my own heart.

I have a few new neighbors this year. Three of the neighboring potters, Danny and Cheri and Nicole, are back, but the fourth, Emily, has moved to a space around the corner on East Lawn, and Brandy the lampwork bead maker is now over the wall behind me, closer to the stage and food booths. In her place is Mel, a woodworker from Albany; in Emily's spot is Ed, a metalsmith from just north of Roseburg. Makes me appreciate my end-of-day commute, only 15 minutes up River Road.

Spent a good bit of the day explaining the physics of my Incense dragons. They're basically little updraft kilns--air vents around the base, fuel (incense cone or stick) in the chamber, neck is a chimney, voila! dragon breathes smoke! Only sold one, though again, gave out a lot of cards to students looking toward furnishing their future apartments. I also turned down the guy who wanted one where the smoke came out of its butthole. Quite apart from matters of good taste, the physics won't work. Smoke rises, so unless the butt is higher than the head... you know, let's not go there.

I also turned down a commission for a salt pig. The sample she showed me looked rather like this, a form that is not particularly interesting, but surprisingly difficult to make, if you're not slip casting. Not simple to throw, possibly could be thrown-and-altered or coil-built, but you know? I just don't wanna. I've got so many orders going right now, and this one doesn't sound fun.

Thought we might get through the day dry, even looked like the clouds were thinning, but promptly at 4 pm, it started to rain. Let up a little at quarter of five when I was loading my boxes into the van, but rained even harder while I was taking down the booth and shelves. I'm hoping for a sunny day this week where I can pull everything out to dry. Wouldn't want my canopy to mildew.

Still in all, a good day. Sold a bit over $600, including a fox tall mug as I was packing up.

Things were hopping at the start of Market. Three sales in a row in the first half hour, all cash, all paying with big bills. I think I took in a hundred and two fifties, gave a fifty out in change. It's hardly worth carrying twenties anymore, said one woman, They hardly buy anything.

After that, things tapered off a little. The new bear exchanged waves with a stuffed cow. Two young women Mormon missionaries stopped in to look at banks--I realized I'd only ever seen guys on mission, in their trademark white shirt-and-tie. These two were more brown cardigan types, and just talked pottery, not evangelization.

Saturday Market is without a General Manager again. The new guy turned out to be not a "good fit," so was let go during his probationary period. They've hired our Board chair as interim manager, to get us through Holiday Market, and meanwhile are taking applications for Assistant Manager. Details at their website.

One of our former managers came through with husband and kids. Youngest is a toddler-in-arms, the sort who desperately want to hug the teddy bears, but may not want to return them. Managed today without tears, thankfully, and everybody waving goodbye. Dad, meanwhile, was snapping pics with a big zoom lens; I expect they were adorable.

Had a woman asking after candle holders. Sorry ma'am, I made them once, long ago, don't think I sold more than one or two. I've got better things to fill the shelves with.

I also had a woman with a hot tip (her words) for me: House hippos. Huh?

The original house hippo was a Canadian documentary-style television spot purporting to show tiny hippos in human habitations. It was designed to teach children critical thinking--and not to believe everything they saw on television--but apparently, somebody didn't get the memo. There are now websites devoted to small hippo sculptures in stone, ceramic, and uranium glass. Yikes. I explained that I used to make hippo banks; they were a pain to build--the tusks didn't want to stay in--and never sold all that well. Not gonna go back to that either.

Mother and adolescent son stop in. He's picking up mugs, and I say you can't really look at pottery without using your hands. That's why everybody, even kids, get to pet the pottery; grown-ups get to pick it up. Oh, should I not be doing this? he asks. I'm not a grown-up. You're taller than your mother, mom says. I think it's okay. Now you are a man, I solemnly intone. It's your pot mitzvah.

Notes from last weekend's Anacortes Arts Festival...

It was my second road show since 2019, but Denise's first. She's also not been coming to Market, so needed to learn the workarounds and systems I'd created to do shows solo. Also, her arthritis is still giving her grief, so I had to keep putting her in time-outs, so she wouldn't overdo it. That said, it was lovely having her along, we've not had much opportunity for long-drive-talks, and it's always nice to work together again. Anacortes is a commission show, so having someone to fill out sales slips while I wrap pots and take payment is a huge time-saver.

And one we needed. People came out in droves. I think our first sale of the 10 am opening was at 8:30, and several more just after 9:00. It had been very blustery Thursday night, so we only set up the tent and shelves, left all the pottery in boxes. Didn't even put up the walls, thinking it would just provide more sail surface for the wind. So we were still filling shelves and stashing boxes when the early birds showed up. We were also a little further up the block, right in front of a very busy cafe, so Calico Cupboard customers waiting for their tables spent the time checking out my booth--from the back, not exactly its best side.

Weather was surprisingly mild; temperatures in the high 60s/low 70s. Rain overnight Thursday, but sunny all day Friday. Friday night it rained again, and we had mist and showers a good bit of Saturday, but not enough to dampen my wares, my wrapping paper nor my customers. As expected, we sold a ton of crab and octopus pots, could have sold more. It's crabbing season, and everyone wanted a big crab pasta bowl. Shoulda brought a dozen.

We weren't the only ones who were busy. Both Sandy Brown and Natalie Warrens were running out of stock, and both were committed to another show the following weekend. I went through a lot of pots myself, but still had plenty to fill the shelves, and pots waiting in the shed at home. I think having Saturday Market every weekend acts a good reminder to keep making pottery. I may run out of some items--I was very thin on painted mugs by Sunday, for instance--but I know I have more when I get home.

Had a lot of people tell me they were glad to get my postcard/email, that they wouldn't have known the show was happening otherwise. I assume the Festival's publicity budget took a hit because of no show in 2020, so they kept their advertising close to home. They also seriously down-sized their show booklet, didn't have artists or food vendors listed, though they did have the music schedule. Food booths were thin on the ground, too: only four at the Second Street end, their usual location, plus a few scattered on the side streets: wood-fired pizza, shave ice, coffee, ice cream. Two kettle corn stands. And the Croatian Cultural Center wasn't selling sausage this year either, a major loss to me.

On the list of "things I'm not gonna make," I got three requests for sponge holders, and one for chopstick bowls. The former is easy to explain: I made 'em for a year or so, and didn't sell a one, so stopped. (And to the person who said "I'd have bought one if you had them," I thought, No, you would've wanted a different pattern.) As for chopstick bowls, part of it is technical; if you notch the rim of a bowl, it will be more prone to warp there. Part of it is, I don't use chopsticks, so don't know for sure I'd be making them right. And part of it is... ethical? Look, I learned pottery with the Minnesota potters, who were making tea bowls and sake sets, just like the Japanese potters their hero Bernard Leach had studied with. It always felt weirdly like cultural appropriation. Even when I make teapots, I make them for people like Denise to use, rather than some Japanese tea master.

And speaking of cultural appropriation: Why did this woman feel a need to tell me about the great potter in Arizona she'd bought from, who used linear patterns to decorate, not like mine, his were based on Native American patterns. ("But these are nice, too.") Did she think all potters know each other? Was she trying to make a connection, prove she had pottery street cred? I just don't know.

Saw several other Eugene artists there; Cada Johnson thought it was hilarious that she saw me come by her booth Saturday morning with a bag full of produce from the Farmers Market. It was just like back home in Eugene, she laughed.

Some of my best interactions were with kids. The little girl who came in Friday, interested in teapots. I took them down from the shelf, showed her the octopus drawing, how the lid stays in, the built in strainer. She noticed the $65 price tag, said sadly, I can't afford one. I said that's okay, she can always stop by and look.

Sometimes, I just like watching them, like the little girl who came around the booth opposite, holding a bag of popcorn, feeding her dog a kernel, then herself, then back to her dog.

And then Sunday morning, a mother and daughter stopped in front of the booth, and even masked up, I could tell daughter was grinning from ear to ear? Arden? I asked. Yes! she squealed, and I came out and gave her a (teddy) bear hug. And then a real hug.

Arden is the kid I met at Edmonds, lo these many years past, who loved my pots so much she practically vibrated. She'd spent her allowance already, but convinced her mom to bring her to Anacortes two months later, and saved up her lawn-mowing money to get a possum dessert plate. (She also got a baby elephant sculpture from Shelly Fredenberg.) She kept coming back, every year, and seeing her excitement is always a highlight of the show.

This time was no different. We both kept grinning and giggling the entire time she was there, catching up on how we'd spent the last year--Zoom school for her, hated it; quilting, potting and every-other-week Market for me, not so bad. Shelly couldn't make it this year, had family doings in Portland, but I texted her a photo, and almost immediately got back virtual hugs.

As always, I had too many choices, so she went and walked the show ("wandering and pondering") while she thought about it, came back later and impulse-bought a river otter mug.

I mentioned earlier I'd been approached by a potter/gallery owner about wholesaling to him. He stopped in to meet me on Saturday, but I had customers come in, so he excused himself and we never did get a chance to talk. I also had another wholesale inquiry, a woman who has a local gift shop, and would love to stock my work. (This is almost exactly what happened my first year at this show.) Unlike the first time, she was interested in a continuing relationship, and I explained that I just couldn't manage that from an eight-hour drive away.

Thinking back on it, I had an epiphany of sorts. I know a lot of potters who go into wholesale so they can earn a living without the hassle of going to shows. I'm in the opposite position. I'm not that reliant on pottery income anymore; I don't need the extra boost from wholesale. What I need is the human contact, the people who come back year after year, tell me how they use my mug every morning. The hug from the teenage girl who I've been watching grow up, year to year. I will be really sad when it comes time to give that up.

Besides, where else would I be able to see a live sugar glider? (She wants to order pottery with them on it, so I took a photo for reference.)

Right after the firing is over is the time I catch up on daily life: chores, errands, some recreational cooking. This last week, it also seemed to be the time for oddball requests. To wit:

1. No less than two messages on the answering machine from a guy with a broken heirloom pickle crock he wanted fixed. I've done the occasional repair before, mostly just gluing things back together and sometimes patching and painting over cracks. It's not professional restoration by any means, but I don't charge much for it--time and materials, basically. When I talked to him, he said he'd bring the piece(s) down to Club Mud on firing day so I could see if I could do the job. He never showed, has not called me again. I have his number, but I don't know if I should call him back, as I'd just as soon not deal with this. (Though I'm curious to see a great-grandfather-vintage pickle crock from Nebraska.)

2. A woman who found my website, liked my work, and would like a plant pot 12-15" in diameter. Wants to support local artists and how much would I charge? Told her I didn't usually do planters (I tried, early on, and they never sold), but if I did, I'd need to know shape, depth, what pattern she wanted before I could even give her any kind of estimate. I also suggested she talk to another local potter who specializes in planters (and also sells plants). Which she's going to do. Fifteen inches in diameter could be a ginormous pot, if the height is proportional. Wouldn't be hard to make, but would take a huge amount of kiln space.

3. Got a message on Instagram from a woman who's starting a local artists space, with studios, gallery, and an art supply shop featuring minimally packaged, locally produced supplies. Would I be interested in selling brushes? Well, I do make my own brushes, from bamboo and epoxy and squirrel tail, and I've taught more than one workshop on the subject. The thing is, they're not very consistent. Some work beautifully, some terribly, all are very quirky and difficult to master. I have no problem if the person buying them knows that going in, but to just put them out on the shelf? Doesn't feel right.

I glazed mugs for Great Harvest Friday. The side facing the (right-handed) customer has a logo impressed by rubber stamp, the reverse side one of my bird or animal paintings. Gordo, the owner, gave me a list of favorite patterns, some usual--hummingbird, horse, bear--some less so: platypus, walrus. He also said his five-year-old daughter would really like it if I could do a unicorn.

Here's the thing: I live in Eugene. Home of Fairyworlds, the Oregon Country Fair, and many, many old hippies. I long ago decided to limit my paintings to things I could see. Actual, non-mythical (and non-extinct) animals and birds, so there could be no argument about whether I was doing it right. (Except the time a wildlife biologist pointed out that Northern Spotted Owls have brown eyes.) I don't do dinosaurs, dragons, mermaids and unicorns. Really.

Oh what the hell. I made her a unicorn.

So a woman comes into my Holiday Market booth today and asks, Do you have a salad spinner?

Out of clay? I say that seems like an explosive idea; after some thought, she agrees. I point out my colanders, suggest gravity fed greens draining. She leaves without buying anything.

Imagine, spinning your stoneware colander inside a stoneware bowl, and the spinner coming off its axis. Literally explosive.

This is an even worse idea than the ceramic bicycle water bottle.

Former potters are the worst.

They're always the ones with the great idea that you should totally be making and selling in your booth. I got one in today, chatting about how he used to love throwing pots, complimenting my work, then, just as he's about to leave, he does a Columbo and says, You know what you should be making?

Hoping to head him off, I gesture at my crowded shelves and say, "Does it really look like I have room for another item?"

Not to be deterred, he continues, You should make hot pads. Not, like, those things you use to take pots out of the oven, but the thing you put on your table to put hot dishes on. 

"You mean like a trivet?" Yeah, I used to make them in the shape of bread crusts (huh?) and you could totally sell them and... I forget the rest, but I made some comment about the difficulty of drying flat things so they stay flat, and eventually say that there's already someone doing that at Market, and I don't want to horn in on his business. Which is mostly true: Danny Young of Barbarian Pottery does brilliant press-molded tiles, which may be used in this fashion. But they're really gorgeous, and I'd much rather hang 'em up where I can see them.

But I couldn't help wondering, after he'd left, "If this is such a great idea, why aren't you still making them?"

Talking with a customer Saturday about the patterns I'd made specially for Anacortes--crab, octopus, sea otter and pelican--she says, You should do oysters! They're really popular here too!

Oysters? The little blobby lumps of calcareousness, filled with what looks like snot?

Oh, I've seen really cute drawings of oysters, with little eyes and... but that's not really your style, is it?

Yeah, no.

Had a customer in the booth yesterday afternoon who really liked my work. Was going to send her husband over to buy a particular bowl for her, as it was her birthday. And she asked if I ever did commissions.

Yes, I said, I did the all the time.

Well, I'd like a bowl like that one, with no rim, just a straight side, she said, pointing to the batter bowls. That's easy enough, I replied. And I'd like it in a matte black glaze.

Aaaand that's where I had to say no.

I do take special orders all the time. Every firing has at least half a dozen of them, I've already got three or four in queue for my July kiln load. But they're generally a form I usually do, but with a particular pattern, or a new form but glazed and painted like my standard ware. I do not match colors, I do not test glazes.

Glaze is not like paint. You do not just buy a can at Home Depot and slap it on the pot. There are chemical interactions, with the clay body, the firing, the atmosphere in the kiln. Even the most reliable glaze in your firing situation will need extensive testing to adapt to mine. Best case, it will take at least two or three firings to get a reliable result, and since I fire the famous 50 cubic-foot car kiln only once every six weeks, we're talking a minimum three months, more likely six, before we get a finished pot. (A potter I work with at Club Mud has taken over a year on projects like this.)

Add in the fact that matte black glazes are notoriously tricky--they're just on the edge of devitrified (no longer glassy), and loaded with metal oxides--usually iron, cobalt and manganese--so I can't be sure the resulting glaze, no matter how lovely, is actually food safe.

So I explain the complications to her, and suggest that she find a potter with a black glaze she really likes, then ask them to make the bowl for her. It's far easier to throw a new form than it is to create a new glaze.

I didn't realize it was so complicated, she said. (Few people do.)

And her husband never came by to get her birthday present.

A woman comes into my booth, announces I've got a great idea for you.

Okay, here we go again.

Twenty years ago, somewhere on the east coast, she bought a mug. On the rim of the mug was a small blue pig. In the bottom of the mug was another blue pig, looking up at the first.

You see? You give it to your friend, and when they get to the bottom of their coffee, there's a pig looking up at them!

I patiently explain that it's not a new idea; it's been done before. Heck, I've done it before. Back when I started making cat-handled mugs, the original commission had a small mouse in the bottom of the mug, that the cat was reaching for. Positioning the mouse down in the closed space, in such a way that the glaze didn't totally obscure it, was a pain in the butt. I finally decided to place the bisqued mouse on top of the glaze and trust it to stick down as it melted in the kiln, and even so, at least one fell over and stuck on its side.

Finally gave up on the mice, kept the cats. The cat's paw dipping into the top of the coffee was much funnier, anyway.