Speaking of Craft

I was asked to speak in Edinburgh last month by CraftScotland about marketing craft online. The audience was gallery owners, artists, and arts enthusiasts. Here's the presentation, broken down into 3 parts.

Slippers: A Love Story

Behold the simple knitted, felted slipper. While knitting is used as a symbol and metaphor all the time, (you know, knitting life's loose ends together or ripping out the knitting and starting again, etc), for me it is an enjoyable, relaxing, sometimes challenging creative outlet which provides me with an object at the end. I have gone through years of being a self-described serial knitter, yet stopped completely for much of this year. The zen of knitting was impossible while I was in the throes of a romantic roller coaster ride. Happily, knitting is back, as is my equilibrium.

So about these slippers. I started knitting and felting slippers a couple of years ago, when one of my two best friends (also a knitter) decided she wanted a basket full of slippers for people to put on when they entered her home. She and I knitted away like crazy, enjoying the wacky color combinations we produced and the wabi sabi nature of felting, where the chemistry of wool and abuse produced results outside of our control. Her pile of slippers grew and another seal of epoxy was added to the bond of our friendship. We laughed, loved and cursed over those damn slippers!

I did digress during the process, and made slippers for a few loved ones as well. Especially important to me was making a pair for my other best friend who had admired the pair I made for myself. Alas, those poor slippers got caught up in my affair, ignored and almost finished for months, staring at me like accusing eyes. I know I read the accusing eyes part into those unfinished slippers because both of my best friends, these two women for whom I would do ANYTHING in life, hated every report of the nature of my far-too-consuming-to-me romance. They knew better than I was able to see that my moratorium on knitting was one of the more tangible indicators that I had lost a part of myself in the affair.

With the visit to San Francisco this week of my dear friend, I knew it was time to finish the slippers so I could present them to her, present her with a symbol of my love, a symbol of my understanding- as only a best friend can- that her feet get uncommonly cold, a symbol that she was there before, during, and after the affair, a symbol that I'm back. We laughed like crazy as she tried them on in her swanky hotel lounge last night, knowing that her feet were now wearing my love letter to her.

Radical Art

Having recently made the acquaintance of a man who is influential in the world of contemporary theater, I am now getting exposed, often times vicariously, to performances which normally would fly below my radar. My friend is always out scouting for new theater which advances and stretches the art, and he gets as wildly enthusiastic about new performances as I do about discovering a visual artist previously unknown to me. Not all of M's recommendations are for hits; he and I will probably laugh for as long as we know each other about the performance with thrown and smashed tomatoes we both saw in Edinburgh. But with eyes wide open, I find myself considering the possibilities of new theater as I had not before he came into my life.

This past weekend, while my friend was watching a performance of GATZ in NY, a radical 8-hour reading of every word in "The Great Gatsby" by actors, I was viewing a different version of radical theater and considering the performance which I had been ready to dismiss. My performance of Mozart's "Marriage of Figaro" by the San Francisco Opera was, at first blush, a straightforward, traditional night at the opera. Originally I found myself rebelling against the idea of a performance which cost $250 to attend (What? Art only for the wealthy?), and then I was dismissive of the plot, content that the plot was simply an excuse for great music. But then I learned more; that this opera was radical in its time for mocking the noble class; that, in fact, its performance was banned in Vienna in the 18th century for its satire; that what seemed tame and perhaps silly to me was radical in its own time.

My not knowing the background of what I was viewing colored my opinion, possibly limited my appreciation, allowed me to focus fully on the music, and forced me to return to the age-old debate about how well informed does one have to be prior to observing art to fully appreciate it. How much does preknowledge color one's observation? Should work have to resonate with the viewer/listener whether or not he/she has been educated about it before experiencing it?

I really don't have a firm answer to these questions, and (sorry) think it's a 50/50 thing. Education certainly influences the experience, often heightens it and gives the viewer/listener a way in, an understanding of what the artist was intending that might make the work more accessible. On the other hand, viewing/listening with no preconceived notions allows the viewer/listener a kind of clarity that can make the work intensely and personally meaningful. I support both approaches, as long as they make room for the new and radical without automatically dismissing it.

American Talent, neither Red nor Blue

Remember when Obama first captured America's attention with his inspirational point that there was neither a red America nor a blue America, but rather one America? I found myself thinking about this in another context as I viewed the Spring 2011 fashion collections of small American companies, companies where the clothing is designed by Americans and produced in small studios or homes, not factories. The fashion I saw yesterday was outside the mainstream, sometimes quirky and perhaps arty, and while not classic and buttoned-down, was nonetheless as American as apple pie.

As a left-leaning voter, it has seemed to me that American-made as a rallying cry, just like the American flag as a symbol, has often been co-opted by traditional, Republican-leaning politicians and voters. I remember that one of the positive after-effects of 9/11 was the return of the American flag as a symbol for ALL Americans, Democrats and Republicans, left and right, red and blue. We waved our flag together in our common grief and pride.

Similarly, I have noticed that American-made, when applied to art, craft, and fashion has no political connotations. I share a common love of American art with some Republican friends, and my personal tastes and preferences diverge with friends of my party. The commonality is the work, and the appreciation of creativity as an integral fiber in the cloth of our country and culture.

American fashion, when designed and produced in the United States, expresses so much that is great about us as a nation- creative, expressive, optimistic and ambitious. Models wrapped in unusual styles exhibited as much national pride as if they were wrapped in a flag!

Note: The black "Beth" dress is by Lynn Mizono, and you can see more of her work at artfulhome.com. Bottom photo is of sweater designer Amy Brill just having fun!

50% Perfectionism, 50% Procrastination

The art of writing is the art of applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair.
—Mary Heaton Vorse

I discovered this wonderful quote as I started doing research about procrastination. Why was I doing the research? Because I thought it might help me with my lifelong issue. I really could be the card-carrying president of an organization called Procrastinators Anonymous if it existed!

In the process of avoiding (unfinished)work awaiting me, I learned a few things. On subject, I learned there is an apparent link between procrastination and perfectionism. I don't think of myself as a perfectionist, but when I state that out loud to close friends or colleagues they usually sputter in disbelief. It is interesting that these two "P" words are so linked, as
procrastinating guarantees failure, but apparently it helps perfectionists maintain our belief that we could have excelled if only we had tried harder. I am afraid that this rings a little bit too true for my comfort and I am hoping that this knowledge will help pry me out of my block to finish and prepare properly for my task at hand.

In addition, I also tracked down more information about Mary Heaton Vorse. After reading this quote, I decided to try Maira Kalman's approach of following a trail about an unknown-to-me but intriguing individual. Mary Heaton was certainly one of those - a woman of privilege turned art student (apparently untalented) turned writer turned social justice activist. She received the United Auto Workers first Social Justice award, and was lauded by Eleanor Roosevelt for her accomplishment. Quite a role model, she was, and nothing I could find indicated that she was a procrastinator, though her quote above indicates she might have known a thing or two about the subject!

Whether for a term paper or a college application, a board presentation or a competition submission, the sad truth is that postponing getting work done does nothing more than delay the work. It doesn't get easier; it doesn't get better. I should know this by now. And by the way, doesn't Mary Heaton look like a woman you'd like to know!

In the Freezer

I got some advice today from a close friend. I could feel that needy feeling coming on, that feeling that arrives when self-doubt starts creeping up, when insecurity wants to rise to take command of my emotions. I know what some of my past coping mechanisms have been for this feeling, and am not very proud of many of them. Tonight my wonderful friend suggested an alternative. "Put "Needy" in the freezer", she said. "What?" "You heard me. Put "Needy" in the freezer. Get her out of your sight, out of your universe, out of the realm of possibility". And so I did, as portrayed here in this most unglamorous photograph. It sounded rather hokey to me, an Oprah-like solution, a solution that others turn to but not me-who-can-always-hold-it-together-in-a-sophisticated-way. And yet, here I am, with "Needy" tucked away in the freezer, releasing me from behavior I might have come to regret, with insecurity iced for one night.

Just Breathe

At a fantastic art show I attended this past weekend in San Francisco, the Ceramic Arts Annual, I came across the work of Amber Aguirre. I must admit that at first I was put off by her work as her imagery seemed disturbing at best, sexually perverted at worst. But there was something about the work which drew me in, and the more I looked at it and talked to Amber and learned her story and her intentions, the more attracted to it I became. Ultimately, I bought the little piece pictured here. Why? That’s where the stories – hers and mine – come in.

Amber uses two animals in much of her work; she has created characters of bunny-woman and horse-woman, with each character having distinctly different personalities. To her, the rabbit symbolizes an animal that people think of as cute and soft and cuddly but may have more going on than that. Amber’s bunnies tell conflicting stories, from the jihadist bunny in sexy lingerie to the one dumping out the box of her fate: dice and carrots. As she explained it, Amber employs whimsy to draw viewers in to stronger messages.

My bunny is wearing a gas mask. The title is, “Just Breathe”, and this piece struck a very personal chord for me. Throughout this past year of upheaval and roaring emotional tides, I have often been advised by friends and loved ones to “just breathe”, to “just be” rather than obsessing, planning, performing, and trying to make sense of my roller-coaster post-married fears. Just breathing and just being are a lot harder than they sound, and what I have tried to do is learn to breathe this new single air yet protect myself. Like this bunny, I’ve been learning what protection I need and when to wear it, and when to take big full gulps of air without any armor.

So thank you, Amber, and welcome home, bunny.