Last weekend I attended the annual chocolate and coffee festival in Albuquerque. You'd think the event was tailor-made for me, but, sadly, no. There's something about crowds of obese people, lining up for free tastes, that is.....shall we say, off-putting?
I also don't really have a palate for these things. I don't like dark chocolate, for example, so the whole 75% chocolate claim leaves me cold. I did taste the blueberry in the Ethiopian coffee, but it wasn't a selling point for me. And I was intrigued by the use of grass-fed cow butter in place of cream....it actually worked.
Still, there was very little chance to learn much or enjoy the process. I discovered that Whole Foods and the local co-op sold most of the products, which was a big "duh." I reaffirmed that chocolate-scented soap is just plain weird. You want to eat it, but you can't, and anyway, who wants to smell like chocolate? Not surprisingly, chocolate with chili and caramel with salt are still hot ticket items. But for the most part, we seem to have run out of ways expand the taste combinations. Someone capitalized on Breaking Bad by mixing waffles and turkey with chocolate. It reminded me of chocolate-covered bacon: two excellent tastes that just really don't do much for each other.
Maybe I just am not a festival kind of gal. There's a certain kitschy quality, not to mention a horde mentality. People roam around, looking for something to capture their attention, but it's all sound bites, and then off to the next thing. You can't converse with the vendors, because their eyes are roving about, and people behind you are pushing for a place. The quality offerings are rare, and there's a sad quality to those booths: no one is going to buy those things at that venue. Attendees don't even bother to gawk, it's out of their league. People with real money don't go to these festivals.
I prefer craft fairs, where you have a fighting chance of seeing something interesting, and where you get some ideas for your own work. But, it still depresses me. There are a lot of people creating a lot of kitsch, and even more people with worthwhile products that aren't selling. I remember when my friend M was selling her jellies and lavender-in-handkerchief sachets. She made the rounds of the fairs, and had a good time doing it, but it was mainly a break-even sort of thing for her.
Marketing and consumerism in general confuse me. I don't know how to market my own skills, much less a product. And I don't know how real artisans make a living in this Walmart society. But they seem to be doing so. Just today a German blacksmith was visiting the co-op, checking out the location: K wants a railing from him, but of course he can't afford it. The blacksmith said he'd think of something that was in K's price range, maybe work with a fabricator, whatever that means.
(It's funny, what a small place this is....I recognized the blacksmith from the demo I attended last summer at Chris Thompson's place.)
So the question is, how do I take something that lights me up, like chocolate, like music, like writing, and make a living at it? Do I need to? Can't I just enjoy what I'm doing, without validating it in a consumer society? It doesn't seem so. Even the non-profits for which I perform have to pay attention to the bottom line. For example, I have been recruited by the Santa Fe Chorus to swell their numbers for Beethoven's 9th. The group that I sing with, Coro de Camara, will receive $100 in return, while the regular SFC singers have to pay for the privilege. And I get no money out of it. But, because there is a product that people pay for, it feels legitimate. My other creativity does not.
Showing posts with label craft. Show all posts
Showing posts with label craft. Show all posts
Friday, March 28, 2014
Sunday, March 31, 2013
The 53-year-old adolescent
Last night I dreamed I was at a class reunion. But I didn't realize it was a class reunion until C came up to me and said, pointedly, "Hello." I didn't recognize her at first. We walked and talked awkwardly. I know from Facebook that she is married with a beautiful daughter and a happy life, but in the dream she was single and unhappy, and not admitting it. She was aloof, which was odd, since she approached me to begin with and I had always had a cordial, if not close, relationship with her. The scene shifted, as dream scenes do. She had moved to a reference desk: we were in a library and she was volunteering. I tried to assist and got a patron from hell who yelled at me and asked for someone else to help her. (She had lost a bet on a horse race and was looking for information on the horse.)
The dream was an odd amalgam of high school and work. Now that I've written it down, it seems obvious that it's about the toxic environment at work. It doesn't take much insight to realize that one of the reasons I'm sensitive to criticism and back-biting is my experience with the public school system and the mean-spirited nature of adolescence. After high school, I learned that I was worthwhile and talented and accomplished, but that self-knowledge remains a facade, easily breached with the right (or wrong) concatenation of events. All the subsequent learning and self-confidence can crumble, and my high school default mechanisms return. I don't confront, I try to hide my hurt, I absorb and accept and amplify the negative assessment, and I move on, curled tightly around the fragile cracked core of my being.
My current task is to repair that core. I get tired of the job, though. I want to plaster it over and forget about it. I want that hurt teenager to stop whining and influencing me. I'm 53 years old fergawdsake, I have a responsible job, I have grown up things to do. Enough with the adolescent angst.
Work has actually reached a detente. I start my day with a 2-minute Power Stance, which actually seems to have an effect on my day. My bete noir has eased off the backbiting and snippy repartee, and my bosses are backing me on next steps. But personally? That's another matter. I find myself addicted to the internet, obsessively checking my accounts, living from text to text and post to post, sharing the minutia of my life, trying to connect with someone, anyone, distracting myself from doing what I need to do. I reach out for contact and feel rejected and hurt when people have other commitments. I doubt the friendships, and I don't want to be alone.
Yesterday I colored Easter eggs by myself. I've happily done that in the past, but usually I connect with a friend or three and make a party of it. I remember coloring eggs with my cousin: he is so creative. His eggs were rich with color and design. I remember discovering, via my aunt, how amazingly deep the colors are when you use brown eggs. I remember borrowing friends' kids, and the joy of helping them discover their own styles. The great thing about crafting with another person is the variety that results. Everyone has a different mode of expression, it's very personal. You can tell without being told who did what work. (Once, when I was living with my cousin and T and S, I had my first pumpkin carving party. R joined T and S and me. We lighted the jack-o-lanterns and lined them up on the living room floor, and when my cousin came home we made him guess who had carved which pumpkin. He got them all right.)
But the real reason to craft with another person is to feel that connection. Some people need solitude to produce anything. I used to be that way, and in many of my previous posts you'll find me complaining that D is distracting me from doing meaningful, creative, or joyful work. Now it appears that I was blaming him unfairly. I have lost my ability to be alone, to find joy in the creative process. I need someone to be with me, to praise the end result, to share in the process and product.
Without that connection, all I can seem to do is post pictures to the internet, and whine in this blog. I am so looking forward to getting past this stage. But, how do I do that? I can't build a framework when the core is weak. Do I really have to tear down the facade and fix the foundation?
I think I need a new metaphor. Meanwhile....here are pictures of my Easter eggs. The proper response is "ooh!" And to post your own pix back.
The dream was an odd amalgam of high school and work. Now that I've written it down, it seems obvious that it's about the toxic environment at work. It doesn't take much insight to realize that one of the reasons I'm sensitive to criticism and back-biting is my experience with the public school system and the mean-spirited nature of adolescence. After high school, I learned that I was worthwhile and talented and accomplished, but that self-knowledge remains a facade, easily breached with the right (or wrong) concatenation of events. All the subsequent learning and self-confidence can crumble, and my high school default mechanisms return. I don't confront, I try to hide my hurt, I absorb and accept and amplify the negative assessment, and I move on, curled tightly around the fragile cracked core of my being.
My current task is to repair that core. I get tired of the job, though. I want to plaster it over and forget about it. I want that hurt teenager to stop whining and influencing me. I'm 53 years old fergawdsake, I have a responsible job, I have grown up things to do. Enough with the adolescent angst.
Work has actually reached a detente. I start my day with a 2-minute Power Stance, which actually seems to have an effect on my day. My bete noir has eased off the backbiting and snippy repartee, and my bosses are backing me on next steps. But personally? That's another matter. I find myself addicted to the internet, obsessively checking my accounts, living from text to text and post to post, sharing the minutia of my life, trying to connect with someone, anyone, distracting myself from doing what I need to do. I reach out for contact and feel rejected and hurt when people have other commitments. I doubt the friendships, and I don't want to be alone.
Yesterday I colored Easter eggs by myself. I've happily done that in the past, but usually I connect with a friend or three and make a party of it. I remember coloring eggs with my cousin: he is so creative. His eggs were rich with color and design. I remember discovering, via my aunt, how amazingly deep the colors are when you use brown eggs. I remember borrowing friends' kids, and the joy of helping them discover their own styles. The great thing about crafting with another person is the variety that results. Everyone has a different mode of expression, it's very personal. You can tell without being told who did what work. (Once, when I was living with my cousin and T and S, I had my first pumpkin carving party. R joined T and S and me. We lighted the jack-o-lanterns and lined them up on the living room floor, and when my cousin came home we made him guess who had carved which pumpkin. He got them all right.)
But the real reason to craft with another person is to feel that connection. Some people need solitude to produce anything. I used to be that way, and in many of my previous posts you'll find me complaining that D is distracting me from doing meaningful, creative, or joyful work. Now it appears that I was blaming him unfairly. I have lost my ability to be alone, to find joy in the creative process. I need someone to be with me, to praise the end result, to share in the process and product.
Without that connection, all I can seem to do is post pictures to the internet, and whine in this blog. I am so looking forward to getting past this stage. But, how do I do that? I can't build a framework when the core is weak. Do I really have to tear down the facade and fix the foundation?
I think I need a new metaphor. Meanwhile....here are pictures of my Easter eggs. The proper response is "ooh!" And to post your own pix back.
 |
| Organic eggs will Produce richer colors, and Tastier omelettes. |
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Fusing glass
Two years ago, right before I left MCL to join PSU, a work colleague organized a party at Jennifer Wells glass studio. We made ear-rings and pendants and sun-catchers out of leftover glass pieces and frit and stringer. It was one of the most delightful times I'd spent with those people, and I kept it in the back of my mind. I kept getting e-mail notifications of classes and events, and I kept thinking, "maybe later."
This week, later finally arrived. Five friends agreed to meet me at the studio, and I promised to bring wine and munchies. As usual, there were a few glitches. AK sprained her ankle and was a no-show, and I hit rush hour traffic en route to OHSU to pick up W. But we got there.
"Oh look, there's Collage!" Yes, I knew W would appreciate this place. We walked up the driveway to the small, brightly-lit cottage, hidden from the street by a large Victorian house. It's a utilitarian room, with bright overhead lights and long plastic-covered tables in the middle. Plastic chairs surround the tables; rectangular tubs of glass shards of varying shapes and sizes are lined up the middle, sorted by color; round plastic dishes of frit are lined up on each side of the tubs.
Becca has set up our workspaces. We each get a pair of goggles to protect our eyes from flying glass. However, since we all wear glasses, those are set aside. We also get a bottle of glass cleanser, a towel, a piece of paper, a bottle of Elmer's glue, a sharpened pencil, a Sharpie pen, a glass cutter and two mysterious implements with long handles.
As we wait for K and MC, we set up the munchies (wine, pita chips, hummus, veggies, cheese, bread, home-made chocolate chip cookies with walnuts.) M has brought an amazing bar cookie, filled with her fabulous plum jelly and flavored with almond. It's still warm. Becca makes some "stale tea" for W and me and fusses about with space heaters. The room is cold at first, because November has caught her off-guard. I can't blame her, and it soon becomes comfortable.
We explore the walls, which are lined with projects, some before-and-after displays, tables and shelves filled with glass, tubes with stringer, special glass cutting areas, a sink, file cabinets, some moveable shelves with lunch trays (brings me right back to junior high.) The place is jam-packed, but there is sufficient walk space and we start getting ideas for our own projects. M finds the stars ornaments and suggests she just purchase them and pretend she made them. W finds an owl stamp and is very pleased.
K and MC arrive at the same time, and after some milling about, we settle in our places for a lesson. The safety lecture is full of DUHs: "don't brush glass off the table like crumbs," "keep your wine glass covered," "don't rummage in the glass bins with your fingers, use your pencil." (However, later on I find myself starting to brush the frit away. Oy.) The mysterious implements turn out to be the nippers (used to snip small pieces and create curves and circles) and the runners (which are used to cleanly break a piece of glass along a scored line.) We practice scoring and breaking the glass and then we are ready to start our projects.
Since I made earrings last time, I decide to make one big piece. I opt for a 14" round bowl. I chose a lovely iridescent green glass, and Becca cuts the circle for me. Although I had planned on a mosaic effect, I find myself starting on my favorite design, a half-Chartres labyrinth. You begin with 6 concentric circles and then create the winding pathways. I draw the circles with the sharpie, knowing that any mistakes will be fired out. I start running glue along the lines, and Becca thoughtfully brings me a glue brush. She suggests fine black frit for my lines, and I go slowly: glue a little, sprinkle a little, tap the excess off onto the paper, pour it back into the dish, repeat. At one point I realize that I forgot to clean the glass, and I have to start over. Apparently glue and sharpie ink will fire out, but finger oils will not. While I believe in organic art, I don't want random fingerprints on my bowl.
As I work, I think about how I can make it more interesting. My final choice is to use various colored blobs (pre-fired scraps.) I create an outer circle of blob stones, and then set up more stones at key points of the labyrinth. I can't wait to see how it turns out. Becca will fire it partway and then set it in the mold to finish firing.
The others work diligently, their projects as individual as they are themselves. K is making mosaic tiles. M is using copper foil to stamp out minute dragonflies. She is making an ornament for her friends who just moved into their own communal house (the Dragonfly House.) MC and W are also using the foil. MC is making earrings, I think. W is using stringer and blobs (and the owl stamp, of course.) I decide to try one pair of earrings and unconsciously imitate W's design. What I love about craft is how differently everyone approaches the activity. Yet all the choices are valid, and these bits of glass will be fused into things of beauty, rounded, flattened, melded. We are none of us able to predict the finished product, which adds mystery to the process.
In all, it's a hopeful sort of activity. You work, you experiment, and you see what happens. Usually, you are surprised, but usually you are happy with the result. And you can't ask for much better from a few hours of work.
This week, later finally arrived. Five friends agreed to meet me at the studio, and I promised to bring wine and munchies. As usual, there were a few glitches. AK sprained her ankle and was a no-show, and I hit rush hour traffic en route to OHSU to pick up W. But we got there.
"Oh look, there's Collage!" Yes, I knew W would appreciate this place. We walked up the driveway to the small, brightly-lit cottage, hidden from the street by a large Victorian house. It's a utilitarian room, with bright overhead lights and long plastic-covered tables in the middle. Plastic chairs surround the tables; rectangular tubs of glass shards of varying shapes and sizes are lined up the middle, sorted by color; round plastic dishes of frit are lined up on each side of the tubs.
Becca has set up our workspaces. We each get a pair of goggles to protect our eyes from flying glass. However, since we all wear glasses, those are set aside. We also get a bottle of glass cleanser, a towel, a piece of paper, a bottle of Elmer's glue, a sharpened pencil, a Sharpie pen, a glass cutter and two mysterious implements with long handles.
As we wait for K and MC, we set up the munchies (wine, pita chips, hummus, veggies, cheese, bread, home-made chocolate chip cookies with walnuts.) M has brought an amazing bar cookie, filled with her fabulous plum jelly and flavored with almond. It's still warm. Becca makes some "stale tea" for W and me and fusses about with space heaters. The room is cold at first, because November has caught her off-guard. I can't blame her, and it soon becomes comfortable.
We explore the walls, which are lined with projects, some before-and-after displays, tables and shelves filled with glass, tubes with stringer, special glass cutting areas, a sink, file cabinets, some moveable shelves with lunch trays (brings me right back to junior high.) The place is jam-packed, but there is sufficient walk space and we start getting ideas for our own projects. M finds the stars ornaments and suggests she just purchase them and pretend she made them. W finds an owl stamp and is very pleased.
K and MC arrive at the same time, and after some milling about, we settle in our places for a lesson. The safety lecture is full of DUHs: "don't brush glass off the table like crumbs," "keep your wine glass covered," "don't rummage in the glass bins with your fingers, use your pencil." (However, later on I find myself starting to brush the frit away. Oy.) The mysterious implements turn out to be the nippers (used to snip small pieces and create curves and circles) and the runners (which are used to cleanly break a piece of glass along a scored line.) We practice scoring and breaking the glass and then we are ready to start our projects.
Since I made earrings last time, I decide to make one big piece. I opt for a 14" round bowl. I chose a lovely iridescent green glass, and Becca cuts the circle for me. Although I had planned on a mosaic effect, I find myself starting on my favorite design, a half-Chartres labyrinth. You begin with 6 concentric circles and then create the winding pathways. I draw the circles with the sharpie, knowing that any mistakes will be fired out. I start running glue along the lines, and Becca thoughtfully brings me a glue brush. She suggests fine black frit for my lines, and I go slowly: glue a little, sprinkle a little, tap the excess off onto the paper, pour it back into the dish, repeat. At one point I realize that I forgot to clean the glass, and I have to start over. Apparently glue and sharpie ink will fire out, but finger oils will not. While I believe in organic art, I don't want random fingerprints on my bowl.
As I work, I think about how I can make it more interesting. My final choice is to use various colored blobs (pre-fired scraps.) I create an outer circle of blob stones, and then set up more stones at key points of the labyrinth. I can't wait to see how it turns out. Becca will fire it partway and then set it in the mold to finish firing.
The others work diligently, their projects as individual as they are themselves. K is making mosaic tiles. M is using copper foil to stamp out minute dragonflies. She is making an ornament for her friends who just moved into their own communal house (the Dragonfly House.) MC and W are also using the foil. MC is making earrings, I think. W is using stringer and blobs (and the owl stamp, of course.) I decide to try one pair of earrings and unconsciously imitate W's design. What I love about craft is how differently everyone approaches the activity. Yet all the choices are valid, and these bits of glass will be fused into things of beauty, rounded, flattened, melded. We are none of us able to predict the finished product, which adds mystery to the process.
In all, it's a hopeful sort of activity. You work, you experiment, and you see what happens. Usually, you are surprised, but usually you are happy with the result. And you can't ask for much better from a few hours of work.
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