For a long time, I wanted my work to be in a gallery. To have work, for sale, for thousands of dollars, on white walls. I still may feel like that, but not as much as before. And maybe not at all.
I was at a gallery opening in San Francisco with a friend recently, and was introduced to a lot of different people I didn’t know. One person asked me “Are you an artist?” And my response was “Sorta, I guess so. Yeah… sure. I’m an artist.” It was the most embarrassing, indecisive response I could have said. I don’t know why I was so apprehensive. Most of the time I confidently say that I am an artist, but in that moment, within those bright white walls, I didn’t feel like I was. It’s not that I or my work doesn’t belong in a place like that, but there was something that felt very distant, that I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe because I haven’t lived in a city for some time and now feel like an outsider? Maybe because I actually don’t belong? Maybe deep down I knew I couldn’t fill up a large space with my work? Maybe maybe maybe…
I would love to make a living from selling sculptures, paintings, drawings, etc… but most of the work that I make, share or that people see is small. Small in scale and small in price. I find myself asking “Is my $68 mug not art?”. With the amount of time, thought and skill, one would think it would be much more. But because it has a domestic function, pricing is more approachable. Why is it priced so much less than a similar sized sculptural piece? (I wrote about pricing my work last year and how I am not my customer, in cased you missed it.)
My struggle between craft, art and design has been on-going. Ever since I started selling my work as functional wares, I sorta got pigeon holed in that price range. On one hand, I wish my cups were less then $50 so that more people could afford them, but I also think the work is worth so much more. Perhaps one day, when absolutely EVERYTHING is automated and artificially made, handmade things and the skills needed will be worth a fortune? Unlikely, but why not dream? Ha!
For a long time, I was at odds with labeling myself a potter because it felt limiting. And if people thought I was a potter, they would maybe assume that’s all I did. I make more than pots. But maybe now, I should lean into it? I don’t know. I’ll likely contradict myself in the future, but this is where my heart is at.
I tried something new and listed a few collages for sale on my website. I didn’t sell any. I honestly don’t know why, I was actually a bit surprised. I think they are strong little compositions of affordable art. But what’s affordable anymore? Pricing these collages was way more complicated than it should have been. These are small works on 5” x 7” paper, but I didn’t want to simply sell them for $20. I reluctantly settled on $52, which oddly is the same price as cups I sell. In some ways, it’s a similar process to clay. I always say making a pot takes 4 weeks and 5 minutes. Glueing down paper takes no time at all, but it’s the weeks and months prior to finding that right combination, the time spent collecting, cutting and arranging to create enough inventory for composing something new from something old, used and discarded.
Even though they have not sold, I still wanted to share a few of them here with you because I really love them. And in some ways, I’m thrilled they haven’t found homes, because they are stronger as a group and I would be happy to keep them altogether. The series is called Spring Bouquet because I think there’s a brightness and sense of emergence coming through. These are simple, yet refined little works on paper that I’ve created over the course of several months. With my own catalog of cuttings, I've made countless arrangements to find the perfect pairings that sing. Moving, playing, tweaking, swapping. Everything about this is irrational yet intentional, spontaneous yet intuitive. I love the process and it's been a sweet companion to the physicality and repetitive nature of my ceramics practice.
I work on collages in the morning or evenings, rounding out my day when I need a little creative play before or after the work day. The material I’m working with comes from a variety of sources I’ve collected such as local grocery store coupons, food and fashion magazines from the early 2000's, junk mail, advertisements, vintage National Geographic magazines, large craft magazines from the 1950s and random printed stuff that catches my eye. They may seem bare bones, but the paired imagery tackles different notions of duality; color, shape, context, contradictions, meaning and instinct.
Spring has me invigorated with all the ideas, but I don’t quite have the energy for all of it. So for now I’m making lists of all the things I want to make this year, so that when my mental capacity coincides with a free weekend, I can just pick and choose:
zine about my ceramics
trellis for my peas
super large, blobby standing light fixture for my bedroom
turn pulp into paper
collage calendar for 2025
sculptural clock
website for photography
colored pencil drawings
press flowers
plein air oil painting
One last thing, before I sign off! Join me next week for a watercolor painting session called Rock Portraits on Tuesday, April 23rd at 5pm PST! It’s one of my favorite watercolor classes to teach and it all happens from the comfort of your own desk via zoom. This class is all about looking very closely at the details and painting what we see. All levels are welcome, especially beginners! I teach the class live via Case for Making but you can also sign up for the recording to paint on your own time if the time/date doesn’t work for you. I’d love to see you in class!
Hi Julie, I’m late to seeing this but I love your collages and would love to buy a calendar if you end up making one! I’ve followed you for a while and everything you create is so thoughtful and special and joyful!
Loved this and could relate to so much of this. Thanks for sharing! Your collages are delightful and inspiring!