A reader posted a comment in my entry from the other day, the one where I was thinking about selling some of my artifacts as beads rather than finished jewelry.
Kelly says she has done this in the past, but it "kind of feels like I'm selling out as an artist."
I realize this is exactly the way I've felt.
Linda, another reader, suggests a totally different "line" dedicated to this. Of course since I only develop new artifacts when it's "their time", so to speak, it would take a very different mindset for me to develop something specifically to sell to that market.
But Kelly's statement clarified the issue for me.
As long as it "doesn't feel right", I won't do it. If I eventually figure out a way to do it that DOES feel right, and honest, then I will.
Going back to another topic I've mentioned, reviewing portfolios of other artists, I realize this is another way I offer suggestions on how the artist can move ahead.
I will ask the artist, "What part of this process is the most precious to you? Which part do you enjoy the most?" How they answer informs my suggestions to them.
To those people who really don't want to make enough to sell but love experimenting, I suggest they teach or write articles about their processes. For those people who like to find a design that works and love making many of them, I suggest wholesaling. For those people who want to make money, we look for ways to streamline their process so they can make the product more efficiently. And so on.
All along the way, I tell them, THINK about your choices, and whether you can live with the outcome.
Years ago, I wrote an article for a national craft magazine on how to make some of my simpler ivory beads. It felt harmless, and after all, it was a modification of a technique originally developed by Tory (now Victoria) Hughs. The money was decent, too.
But when the magazine then published a "Jurassic horse" made by one of their readers, that didn't feel harmless. It felt awful. My only consolation was it looked awful.
But then two artists told me they thought it was my work, so I felt worse.
I realized then that teaching or writing directly about how I make my artifacts did not feel right.
Some artists don't care. More power to them. I do. I can't change that right now. The time may come, some day, when I feel differently. When that time comes, I will DO differently.
But not til then.
So it's always weird when someone collars me at a show and says, "When are you teaching a class? I want to learn to make one of your horses!" Sometimes the attitude is, I OWE it to them to show them how.
I have to admit, that attitude simply baffles me. It's like demanding a magician show you his tricks. You THINK knowing how it's done will enhance your enjoyment of his act. But in reality, it renders the entire performance more mundane.
Because the magic has been banished. The wonder has been dissipated.
How I make my horses is no big secret: There's no special magic or talent involved. Their beauty comes from a) me making a jillion of them, so my hands know exactly what to do and b) thinking hard about why they mean so much to me.
And their power comes from sharing that story.
So what I choose to share is other stuff. I switched to topics I don't have so tighly connected to my art: Mail art, altered art, and professional development for artists.
That's why I blog. That's why I do workshops, and teach for the Arts Business Institute. That's why I write columns for magazines, and why I occasionally do speaking engagements and artist presentations.
To share secrets about THE JOURNEY itself, not the car I ride in.
I feel totally comfortable sharing these skills I've learned. In the end, I hope I encourage more creative people to follow their OWN path, to navigate their OWN very personal journey, than I would by simply telling how to maky a chubby little horse out of polymer clay.
As you navigate your own course through life, you too will find many "right moments" and "wrong turns" along the way. Listen to your gut. If your decision doesn't feel right, and it's not a purely fear-based reaction, follow that.
Sometimes, even fear is a good thing. When you are pursuing a path that is dangerous to your artistic self, fear is a useful signpost.
Don't let fear RULE your life. Think of it as a yield sign: If the way is clear, proceed with caution.
But if a big ol' semi is hauling down the road, move over.
