at The Attic–

So, I’m at The Attic, which is a coffeehouse/used bookstore near The Art Garage and is just off of Main Street.  I’m sitting beneath their art wall and thinking thinky-thoughts and killing time before I go volunteer at The Art Garage at noon.  <–See, this is me totally plugging the places I like to go.

*

The opening at The Art Garage was nice.  My sculptures totally did not look like anyone else’s work, but I’m not entirely certain that not looking like anyone else’s work is a good thing.  The In-Laws the Wisconsin Edition say that it’s good.  The Husband say that it’s good.  Me?  I’m not so easily convinced.  Maybe my art is too different to be successful in this area?

I’m totally the only person who could be stressed out by this, but I always seem to need something to stress out about.  Why not stress about this, right?  At least, it’s important to me.

*

But, something that I noticed at the opening that kinda worried me was that my pieces were so much more expensive than other artists’ work (mine were also far larger than anyone else’s)–and it wasn’t just because my sculptures were so much larger either.  I think that it may be the classic instance of artists under-pricing themselves.

*

Now, as any artist knows, pricing one’s work is the most torturous endeavor ever.  Critics, professors, fellow artists, openings, grant writing–all of these things pail in comparison to self-pricing.  And, a lot of it seems to stem from none of use ever being told a formula for pricing.  Anything our art school mentors tells us seems to be vague and unclear.  I think the clearest I had ever heard was something along the lines of “figure how much it cost to make and multiple that by seven” (*potentially a very bad paraphrase).

*

Mind you, this was not told to me.  It was told to ‘Lainy.

*

‘Lain’s fair-going parents (they’re Feywood) told her something similar about pricing, but it was more like “figure out materials and time and then tack an extra 50% on it.”  Again, I potentially really misheard this.  ‘Lain, please feel free to chime in with a clarification.

*

The most consistent–and probably fairest–pricing formula that I have found has been on Etsy by daniellexo with a complimentary article about discomfort in pricing by Tara Gentile of Scoutie Girl on Oh my!  Handmade Goodness, and it comes out to something like this:

Cost Price (Labor + Materials Cost) x 2 = Your Wholesale Price

Wholesale Price x 2 = Retail Price

So, basically, the price of materials and labor–how much an hour do we make as artists?  I’ve read it’s best to think in terms of $10-15/hr.  I don’t think this is terribly unreasonable since, as artists, we are highly skilled and trained practitioners.–multiplied by two equals your wholesale price, i.e., the price that people would pay if they were buying a large stock of your pieces to sell in their stores.  Multiple the wholesale price by two again and that’s the retail price, or as I like to think about it since I don’t make a whole lot of multiples (yet), the price for an individual, unique piece of art.  There was another pricing formula that I had that said that the formula should look like this:

Cost Price (Labor + Materials Cost) + 10-15% of cost price (to cover utilities used like electricity) x 2 = Your Wholesale Price

Wholesale Price x 2 = Retail Price

That 10-15% covers any utilities that you used like electricity or water–things that a lot of us take for granted in the art-making process.  I can’t really bring myself to use this second formula yet.  I barely can get myself to use the first formula, and I still end up short changing myself because I’m not used to keeping track of the amount of time or the cost of the supplies used to complete a piece.  I’m getting better, but it’s still really hard.

*

The problem is that under-valuing your own art doesn’t just hurt you, but it hurts other artists because potential buyers end up with a skewed notion of what art should sell for.  And, really, accessibly art for all:  isn’t that why we all have smaller, less expensive pieces or prints?

*

The formulas take a long time to get used to, and if you’re anything like me, you’re totally going to experience severe sticker-shock and thing “how can my pieces be worth this much and who in their right mind is going to buy them?”  I’m still thinking like that.

*

Also, remembering that if you show at a gallery, they take a percentage of your sale to support themselves, so you’ll likely have to accept the loss from your pocketbook or you’re going to have to tack on that percentage to the existing price.  <–I haven’t been able to make myself do this yet.

*

According to formula one, unnamed friends:  narwhal should cost $1200 (really, it was higher, but I knocked it down a little).  Most of that happens because it is completely hand-sewn, and that takes forever.

Please excuse the blurry photos.  The Father-In-Law took them.  *sigh*

*

According to formula one, unnamed friends:  from the 100 acre wood should be $1400.  Similar reasons apply.

Yes, this is me mugging for the camera.  To give y’all an idea of scale, I’m just under 5 foot (a little more than 5 foot in the shoes I was wearing).  *refrains from blurring me out of the photo*

*

So, I feel like they are waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay over-priced, but I also wonder if that’s just me being insecure and small.

*

I do think I need a time-clock.  A really big one that goes kachunk and ticktickticks and dings.  Make myself clock-out of the studio.

*

What do y’all think my little artist-y friends?  Do you think that these formulas will help you?  Do you feel like you’re work is totally under/over-priced based upon them?

Last time, on the trials and trevals of squids,

I think I mentioned (once, twice, a million times) that me, the kitties, and the Husband were moving.  We are safely tucked into our new house, but we are still totally in the unpacking stage; therefore, there’s not going to be a whole lotta art talk today.  However, there will be pictures of the house and the beautiful, beautiful studio.

Also, if y’all are in the Green Bay area on Saturday, come by the The Art Garage and see my art in person!  I have two pieces in the show.  You might even get to see me win some money.

So, without further ado!  Our new house!

     This is our gianormous cloakroom.  There will never be a need for coats or shoes to be misplaced again.

     The front room.  There’s one of my sculptures hanging out in the back.  It’s guarding the back hall (below).

     The bedroom replete with a sleepy kitty (above), and the library/music room/office replete with confused identity (below).

     And, the pièce de résistance, my amazing studio–still a wreck! /o\–but still completely awesome.

     So, that’s the new house.  Of course, there are rooms I didn’t show–because I didn’t want too!  *cackles maniacally and runs about sill-li-ly*  Really, I thought the complete wreckage was just too much to share.  When it’s less wreck-ish, there will be better pictures.

     Ciao, my doves.

*languishes*/ETA *squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee*

***Wordpress is still not spacing correctly.  *FLAILS*  Mad squid is mad.***

     I’m waiting to hear about The Art Garage competition I entered.  I haven’t heard anything yet.

     *is jittery and crazy to know*

ETA:  I just got the call that my both of my pieces were accepted! *EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE*

     Totally compounded by the fact that I now volunteer there.  Talk about a conflict of interests.  <–I was told it wasn’t, but y’all know me, I can’t help but be a worry-wart.

     So, I had promised that I was going to post pictures of the sculptures that I entered.  I was waiting until today because–I don’t know–it seemed appropriate to wait until the competition is over?  Does that even make sense?

     So, my (not-so) little friends.

     The prompt for the show was–

Seeking works of art in all media that focus on personal memories and the essence of our past. Artwork will need to be created with some recycled materials in order to promote the importance of being environmentally responsible.

     And the application asked for–

A brief artist statement must be submitted with the images explaining what inspired this piece of artwork and what recycled materials were used.

     So, my first piece is unnamed friends:  from the 100 acre wood, and it is, basically, a tree stump (yes, there is a joke in here about my nickname being ‘Trie [tree]).

     This thing was crazy to make and is freaking huge.  It’s about 4 feet tall, hand built (and sewn) from brown paper grocery bags (building a tree from dead trees makes sense to me), has a felt face with buttons, and has crocheted accents and a cardboard interior frame.

     It took a really long time to build.

     The other piece is also quite large.

     Okay, it’s huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge too.  Nearly 4 feet again.

     I keep making things that are nearly the size of me. o.O

     The second piece is unnamed friends:  narwhal, and it is built from old coats that were purchased from the local Goodwill.

     Again with the “it took forever to build.”  Considering I hand-sew everything, that makes sense, but then again, I wouldn’t get the same fluidity and–yes, I’ll admit it–awkwardness if I didn’t hand-sew.

     The artist statement for these pieces was–

The inspiration for unnamed friends:  from the 100 acre wood and unnamed friends:  narwhal comes from a combination of kawaii culture, children’s storybook narratives like Winnie the Pooh, and memories of my own most beloved toys.  The scale of the sculptures, in relationship to an adult, evokes the feeling of childhood where everything feels large and strange—even one’s toys.  The materials, even though they are primarily recycled, gesture to those parts of childhood that are recycled from others:  clothes that have been handed down, toys that have been inherited or made from old clothes, and books that belonged to older siblings.

The recycled materials in unnamed friends:  from the 100 acre wood include brown paper grocery bags, cardboard from a shipping container (ironically from Dick Blick), and felt inherited from another artist.  The recycled materials in unnamed friends:  narwhal include a leather coat and a suede-and-faux-fur coat from Goodwill.

     So, those are my friends.  They took weeks and are taking up huge amounts of real estate in my current studio, but they are so freaking cool.

     I shall sleep the sleep of the accomplished tonight. \o/

This is the piece that never ends. It goes on and on, my friend.

Okay, I’m still buried (no pun intended) in my sculpting. The unnamed friend that I’m building for the Art Garage competition has eaten around 14 lbs. of poly-fill, and I’m not done sewing him all together yet.  *laments and tears my hair*

 

Toss into the mix that I’m still building the other sculpture (tree stump-ish creature), and my hands really, really hurt.

 

One day, I will  have a sewing machine that doesn’t hate me so that I can do some of my sewing on it.  <–Okay, that really wouldn’t work with the way my critters are built, but I can dream, can’t I?

 

So, I promised some out loud thinking about ecology and world building as it relates to my conceptual process.

 

Be prepared.  It isn’t fully developed yet.  Mostly because it was a typical-for-me shower revelation.  <–My best ideas either come out of taking a shower or insomnia.  When I can get them to work together?  Pure magic.

 

I’ve always know that I was building creatures and habitats that exist in the same sort of world, but I’ve started to suss out where they exactly fit into that world building.

 

The taxonomy series really come out as the insectoid creatures of the world–which makes sense since, in my head, taxonomic structures are connected to insect collections.

 

I had one when I was a kid.  In a cigar box.  Grasshoppers were the hardest to catch.

 

The chimera series are almost like the old gods of the world.  Giant, eyeless, removed from the rest of the inhabitants of the the world, and totally without compassion for the other creatures that live there–which probably explains why a lot of the references in this series are dependent upon popular culture, fairy tales, and archetypes.

 

The scrump series would be the algae of the world.  Especially, since the amorphous ubiquity of the scrump comes from the mass in Tenchi Muyo, although the name and grotesque nature of the scrump comes from Lilo and Stitch.

 

The habitat series are the places that some of these creatures live (mostly the taxonomy insects).

 

It’s not eloquent or complete, but it was nice to have some of this world building situated more firmly in my head.

 

And, now, I must be away to sew more on the Sculpture That Will Not End.

Birthday Update.

So, sad squid is sad.  I wasn’t able to go to The Art Garage‘s Gallery Night due to Winter Storm Francesca and the 19+ inches of snow she dumped on our heads.

 

As y’all can see.  Snow.  Lots.  Of.  SNOW!  /o\

 

It’s mostly gone now.  o.O

 

I also didn’t get to retrieve my prizes for placing in the College of Menominee Nation‘s World Water Day art competition sponsored by the Sustainability Institute.

 

*this is me annoyed*

 

But!  I did get to go to The Art Garage yesterday with the lovely Sara and Spawn #2.  It looks like I may be doing some volunteering for the nice peoples.  I encourage everyone else in the Green Bay area to volunteer also.  They are completely dependent upon volunteer help, and they are a totally worthy institution to volunteer for–bring art to the community!

 

Also, if anyone is a local Green Bay artist and would like to be shown at The Art Garage, they have space for rent that’s really reasonable.

 

And The Husband got me the best teacup for my birthday.  If y’all hadn’t guessed, I like all things tentacled, and Anthropologie has the perfect teacup for those who are cephalopod obsessed.

 

It’s really fantastic.  The handle is textured like a tentacle, and there’s a picture of a little sailing vessel on the inside so that the implication is the tentacle is coming to drag the ship down into the briny depths.

 

*happy sighs*

 

Definitely a present that some who knows you really well would get you.

 

I’m also doing some revamping to the artwork section of the blog.  It’s going kinda slowly.  As always, the “instant gratification” part of viewing my art is to go check it out on my Flickr.  One day, everything will be consolidated!  (raise you hand if you think this is a complete and utter lie *raises hand*)

 

So, just ’cause I can and because it’s fun to watch Mr. Morph be all flumexed and silly, a video.  Morpheus the Kitty-Dog trying to make friends with The Little Black Cat and failing miserably.

 

I shouldn’t think it’s funny, but it really is.

 

 

Poor Morph!  It’s just lucky he’s pretty.

World Water Day=snowpacalypse

It’s kinda ironic, if you think about it.  Not that the now isn’t beautiful (and I have totally been taking night photos of the snow storm–they are forth-coming).

 

So, last week, I told y’all about the two pieces that I submitted for “The Voice of Water” competition at College of Menominee Nation‘s Sustainability Institute.

 

Both of my pieces placed!  The photograph placed third, and the painting placed second.  Honestly, the third place means more to me because there was more competition for it, but both of the pieces placing is very exciting since neither medium is my preferred medium.  <–Although, the painting is kinda sculptural due to the use of modeling paste medium.

 

What I didn’t remember to tell y’all is that “The Voice of Water” prompt was for World Water Day (I’m not sure I actually knew it at the time I entered).  I went to the little showing at CMN because I totally wanted to see the Best of Show (it was an art quilt; it was awesome).  I also wanted to see the little kids interpretations of water.  They were looking really good.  Loads of potential.

 

Also, today–because World Water Day and a snow storm just wasn’t enough–I did my guest lecture thing for the Husband’s Humanities class.  There were a whole four people, but it seemed to go well.  Since an hour-and-ten-minutes really isn’t enough time to do more than a cursory drive by of the 20th (and 21st) century, I did a more “let’s talk about how we perceive and define art and how that has changed through the 20th century” thing.  The kiddos talked (*shock* *awe*), and there was even a bit of contention between students about what constituted art.  I did a drive-by of ontology and a reminder of semiotics, and I got the chance to show them some of my favorite artists.

 

It was shiny.  Probably in my top ten teaching experiences.  And!  There wasn’t all the normal pressure of teaching since I was just a guest!

 

Later this week, there will likely be another blog.  I wanna show y’all the night photography I’ve been doing (got a new tripod, thanks to the Husband), I can tell y’all about the fabulous coffee and cheese prizes I got for my art placing, and I can tell y’all about Gallery Night at The Art Garage.

 

*points*  If you’re going to be in Green Bay Thursday night, come to the Gallery Night!

Obviousness.

Okay, obviously, I didn’t get this posted yesterday.  After I turned in the competition pieces, I spiked a temp and was essentially useless the rest of the day.

 

I’m not really sure today has been better, but I’ve been productive:  made three pendants, a morgue-board, and cleaned the house (including changing the bedding).  <–I am a super-exciting person, aren’t I?

 

The competition that I entered into is hosted by College of Menominee Nation‘s Sustainability Institute; it’s called “The Voice of Water.”  I entered two pieces:  one photograph and one painting.  The photograph y’all might be familiar with since I’ve posted it over on my Flickr-stream and my Facebook photos.  I took this photograph on a super foggy day and then manipulated the contrast and color so that it came out in blues rather than greys.  For me, this photo typifies water:  not only does it gesture at fog and cold, but it also has the murkiness and reflectivity of a lake or a swamp.

 

I really think this is my favorite photograph of the ones that I have taken up here.  It makes me think of mangrove swamps and lurking crocodilians.  Two of my favorite images.

 

The other “Voice of Water” pieces is a painting that incorporated a polymer acrylic image transfer of the above photograph.  This piece is painted on a piece of random cardboard I had.  I was originally going to paint it on a piece of  book board and frame the piece in a vintage frame that I had spray painted pale blue (it has since become my morgue-board), but I didn’t have any book board that would fit the frame.  This piece was painted with spray paint, acrylic paint, modeling paste medium, illumination medium, and polymer acrylic medium with a polymer acrylic digital transfer.

 

The piece itself tries to encompass all the qualities of water from fog to ice to white caps.  It also expresses the patience of water, the destructive/regenerative nature of water, and the danger of water.

 

I like the concept behind it.

 

There’s something like 20 hours of work in that painting and a whole lot of drying time.  But, they’ve been submitted.  Hopefully, the judges don’t think they suck out loud.  <–Welcome to the insecure-artist section of the day.  *eyeroll heard ’round the world*

 

I’d feel more confident about this piece if it weren’t so completely Impressionistic to me, and I’m like the only person in the history of the universe who really dislikes Monet and the Impressionists.

 

Yes, I am that person.  *hangs head in not-shame*

The Fiction Project

So, as I’ve said previously, I’m participating in “The Fiction Project” which is described as

“Share a story.

Calling all authors, ‘zine makers, comic-book writers, diarists, poets and storytellers: Our library needs your words!

The Fiction Project is an opportunity to tell stories in a different way by fusing text and visual art. Add your voice to this year’s coast-to-coast tour and create new work grounded in the act of writing. After traveling across the country, the Fiction Project will enter into the Brooklyn Art Library’s narrative collection, archiving your stories to share them with the public.

Anyone – from anywhere in the world – can be a part of the project. To participate and receive a journal that will travel with the 2011 tour, start by choosing a theme to the right.”

 

My theme is “It will be fun.  I swear.”  I’m kinda trying to decide what to do for it.  They want 51% of the moleskin to be handwritten text (not a big deal), but I’m not sure what to write about.

 

Suggestions?

 

I’ve been thinking about the zombie!bunny apocalypse or detailing the misadventures of Stymie (all Justin’s fault).

 

Maybe both?

 

I can see it now–haiku poetry about the ending of everything and death brought on the rotting, softly plophop of zombie!bunnies.

 

So cute.  So deadly.  So smelly.

 

In my defense, there hasn’t been a zombie!bunny novel yet (as far as I know); the best that I can come up with in that department is Bunnicula.  Obligatory Wikipedia article over————————->here.

 

Did y’all know that there was a third book in the series?  I mean, so few people know about The Celery Stalks at Midnight, but I’ve never heard of Howliday Inn.

 

Actually, there’s a bunch of Bunnicula books.  Maybe there’s a zombie!bunny in there somewhere?

 

With Stymie, I’m not sure what I would write about.  I have this weird thing going in my head that he’s very sad and morose–kinda like Eeyore–but that he bounced and drip-drops like one of those post-egg but pre-limb Digimon.

 

The Husband and I were also playing with Stymie’s plushie rendition and decided that he can fly, but in order to fly, he has to flip himself upside-down.  And, then, he kinda putputputs rather than zoooooooooooooms.

 

Maybe, that should be the plan; somehow, have the “It will be fun.  I swear.” as part of the shennanigans that Stymie and his other awkward friends get into and have little pencil/pastel drawings and plushie things in there.

 

*plots*

 

This might work.

 

I’d still be happy for suggestions or prompts, so feel free to share or suggest.

 

*tra lala la las away*

Making up for the spamming…

It seems like everything I’ve been posting of last has been promotional spam.

I apologize.  That isn’t fair to y’all who wander through here looking for weird squid-made art to look at.  ’Cause, really, why would y’all want to read the stuff I write for Handmade News; it’s more than a little dull, I think.

*POINTS*  See!  See what I did there?  It’s insidious and nefarious.  That promotion–stuff–is infiltrating every aspect of my life, and it has got to stop.

The real point of this post, aside from profuse apologies, was to show y’all what deconstructing pierott looked like in action.  It was accepted to an online magazine, which I’ll pass along when it’s going to be published!, and they wanted a short video for it! \o/  So, here it is–

This work is licensed under a

Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

The piece itself if over in my wearable art section along with several of my other pieces, but in case y’all don’t remember what it looks like in its non-worn form, here are the images.

My lovely model in the video is my friend Genna.  The model in the photographs is my lovely model and flatmate Ian.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

deconstructing pierott

2008
3’6”x1’6”, dimensions vary
chicken wire, feather trim, tulle, ribbon, paper, jingle bells

deconstructing pierott is a wearable art piece that deconstructs the idea of the pierrot from commedia dell’arte while simultaneously referencing late 19th and early 20th century women acrobats and gesturing at the movie Prophecy. In its deconstruction, this piece also addresses the issue of being female, its restrictions, and the way in which women, even today, are displayed. The piece also jingles when it is worn to replicate the sound of the zany and the capering of the pierott.

What do crafters do when they aren’t crafting?

They write about crafting.

 

That’s right (no pun intended–okay, not much), crafters write.  Actually, Handmade News is looking for editors, columnists, and contributors.  Kinda shiny, yeah?  I submitted my application about 5 minutes ago. \o? <—-This is me being really nervous.

 

My submission, which I’m hoping wasn’t too craptastic, fits very well with The Book that has been living in the back of my head.  So–here is my submission in all of its craziness.

 

As a fine artist and an avid crafter who has spent a great deal of her professional life hearing about how craft and art do not mix, I have to say that I do not agree.  We all come by different streets.  Art and craft are no different.  What one person considers “art” and another considers “craft” is completely subjective and likely to be based upon nothing more than the conventions that they have been trained to think within. 

 

Currently, there is a competition titled “Art vs. Design” brought to the art/craft/visually-oriented world by the wonderful people at Artists Wanted in Brooklyn, NY.  The PSA for this competition states that “This contest is designed to answer the age old question:  What shapes our world more, art or design?  The answer is up to you.”  While the competition itself seems to promote artificial divisions that have, for so long, divided the “fine arts” from any other type of visual creative practice, upon viewing the competition pieces, it seems that the competition is actually about the slippage between the places that once were brick and mortar walls.  If this subversive reminder that categories are not fixed was not enough, much of the actual “Art vs. Design” judging is conducted by anyone and everyone who comes to the site in a Threadless-type, by-committee vote.

 

Technology is democratizing the arts, and that democratization means that art is no longer the purview of the elite, and craft is no longer something that can be looked down upon as “kitchy” or “non-conceptual”.  It is no longer an “us” or “them” creative world; there is only “us” and “us” and what we chose to do with materials and ideas.

 

All of this—the melting of long held divisions, the merging of medium and practice, the choosing, like Picasso, of the best material or technique to achieve a specific end as well as the willingness to step outside of the stuffy expectations of previous generations—is what the old creative practices are becoming:  unified, whimsical, ironic, and more than a little sublime.

 

This type of creative practice—practices that I am seeing in other visual creators, I am seeing in my own artistic practice, and I hope to continue seeing for a long time to come—seems to be linked to a desire for craft to match concept and for art-making to be an extension of self-awareness rather than merely the next money-making venture or political protest.  And, as always, there is a need to not takes oneself too seriously.

 

 Now, I wait.  *WAITS*