Lucky Number 13

I know, I know, we’ve been remiss. It’s been days since either Groom or I have written an entry, but if we had, it would look something like this…

Dear Diary, we packed the van.

Dear Diary, we unloaded the van.

Dear Diary, we’ve laundered the clothes, cleaned the house (again). Made more jewelry, rinsed the dishes, prepared for our housesitter, bought groceries, packed up our stuff, loaded the van.

Well, you get the picture and see why we would never bore you with such snoozy details. 

 In case you’re still awake, we’re almost ready to hit the trail again, heading for Seattle this time to sell our jewelry at the U-District Street Fair, where as you can see by this sign, you can find anything including “Psoriasis and Exzema.” Apparently it is free and lasts forever.

And with the iffy-mixed weather reports, all I can do at this point is invoke the well-worn and beloved ancient Saturday Market incantation, “sun, oh sun, sun I hope.”

Shoe Biz

First came the invitation, then the R.S.V.P-ing, then lining up behind the red velvet ropes, and finally, after actually being on The List, ushered in.

What on earth am I prattling on about? Well, I must back up a moment. Nicknamed Cinderella for a reason, me likey shoes. Regardless of what anybody says (evil stepsisters included), I think I have great taste in footwear.

A woman at the Eugene Saturday Market recently asked me where a great place to buy shoes in Portland was. My answer was the brand new John Fluevog Store of course! So imagine my surprise when she replied, “Oh, is that where you and your friends get your clunky, old-lady shoes?”

Insert the loud sound of a vinyl record being scratched here.

My what? Did she say clunky, old-lady shoes? I had a minor heart flutter. And then I burst out laughing. Not for one second have I ever thought of my designer shoes as invoking images of either clunky or an advanced age bracket. No, no, no. Young, hip, stylish maybe, but definitely not what she said.

But to answer, yes, the Fluevog Stores in New York, Seattle, San Francisco and now, finally closer to home in Portland, are the places where Groom, my friends,and I buy our funky (rhymes with clunky), quirky, and colorful shoes.

And we were invited to the Launch Party! What’s a four-hour round trip drive when the opportunity to meet Himself is presented? We spent yesterday in Portland, hanging out with friends, enjoying the sun and rubbing elbows with the creative genius, John Fluevog.

Secretly, I was hoping for one of those posh gift bags, or a special sale, or some form of contest that would provide the winner with a pair of groovy shoes, but facing the longish drive home, we opted not to stay very late, so we don’t know how it ended.

But while we were there, oh what fun. Loads of great Fluevog shoes on display and even more on the feet of all the guests. It was one big gawk fest, everybody admiring what everybody else was wearing.

We were provided with refreshments and a D.J. in the corner kept the music flowing. One distraught man spilled red wine on one of the brand new leather display tables. Betcha that’s gonna stain. In his case, no matter how cool they were, we did not want to be standing in his shoes.

Hailing from Vancouver, B.C., John Fluevog has “provided unique soles for unique souls since 1970.”

Before I ever tried on my first pair (Thank you Kimmmmm!), I was drawn to his humor and philosophy.

Question: “Are John Fluevog Angels really satan resistant?”

Answer: “You’re wearing Angels right now, right? Look around - do you see him? Nope! I guess they are resistant. (Good thing, too. I heard he was asking about you.)

My philosophy? Shoes should make you smile!

April Shadows

Our internal alarm clocks woke us up at 5:30 this morning. It was still dark outside and ugh, also raining. The desire to remove our bodies from the comfort of the warm bed and set up the booth in the cold, wet conditions was very low. So low in fact, it didn’t happen.

We are playing hooky from the Saturday Market. Can you hear me giggling?

Instead of standing outside in the damp environs, we decided to sleep in, read, sip coffee, snuggle with the cat and play at making jewelry at a more casual pace, in the spirit of plenty.

So for all the brave vendors and staff who faced the elements and showed up to create today’s Market, we say Bravo! For all the customers who came down to lend their support and buy things, a hearty thank you.

And these photos taken this morning B.C. (before coffee) reveal our soft, tender mood today.

A bientot. See you later.

In a Blaze...

Well, another week has flashed by, and by flash, I mean streaked naked in such a blur that I had to ask, “What on earth was that?!”

The opening of the Saturday Market was nothing to call home about, so in fact, I did not call home about it. My parents bless their hearts, after 20 years of Groom and I selling our whimsical jewelry designs on the Park Blocks, are still interested in each week’s report.

I told them that it rained, it hailed, and the sun peeked out: In other words, a typical April day in Eugene.

This photo is of me and another vendor on opening day last Saturday. I found these delightful sock monkey hats at a kiosk in New York, just around the corner from Trinity Church and Ground Zero. After a sobering visit to that area, the sight of these silly hats struck the right note and got me in my smiley place.

I won’t burden or bore you with the painful, feels-like-it-aged-me-ten-years difficult week we had (oh, lament, lament, the grief of loving others who are sick and in pain), but as a take a break moment, we were invited to join friends in Portland on Tuesday for our first NBA basketball game at the Rose Garden Arena to watch The Golden State Warriors take a rubber hose to the Portland Trail Blazers 108 – 87. Ouch! They were neck and neck for the first two quarters and were tied at half-time, but quarters three and four were brutal.

Coach Nate McMillan was quoted as saying, “A bad game. This is one of those games where you burn the tape and move on.”

We didn’t just get to sit in the bleachers, which would have been awesome, but we had the privilege of sitting in a swanky private suite, a deluxe sky box where they wined and dined us. The view was spectacular, the food delicious and the experience an incredible treat.

It never occurred to me how much the tickets might’ve cost as it was one of those businesses scratching each other’s back deals, but on a whim, I decided to look up prices for tonight’s game and I almost choked on my coffee. The cheapest ticket (per person) starts at $115 and goes up to $2,784. Sheesh-a-ma-leesh!

A bad week. This is one of those weeks where you burn the tape and move on.

Tomorrow is week two of the Saturday Market and I hope it prompts me to “phone home.”

Lookin’ Like a Fool

Is it a prank if you can see it coming? Today is gorgeous, about the second nice day we’ve had in awhile. The sky is the color of rare, which we call blue here instead of normal, which is smudgy gray. The mercury is climbing to the lofty height of 66 which is where the April Fool’s joke comes in. Forecasters in the area are predicting a plunge of about 15 points for tomorrow with rain. For opening day at the Saturday Market. Am I supposed to laugh or cry?

In the spirit of foolhardiness because today is April First, here’s a little fool’s wisdom.

I wasn’t born a fool. It took work to get this way. – Danny Kaye

Talk sense to a fool and he calls you foolish. – Euripides

No one but a fool is always right. – David Hare

Only a fool tests the depths of the water with both feet. – African Proverb

It is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt. – Mark Twain

And my favorite foolish reference is by Larry Platt, the 62 year-old man fed up with the boys wearing their baggy pants below the underwear line. Pants on the ground, pants on the ground, lookin’ like a fool with you pants on the ground. (That must be why this guy opted to wear his pants on his head…)

The Day After Tomorrow Turns 20

If you’ve noticed that we haven’t been posting quite as many entries over the last week or so, there’s been a good reason. It’s because our official 20!! show season starts the day after tomorrow. Today being Thursday and Saturday Market’s opening day is, well, Saturday means everything begins the day after tomorrow.

The Day After Tomorrow has ushered in, gulp, twenty seasons and did you notice how perfectly the year aligns for us to celebrate this milestone? Since January first, it’s my habit to write our current blip in history of Two Thousand and Eleven with exclamation points instead of numeral ones.

We started our business of designing jewelry in 1991 when Groom and I were newly weds and college grads. As if to punctuate our 20th anniversary, the year of our Lord thoughtfully became 20!!

I enjoy words for groups of things like a murder of crows, a smack of jellyfish or a deceit of lapwings, but I’m not quite sure what the right one is for a group of many things that must be done: A nuisance of errands, a riot of hurdles, a siege of tasks?

Our “to do” list is longer than Santa’s scrolls of naughty or nice. The 8’ X 8’ wooden booth must be located, de-cobwebbed, tweaked, waxed, the fabric washed and re-fireretarded, the panels refurbished, the van repacked, all the accoutrements found and organized and there’s something else to do niggling at the back of my mind. What is it?

Oh yeah, stock to be made. Ha! I’ve been living on Fantasy Island for the past three months, studying and playing in Mexico in January, celebrating my birthday and Fashion week in New York during February and obsessing about my hair in March. Well, that’s another story, but I must confess, it’s been lovely to be at home these last few weeks, slowly getting into the swing of things whilst playing with friends and luxuriating in our final free weekends until Christmas Eve. Aaaaaiiiiieee, I’ve been a slacker!

Now the time has come and we must be ready. The house and studio are fairly tidy, we’ve made a few new pieces, but we’ve got to be more focused on designing NOW. With our newly emerging style and fresh jurying slides, we’ve been accepted into far more shows than rejected, so while that brings us tidings of joy, it also sets a little fire of panic, I mean motivation under our seats, so I’m off to get ready for a dinner party tonight, I mean, create more necklaces…

Show and Tell

Oh we do have something to show and tell!

Way back in the early 90’s, when Groom and I had been making our whimsical stamp jewelry for a year or two, a vendor at the Eugene Holiday Market displayed a book on his counter, a collection of photographs featuring cool, groovy jewelry artists and this vendor’s work was included.

I remember picking up the book, staring at the professional jewelers represented within its pages and sending out a wish (a longing) to the Universe that someday our work would be in a book like this. New to the business, the inclusion in such a book screamed validation to me, a “you are worthy” visa stamped in my passport of the approval trip I was on.

Well guess what? Last year we were informed that our work was going to be included in a book called Best of America Jewelry Artists volume II. We didn’t tell anybody. No, that’s not quite true, we told our enameling teacher last February.

A year later the book finally came out and when we came home from New York last month, we discovered that we are featured on pages 61 and 62.

The irony, of course, is that we have been transitioning into a different style of jewelry and what is in the book is not what we are currently focused on. Groom commented that it would have been better to have our new stuff in there. I nodded my head in agreement, but then later it occurred to me that’s not what I visualized all those years ago.

I clearly saw our stamp jewelry in the book. And, it’s kinda perfect to have the book in our hands on the 20th anniversary of our business.

And, of course, in the Wisdom of the All Knowing Being we call God, the validation, the stamp of approval from outside sources does not come until we no longer need it. While I think this book is sweet, I am no longer in the place where I think this is IT, the end all, it’s just a lovely thing to have happen.

And by no means, do we feel that we are “the best of America Jewelry Artists.” There are fantastic jewelers right here at the Eugene Saturday Market and at every show we attend and at the retreat in Mexico (in fact, one of the participants we worked with is on pages 45 and 46), and then there’s Richard and Jane Salley and Keith Lo Blue and …

Pssst, but between you and me, I have to admit I’m a little jazzed to have this book on our counter when the 20!! Show Season starts.

Bright Lights, Small City

Psssst…We discovered Santa’s secret. Did you know he really lives in a small trailer with Donner and Blitzen on the outskirts of the Pole? But more on that in a moment. First I have to ask, what happens if you wake up one morning and don’t understand your own culture?

That’s kinda what happened to us yesterday. I realize that we live in a bit of a bubble, a snow globe of our own, designing jewelry at home in our studio and then going out in public to sell it. But the public we mingle with are folks who attend art fairs and alternative festivals.

But yesterday, Groom and I did our annual day of Christmas shopping. I know, I know, there are people who can hardly believe that we only pop into the mall once a year, and even then it was for less than 15 minutes yesterday; two stores for specific wish lists. We usually shop at the Eugene Saturday Market and locally owned shops, so we are very spoiled.

But as we buy for those on our Obligatorium list (see Obliga-what? 12/10/10 ), we must venture out of our small, comfortable world and see what the other homosapiens are up to. It wasn’t all that pretty. We saw somebody write in purple ink on a napkin, “Big, Fat Slob,” and stick it under a windshield wiper. I guess it was their way of spreading “holiday cheer.”

After a full day of semi-fruitful shopping, we were picked up by a friend to join six others in a brand new, 2011 stretch limousine to gawk at Christmas lights for the evening. But we didn’t just see houses whose electric bills alone could finance a small country, we saw all kinds of larger than life inflatable characters and that’s when we discovered Santa’s downsized living conditions.

In spite of the commercialism, I heard a great line today from an audio book I’m listening to. Someone asked, “I need help, how do I connect with God?” Answer. “You are the connection point (as opposed to something or someone outside). Don’t try to be spiritual, just be yourself.”

We The Jury

The early years

For most of us, the word jury conjures up the official summons for civic duty, a mandatory “request” temporarily inviting us to join a group of our peers for the purpose of pronouncing guilt or innocence upon the accused.

For artists who’ve run away and joined the festival circuit, the term jury means almost the same thing.



A later incarnation

 Many times over the years, while Groom and I have been in our jewelry booth, innocent customers have asked the question, “So did you guys just show up here and set up your tent?”

Yep, that’s exactly how it happened, except for NOT.

Let me tell you how it’s done. First, we have to cultivate a list of viable shows. This requires a lot of research and sometimes money, because a few smart people - after having discovered how much effort it takes to track down the names of art fairs and festivals, who the promoters are, the dates of the show, the application process, the jurying fee, the deadlines, the criteria and etc., ad infinitum - have decided to keep this information secret and sell it for a lofty price.

Just because a person now has possession of the coveted list does not necessarily mean all of the shows are practical or profitable. More research is required, picking the brains of other artisans who may or may not have previously participated.

So much of one’s success depends on weather, the economic status of the town (or state as we have recently learned on a trek to California), the location of the show (shady park or sizzling street), the length of time it has been operating, how much advertising the promoters are willing to do, well, you get the idea.

In the Pacific Northwest, climate dictates the relatively short show season, so as is often the case, several prime shows occur on the same weekend which quite frankly is heartbreaking. If only they would stagger themselves on the calendar for a more user friendly dance card. It seems as though they all get bunched up at once, having us travel from one corner of Washington to the mid-section of California within the span of a week, leaving no time for rest, stock infusion or petting the cat.

Once the list is in hand, the calendar looking like a drunken game of connect-the-dots, the application process begins.

When we first made our debut, back in ‘91, we were selling exclusively at the Eugene Saturday Market. One day, a promoter of a local show invited us to participate and we were given a lovely booth spot and some column inch space in the newspaper as an “invited artist.” Wow, that was easy.

A promoter of another show saw our work and invited us to apply to theirs up in the Portland area, but said we’d have to take photos and fill out a form. Well, okay. So I just rifled through our box of stock and selected a few pieces that seemed intent on becoming our “best sellers.” Holding them in one hand, I just went out into the front yard and took the photo myself with the other.

Yes, I had to take the film to the drugstore and have it developed, but that was it. I simply dropped five pictures and the application form into whatever envelope I had and mailed it. We got in. The early 90’s were like that.



Nice hair shadow!



In some cases, we actually had to drive to the host town, such as Bellevue, Washington, months prior to the show so that the promoters could take a look-see at our work. If they liked it, we were in, which they did and so we were. Of course, this was expensive as we had to spend money on gas, hotel and food, plus take the time out of our creating schedule to do it, but that’s how it was done so we did it.

After a few seasons applying for shows in that fashion, things began to change. Instead of print photographs, some shows were starting to demand slides, so we had to invest in double the film and developing. After a couple few years of that, most of the shows got on the same page and they all went to slides.

Instead of a local promoter simply looking at the photos included in the envelope and deciding upon which vendors to include, now a bunch of slide projectors had to be set up, all the multitudes of little slides had to be placed into the slide projectors right side up and time set aside to look at them all, one right after the other.

Photographs allowed the promoters time to think, as they could look at them one by one as the mail brought them in until the deadline. They could put them in different piles to mull it over and see what else showed up. We usually got in.

When they switched to slides, suddenly the promoter (and probably some friends or family) had to sit in the dark and see one image after the other, or perhaps all of one artist’s projected simultaneously. Whatever the case, it was overwhelming and after awhile, they all sort of ran together and they got tired and we started not to get in.

After panicking a bit, this is our living after all, we learned that a panel of professional artists had been hired to look at the slides and weed the good from the bad. This was called a jury. Yep, they would pronounce sentence on our artwork and we would be allowed in the show and make some money, or rejected and allowed to starve.

More panic and research ensued. Those who were getting in were paying professional photographers to take the slide shots. For those in the jury, the quality of the slide is what became noticeable and separated the chaff from the wheat.

Suddenly, we had to fork out hundreds of dollars for what we’d been doing ourselves. But the quality of our slides went up and we were getting into the better shows, so it all paid off. Phew!

But evolution marches on and the digital age encroached upon us. Now, it seemed, it was easy peasy to take digital shots of one’s own work. This opened up the field and more and more people started applying to shows, creating a shortage of spaces compared to the overwhelming number of applicants.

We still managed to get in, until… Until those with advanced computer skills raised the bar and now the quality of digital shots had to be flawless. Until a company called Zapplication became the standard by which we all have to apply. Until we started not getting into as many shows.

More panic and research. One now cannot just have flawless digital images. One must create a body of work that has theme and focus. A collection, if you will. We cannot submit work that the customers like, no, because what do they know; they’re just voting with their money.

Insert ominous music here. THE JURY. A panel of our superiors passing judgment on those who will live and those who will die.

Even if the craftsmanship is impeccable, the theme must pass muster. As the jury has between 5-6 seconds (seconds, not minutes) to make their decision, they have been given a point system to use. They judge on a scale of 1-5 with no three’s allowed, which means when they see an image they either give it a one or a two or a four or a five. No middle ground, they either like it or hate it. At the end, those artists with the highest scores are in and those with the lowest…must I say it?

I have since learned that many themes are passé, such as dragonflies and hummingbirds. Juries loathe cute. If it’s popular, fogetaboutit.

The work must be evocative, but not provocative. Any religious imagery is out, for one member of the panel might be very religious and think the work is sacrilege, while another might be an atheist and find it offensive.

One cannot pull from pop culture like Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz or Marilyn Monroe for they’ve been done to death. Or say familiar like the Eiffel tower, for one juror might have been engaged near the iconic structure and smile with passion at the reminder while another might have been jilted by a lover in Paris and seethe with anger and take it out on the applicant stupid enough to use it.

The secret unknowable list goes on, topics that are permissible and more that are not. The photographs also have to be composed in such a way that the first image points to the right so that the juror’s eyes follow naturally to the next, while the last image must point up and to the left so their attention does not wander. In the 5 seconds!

Also, all components must be handmade; no more commercial parts such as earwires, jumprings, chain, charms and beads.

And the background. Phew! One must know what the color du jour is a la mode before hand. One season it was all white, but now, any artist who has their work photographed in white does themselves and the artist following them in the lineup a disservice. Why? Because in the dark, a white background is so bright, that the jurors eyes don’t have time to adjust before the next set of slides appear and even if the next artist has done everything exactly right, they may still get penalized on the basis of pupil dilation.

Another year it was all black. Now the trend seems to be a gradient from white to black or some such thing. How to learn all of this before forking out the cash?

Even after the collection, or body of work has been artfully and creatively thought out, photographed by the best in the biz, the images must then be sent to another enterprising fellow for professional cropping, Photoshop magic and layout. Then those images must be sent to another consultant on the east coast for his opinion as to their merit.

It’s all so bloody time consuming and expensive.

And so, to answer that innocent question, “Did you guys just show up here and set up your tent?”

We wish.