An A-Ha Moment Whilst Walking on an Autumn Day

Thank You, Flower Fairies

Some days it's all about hanging in there. And about leaning heavily on those little golden things that make getting out of bed worth it.

Today's been one of those days, and this week's been one of those weeks....

That being said, I'm grateful today for Facebook friends, crisp autumn leaves, a rattie handwarmer in the front pocket of my hoodie (thank you, Max), some sunshine and exercise, a new haircut with bangs again, and the surprise this afternoon of a second heavenly-blue Morning Glory blossom at my mailbox.

I love that shabby chipped paint around my window, too....

It's a surprise because I didn't plant heavenly-blue Morning Glories. I planted Grandpa Otts Morning Glories. And this week when I needed them most, the heavenly-blues arrived in all their wonderfullness.

Thank you, morning glories.

So grateful.

And now I share them with you.
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Addendum to an Earlier Post

My previous post on this subject may have given the wrong impression.... And I should remind myself (yet again) that it's neither fair nor a good idea to think aloud at the keyboard when I'm stressed and then press 'publish.' Not a good idea....

So what am I doing now? Adding to the whole thing. Writing more. Digging a deeper hole, maybe. But I hope not.

I've never wanted Fest to be about making money. That sounds silly, I know, since I'm a crafter there.... But since the very beginning I've not given a whole lotta thought to what I want from the place and what I can bring to the table.... Pretty stupid, I know. But I don't claim to be a businessartist.

No other Ren Faire makes me feel like this. I've visited bunches and I can take them or leave them. To me, the MN Renaissance Festival is a feeling, not a business. (Correction: It is a business, I know it is, I'm not 100% silly. I get that it's a business like Disney is a business. But I swear when I'm in the Magic Kingdom that shit is REAL.)

I've written before about what it was like for me to visit Fest the first time. I went there on the worst possible day, I swear. There was rain and mud and cold. But it was a perfect storm for me. Add the fallish weather, the low-hanging clouds. Cue the lute music. Curtain opens and there's Bruce Loeschen's amazing black-and-white half-timbered shop looking like something out of an old English high street. Candles glowing in its diamond-paned windows.... BOOM. I was home.

(Below is Bruce's own art of his remarkable shop as it looked back in the day. See what I mean??)

Art copyright Bruce Loeschen.

On a side note, you'll notice that I've still not managed to share much of my amazing trip to England because it defies description. Setting foot there was like revisiting a past life or something, a spiritual experience. It spoke to my soul.... Fest did as well. Just like in England, there were spirits there. Shadows. Threads of something ancient and timeless.... I can look at other Faires and see that they were once someone's idea, then someone's money, then someone's business on someone's land. They're an attraction like any other themed attraction. But not my Fest. Mine is a portal.

Since that first visit as a patron back in the 70s, my goal was to be a part of that magickal place, a part of that Tribe. But I didn't know how to make that happen, exactly, as I could offer it nothing. My abilities as an artist was all I thought I could bring to the table. So that's the direction I took.

Would that I had done my homework FIRST before leaping in with both feet. Instead of being a crafter I could have signed on to work for a crafter, and for the price of gas, a costume, a day pass, and a commitment I could have tested the waters. I'm sure a season of that nonsense would have knocked all the magick right out of me. As it was, my first year there as a bonafide crafter couldn't have been worse -- weatherwise, saleswise, stresswise, fill-in-the-blank-wise -- but that's another blog post. Even so, all that awfulness only anchored the magick in me more.

That's unfortunate, really. Because selling flat art there is HARD.

I'm convinced there's no dang way a flat artist at Fest can make a profit. Ever. I'm convinced! Not unless they're an incredibly savvy businessartist. Or not unless they're already popular there with a host of rabid groupie fans. (And in my head now I'm seeing Twig the Fairy repeatedly putting her kissprints on little canvases and making million$....)

Here's my hero hard at work. Photo is courtesy of his website -- loeschenart.com. GO THERE.

Recently I got an email from my Fest hero, the aforementioned Bruce Loeschen, the incredible pen-and-ink artist whose work inspired me to send a slide or two to the Fest jury waaaaaaaay back in the day. He's been retired from the Fest scene for years now. And when he mentioned the place in his email to me, he went on to describe working there as one of the hardest things he's ever done. Fest, for him, was similarly frustrating, saleswise, as it continues to be for me. I can remember our after-hours conversations about it, too, over wine and candlelight. At the time I couldn't imagine anyone visiting his shop and not falling under the spell of his work, buying it ALL, and making him rich.

I'll say again that after 30 years I'm no more popular there than I was as a clueless newbie setting up shop for the first time. Am I part of the Tribe? Via seasonal contract only, perhaps. I've made a handful of friends there that are family to me now -- castmembers, customers, fellow crafters, all of them have my heart, and I wouldn't give up our friendships for anything. Not all are local, and the Fest season is the only time I get to reconnect with them. They appreciate both me and the art I create. And I continue to slog away every season trying new things and hoping to sell enough to pay my bills.

That being said, I'm learning that reconnecting with them is my focus. It's what keeps me at Fest, trying to make sense of this art-selling thing. And I hate that there are Big Annual Fee$ associated with being able to do that, simply because I made the choice 30 years ago to be a crafter there.

Hmmmm. If it wasn't so greedy-sounding, I'd almost consider bumping up the price of hugs from 'free' to a quarter.

And maybe then I'd have a season where my Taxperson doesn't make fun of me....
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Printing and Pondering....

Printing, printing, printing. And pondering.

A busy 3-day Fest weekend fast approacheth, and it's Wednesday already and I still don't know where to start.

My dear old Epson is inked and printing, so I am accomplishing something. But as I do so I'm far away in my head, thinking hard, and typing my thoughts in a blog post that I'll probably not publish as I can already sense it'll be too dang angsty....

But BOY. Does it ever help to write....

Each year I find myself trying something new and different, artwise, and sharing my fresh creations at my shop at the MN Renaissance Festival, which is the only art show that I do now. In some cases, my work is 'fresh' simply because my style has changed out of necessity; as I age I've begun dealing with issues like arthritis and poor eyesight and an unsteady hand.

But over the years I've also learned that I'm completely disinterested in revisiting subjects that I concentrated on earlier in my career -- photo-realistic pen-and-ink or pencil drawings that almost always generated oohs and aahs but rarely generated sales. Mostly I'd just hear comments like, "My little girl can draw like that! You should see the amazing portrait of *insert-name-of-current-popstar/celebrity-here* that she created -- it looks just like a photograph!" (Gah....)

As is expected (I imagine) of someone who never went to Art School, I went through a few phases. There was the wildlife phase, and the series of nudes, and the 'punny' stuff, and the art I was hoping seemed 'edgy' but really wasn't. I was still learning through personal experience and getting my forms down with the intention of eventually creating work that relied more on imagination and less on photographic reference material. I was making internal changes, too, of course. Discovering myself. Each fresh wave of work attracted its own set of critics and connoisseurs, but I never felt as though I'd really found my niche....

Then I was given a grandchild. And everything I drew after that moment became more imaginative and whimsical. Suddenly there was color! And an element of nostalgia. And in my head, my Target Customer became someone like myself, someone with childhood still in her blood.

THIS is where I want to concentrate the time that is left to me. I want to spend the rest of my art days drawing sweet and happy creations that make people smile and remember that there's more to life than working one's ass off chasing a buck. I want them to remember what it was like to watch clouds and whisper to butterflies, and to see the world with eyes as big as saucers.

I feel as though my art has taken THE right road now, finally. But I can't help but think that where Fest is concerned it's too late....

This is my 30th Fest season. During all my years there I've seen many artists come and go, folks that I tend to refer to as 'flat artists', who create 2D originals and prints that have to be framed and are therefore flat. Very few of us diehards still remain. I keep thinking that THIS is the year I'll get noticed, isn't that funny?, because if it hasn't happened yet it never will....

I've made many friends -- both castwise and patronwise -- over the years, and most of my time at Fest is spent reconnecting with them. Two customers spoke this year of how visiting me is 'like a show,' worth the price of admission. A castmember said that visits with me are a highlight of his Fest experience, and his wife adds that if she had to choose between me and my art, she'd choose time spent with me....

What does that say, exactly?

Some stuff I've known forever. Like the fact that I'll never be a 'famous' Fest face. Even after 30 years of drama and crazy in the same location in the same Fest neighborhood, only a handful of folks there even know who I am. And out of costume, less than half of those would ever recognize me. That will never ever change.

But what I thought of as my slowly-increasing circle of clientele isn't a customer base at all. It's a group of strangers-turned-friends to whom I stepped out of my comfort zone at one time and introduced myself. And, in turn, they liked me. And they purchased a piece of my work BECAUSE they liked me. And not necessarily because they saw my art, fell in love with it, and wanted yet another thing to frame and find space for on a wall somewhere.... So apparently I'm not selling art so much as I'm just meeting people and making friends.

That means it's not about my work at all.

Right??

This season especially, I'm fast-forwarding to the near future when the MN Renaissance Festival will be moving to a new site. The reason for the move is not my story, and you can find more info if you really wanted to. (Here's an article, for instance. And here's one, too....) But when I think about the expense of moving my shop or rebuilding, I get the heebie-jeebies. I won't live long enough to recover that expense, for one thing. And I'm at an age now where lugging marine-grade plywood and building a shelter to code isn't something I want to waste a minute -- let alone a summer -- doing. (And no, I can't afford to hire someone to do it for me.)

And seriously? If my art isn't Mayfaire's 'draw,' what's even the point? Why not just throw on a costume, scrounge a pass, and spend future seasons giving away free hugs? I won't make any money, but I won't lose any either.

And THERE'S a refreshing thought.

No more would I be paying a fortune every dang season just to see my friends. No more printing costs or building maintenance costs or lease fees or anything. And the funny part? Nothing would change. AT ALL. Folks would still find me for a hug. And they'd still not buy my work....

It seems like a win/win. And reaching that conclusion today makes my gut breathe a big sigh of relief. I think I've nailed it. I'm on to something! Granted, this has stared me in the face for decades now and I could've saved myself all sorts of time and money if I'd just made eye contact with it already. (I'm nothing if not unobservant and clueless....)

So!

I think this is IT, really. I kind of do.

And until 2017 -- which I'm understanding will be Fest's first season in its new location -- I'll keep paying big bucks to continue on right where I am, doing just what I do. And encouraging anyone who's always meant to purchase from me and hasn't yet to take the opportunity to do so NOW.

Because if I'm interpreting the signs correctly, that opportunity is packing its bags.
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Reflections on 2nd Weekend

If 1st Weekend of the MN Renaissance Festival was a bit wonky for me, 2nd Weekend tried hard to make up for it.

It began showering me with blessings right away on Friday evening, from the huge dragonfly sunning itself in my ivy to the two bats that circled the interior of my shop before roosting in its rafters to the dear friends who kept me company until nearly midnight as I did last-minute work.

This was MADE for me!

Saturday began with the ever-appreciated coffee. A Fest friend who once caught me spooning granules from a jar of Instant has been hand-delivering a cup to me every morning now for years. And as if that wasn't enough, there was also a still-warm blueberry scone, and later a slab (only word for it) of banana cake and a homebaked loaf of quickbread so dang moist it wilted my princess hair just by opening the bag and inhaling its fruity fragrance. And I must not forget the ground cherries (or as I like to call them: 'sweet little fairy presents wrapped in tissue paper leaves').

Jimmy and his brother, both looking too sharp for words.

And that was just the foodstuffs. Did I mention the handmade woolen beret, complete with monarch butterfly charm? Or the surprise of the aforementioned princess hair? Or how about all the regenerating hugs. Or the visit from some fave customers who made my day by telling me, "Don't take this the wrong way BUT -- visiting you is worth the price of admission because it's like a show." (That comment still makes my socks go up and down.)

And the images.... I saw a woman wearing an octopus on her shoulder. And a tough-looking dad with tattoo sleeves and sunglasses carrying around his little daughter's American Girl doll. I saw familiar faces I haven't seen in ages. I saw my friend Jimmy in his wedding clothes, I saw my friend Jamie propose to his lady -- both gentlemen so dang excited to enter this new phase of their lives that their emotions were infectious. (I'm not used to guys like that. It was heartwarming. And a little heartbreaking, too....) And I saw the most beautiful Blood Moon rise over the Fest grounds just as our own Minnesota Morris Men glided -- haunting and bell-less and beautiful -- over the site, bestowing their blessings.

I reconnected with my favorite fairy ever on Sunday and also met her real-life fairygrandmother, whose wings may have been concealed, but her beauty and sparkles and grace and magick weren't. And I released a monarch at the end of the day and it brought back comedian Scott Novotne and his family! So even my butterflies brought me gifts.... I'm not worthy!

On his daughter Kinsey's hair is the butterfly responsible for my brush with fame.

As always, I learned a lot about myself on this second weekend in a row of stepping out of my comfort zone. Not necessarily good stuff or bad stuff. Just stuff.... A short-change artist took advantage of me earlier in the day, not surprisingly. A dear friend tried to buy me a beer and I somehow negated the gesture (how does one even do that?). And try as I might, I couldn't hide from the probing tendrils of the soul-sucking energy vampires that I swear descend on Fest every year and search out my heart. I think I'm prepared every season, too, and then BOOM.... There's a lesson to be learned there, obviously. Stuff to think about and put into perspective.

Mmmm. Home again. And in Recovery Mode.

By Sunday night I was as friable as a cicada husk, and getting out of garb was a big old effort. During the course of doing so, the resident bandersnatch began its lumbering ascent of the exterior of my shop, scrabbling and heaving itself to my roof before once again attempting to return to the crawlspace in my ceiling. I had hardly the energy to repeat my annual can-you-at-least-wait-until-after-season plea let alone try to frighten it away with the end of my broom....

It's now the day after. And even real food, rattie kisses, Epsom salts in my boiling-hot bath, and a good night's sleep haven't managed to repair me....

Yet....

Anyway.

According to my Fest friends and neighbors the weekend was $urprisingly $weet, which is so unusual for an early weekend, especially one that coincides with the State Fair. But it wasn't for me, which isn't so unusual. And once again I'm learning things about my art and what it brings (or doesn't bring) to the table. I'm not sure if I can put the lessons into words yet, but it's pointing to being less about my work and more about me.

And I'm not sure yet how I feel about that.

But it's giving me lots to think about....
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A Weird & Wonderful 1st Weekend

Sweet little lion man!

First weekend of Fest has come and gone. I don't think I even tasted it....

Sadly, last Saturday -- Opening Day -- was the first time in 30 years I've missed an entire day of Fest when it was in progress. I did so gladly (there was a family emergency to which I gave my caring support), but missing that first day knocked me out of alignment with the Fest Flow, and being there on Sunday felt like I was in a parallel reality where I could watch and observe but not really interact. Friends walked past me. Familiar faces looked through me. I felt like my season needed a quick reboot.

Funny thing, I can recall years ago being 'kidnapped' during a Fest day and led to an on-site trailer backstage where Cast friends were taking a break from the dust and the heat to watch a movie. Actor Gerard Butler was in it and many of my female friends needed their daily swoon, apparently. Because I had no idea who he was at the time, this movie was meant to be my initiation, and so I politely hung around to appreciate a few of his scenes while James manned the shop (we both worked together in a single shop back then).

But being indoors on a Fest day and watching a movie -- even for half an hour! -- was enough to throw off my weekend, and I can still remember how odd it felt to return to 'work' again afterwards....

Last Saturday I'd gotten on-site after the evening cannon, so already I was confused. In my head it was the Friday before Opening Day. But that super-charged, storm-on-the-horizon energy wasn't there.... My shop already had a 'lived-in' feel to it, having been open to customers and friends for an entire day. The wonderful women who took over for me in my absence had made it their own, moving things around to fit their needs, setting up the counter to their own taste. Showing up now felt a bit like an intrusion.... 

Add to that the fact that, because of the previous day's rain, I was unable to drive on-site to unload, so many of my props, products, and costume pieces were left at home to avoid having to lug them all somehow on a shuttle bus from a far-away parking location. That meant butterflies as well. Things just weren't the same.

In addition to the 'surrealness' of missing Opening Cannon, it was doubly hard to come off a day of sadness and put on a smile. I'm sure no one I spoke to could tell how wonky my first day's experience was unless I told them so; I like to think I'm pretty good at hiding all that when it's necessary.

Still....

Even though I was there for Sunday only, I still enjoyed a lot of hugs and highlights: Familiar faces, folks I only see during the run of the show, customers who are like family now.... I held a sweet boy whose impending birth I kept a secret last season when his expectant mama shared with me her happy news. When we were finally introduced and I took him in my arms, she burst into sweet tears. Priceless.... I saw a ghost and took its picture!... And before the day was over, resident bat 'Bacardi' flew circles around the shop before tucking in behind my mirror.... It was a weird and wonder-filled day.

And when everything was over and I finally checked my phone, it was to discover that other Festfolke had posted updates and highlights, which were wonderful to see, as I didn't leave Mayfaire that Sunday other than to visit the privy. 

I learned via social media that some of the Usual Suspects weren't a part of Fest this season, and that broke my heart. And I saw tear-jerk-worthy posts from former Festies who spent First Weekend curled on the couch, wallowing in memories and wishing they were with us all on-site. It made me want to buy them all plane fare and comp tickets so that they could join us. I'd still do so if I could.

And now 2nd Weekend fast approacheth. James tells me I'll feel normal again once I return to my regularly-scheduled routine. He's right, I'm sure. And I'll take care to write again next week and share the highlights.

Until then, my friend! Huzzah. :)
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Me and the 'M' Word

These are just Ones but they still make me nervous....

Exactly a year ago I wrote a pre-Fest post that I never finished and never published....

It was all about the 'M' word -- 'money' -- and how I just can't seem to wrap my head around it.

I joke that I'm allergic to money. I know people who are killing themselves to earn it, and others who are asshats because of it. Money makes me anxious, it keeps me awake at night. I hate thinking about it; it ties my stomach up in knots....

Yes, I get that money "makes the world go 'round" and all that. I may be silly but I do understand why it exists. And I do understand how ridiculous it is to pretend it's not important.

But dang. I wish it wasn't so necessary....

Now that the Fest season is looming again the 'M' word is uppermost on my mind. I'm forced to once again acknowledge that dollar sign, make tentative eye contact with it, awkwardly renew our strange little relationship and dance the uncomfortable dance of commerce. Because I have a business (if you can even call it that) Fest's seven busy weekends are essentially all about the Making of Money; there's no getting around it. And if I'm smart I'll figure out a way for the two of us to get the heck along. Learn those dance steps already. Take it to the next level....

Ideas for this year's products have been fleshed out, and now they need printing, packaging, framing. Sums are adding up quickly and I already have costs to recoup, more bills to pay.... I must sell my work in order to pay those bills. And then sell it some more so I can hopefully live frugally again for another year so I can do it all over again.

Fest -- aka The Minnesota Renaissance Festival -- is my primary gig now. I used to do other shows, but doing so took its toll, and now that I'm the age I am I find that all the travel and set-up drains me almost as much as the Meet-and-Greet. And although I can apparently act like an extrovert when necessary, the recovery time needed afterward is phenomenal, and I eventually discovered that Fest was about as much spotlight as I could take; the remainder of the year gave me barely enough time to bounce back.

But I couldn't give up art shows completely. Fest was my first, it's where I began. And I found that being somewhere where folks can find me, see me, meet me, talk with me, is somehow tremendously important to my sales (boom: my Catch22). I'd have thought just the opposite, frankly -- that I'd be my own worst enemy -- but my records show that I have far better sales when I'm in attendance and actively engaged than when I'm not. So it helps a LOT to 'gird my loins,' step out of my comfort zone, and make the most of every Fest moment, and I do what I can.

Even though Fest is seasonal and occurs for only seven weekends in the fall, it keeps my boat afloat from one year to the next. But just barely. And only if conditions are right. Throw in some bad weather (or a host of other unforeseen predicaments/situations) and the final numbers can be disastrous. It doesn't take much. Even an afternoon of Too Many Chatty Friends Crowding Out Too Few Buying Customers can send me over the money cliff....

I know I could do better. I'm just not sure how, exactly. I don't want to be That Artist who goes for everyone's wallet. I've been around artists like that, who can't bother to be nice until you show them the color of your cash.... I want those who visit my Fest shop to walk away with a good memory, even if they don't buy anything.

Well-meaning folks tell me that I need to 'take my business seriously' (I do, don't I??) and they offer me suggestions: Illustrate their e-story/children's book/graphic novel 'for the exposure.' Draw more birds of prey with 'something dead in their talons.' Create cartoony caricatures of impossibly-proportioned female superheroes, or draw manga/anime vampires, or otherwise fill-in-the-blank. Others tell me to suck it up already and sell my work as tattoo flash. Or design calendars, license my characters, do a Mary Engelbreit and create an arty empire!

The list goes on....

And I listen. I really do. All are sound ideas even if some of them give me the heebie-jeebies. Few of them interest me, though -- I want to draw what I want to draw.... Plus, the logistics of making their suggestions happen is all so weird and complicated to me. Tattoo flash? Calendar printing? Licensing?? None of those things just happen. They require something that I don't have. Money, for one thing. Connections, for another. And for the rest I really wouldn't know where to start.

Not only that but the seven weekends of Fest already feel like Big (Scary) Business to me. In addition to being around-the-clock work, they also mean having to step out of my comfort zone so dang far that I have to retreat to the rabbit hole immediately afterward. Plus, I get as much attention there as I could ever want in my entire life.

So it's my own fault that I'm not as successful as maybe I could be.

Imagining my art on Hot Topic t-shirts or in the pages of Faerie Magazine is both fun and frightening. And even the happy little fantasy of it in my head feels like too much attention. That Mary Engelbreit-like empire sounds terrifying, too. I can't help but equate it with being rich and famous, which to me is one of the Seven Levels of Hell.

I know I should be 'in it to win it.' Or if winning isn't my thing, I should at least run with intent. I have a business, after all; maximizing my profits should be my goal, right? But the money part isn't what's important to me about being an artist. Creating things that make people smile is. I just wish brightening a person's day could also pay an artist's bills....

It frequently frustrates me to be that person who can't seem to figure this art thing out, especially since I've been doing it forever and am still just as clueless. And it doesn't help that I'm surrounded by a host of creative folks who are winning the game. I know they're savvy and work HARD, yet in comparison they make it look like boom, boom, boom -- success! What does that tell me? That for all my decades of trying to do this thing, I still suck so badly at it that maybe I should just throw in the towel.

But I can't throw in the towel. I might not be a businessperson, but I am an artist. I love what I do! Especially when it brightens someone's day. When that happens, the feeling is inde-freakin'-scribable. It's as if my heart blew a gentle kiss and it came back full circle like a solid-gold boomerang at full speed to knock the wind out of me and fill me up again x 10. WHOOSH. I just want to do it all again -- wash, rinse, repeat.

That process -- idea, creation, share, surprise, smile -- defines my work and why I do it. Add money into the equation and it tips the scales negatively. Something doesn't work out right. Does that make sense? I can't explain it.... It's like I'm happiest when I'm creating art in secret, to be gifted to an unsuspecting soul who just needs a pick-me-up. I don't even need to see them receive it! I don't even need to know who they are. Just creating that art with the intention of sharing it is healing for me somehow; it fills my well, and I do it as much for myself as I do it with others in mind. Going on then to imagine that my creation will be just what that person needs when they need it most is satisfying to me. Almost like payment.

Almost.

But in the Real World it's not at all like payment. And payment is important.

Maybe I just need the right someone who can take what I do and make it work for me, financially as well as spiritually. Maybe I just need a big-ass dose of Art Management, or a semester of Biz101, or simply some sense knocked into me.

Or perhaps I'm just an artist who fears success. Ouch.

Still....

I find that rereading this post kind of makes me like myself. Go figure.

And that's a surprise that I needed today.
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