Speaking of "Echt" - Special Mid-Week Edition

I was tidying up the display of objets d'art on my dresser when I noticed this:

Use Echt in a sentence!

I have a little German hat I picked up at a local thrift store. Lo and behold, there's the word "echt" on the label. It's a Genuine Bayerischer Velour Hat! I sometimes wish I was the kind of person who believed in omens and such. This would've been a doozy!

Another project I've been working on (besides the peacock throw in the previous post) is a quilt for my high school friend, Rachel. It started out as a personal project to use up some fabric scraps, but when I posted picks of my progress, she made an offer. I had no intention of selling it originally, though I'd never turn down an offer. I was just trying to use up my stash and try a block method (with diamond-shaped pieces) I'd never tried before. Now that I've done it, I don't know if I'll ever do it again, and if I do, I now know how to fix the things that drove me nuts and how better to cut and sew. Making it however, was strictly seat-o-my-pants style. I really didn't know how it'd turn out. I went blindly forth, hoping that what resulted was good enough. It's also one of only two queen-sized pieces I've ever done. I wasn't sure I'd have enough fabric, but I was fortunate that I had gotten in on a super sale a couple of years ago and bought a whole lot of a few prints. I was also fortunate that Rachel loved it.

Rachel's quilt in our high school colors.

It's totally improvised, totally echt. I'm reading Jane Lynch's memoire, "Happy Accidents", and that's what I have entitled this piece. It may have humble beginnings as a stash buster, but through a series of happy accidents, it's my first sale! What better inspiration?

People also started asking about the peacock quilt. Was it for sale? How much? When I stated the price,  all three offers fell through. I was thinking, "Gee. Did I put too high a price on this?" Then I got nervous. My hands carped up a little (the conversion disorder manifestation) and I couldn't sleep. I've always wanted to sell my work, but I've always been afraid to put a price on my work. This is primarily because I don't typically use patterns. Even when I've done costume design, my renderings (sketches) are more of a guideline than an accurate depiction of what is actually created. I'll go off on a tangent and come up with something different, usually better than what started out.

So, I know I'm not perfect, I enjoy (and make no apologies for) being echt, but how does that translate to value? Good gravy. Like many artists, I tend to undervalue my work and myself. Partly I think this happens because I know majority of my friends aren't made of money. We're all 99%ers. Not that my price was that outrageous. I looked at etsy sites to see comparable items, I based it on that and when I suggested the price to Rachel, she counter-offered...with more. In fact, she offered what I proposed for the peacock quilt. My head is spinning just thinking about it.

Why do artists undervalue themselves? I'm sure at least a little bit is due to low self-esteem. That seems to be the bane of the artist's existence. We also may not keep track of how many hours we're actually putting into a project, so we guesstimate. For me, recording time would be nearly impossible because I generally have my two kids vying for my attention while I'm working. This is getting easier as they get older, but they still want to show me what they've drawn or I need to break up an argument.

As a craftsperson, it's perhaps even harder to price things because what you're making is not only artistic but is utilitarian in nature. It needs to be quality to stand up to use, it should be beautiful, and should be affordable. Why should someone pay $600 for my lovingly made quilt when they can go to Wal-Mart and get a comforter and complete sheet set for $40? You can only make so many gifts for people before you start thinking, "I should make some money for this." Especially if you want it to become your sole source of income.

Firstly, if you purchase something handmade, you will very likely be the only person in the world who's got it. I don't know a whole lot of artists who make the same thing over and over. Some do. They figure out what people seem to like and make a bunch. My dad was an artist with a pencil and a paintbrush. There are originals of his work all across the country. There are also prints of his work, though they are actually rarer than the real thing.

Secondly, artists are trained. They may not have a degree, but they've taken classes, read books, made more than a few failed attempts at something (we all have our share of UFOs - Un Finished Objects - laying around). That's still an education, even if we didn't pay for it (and believe me, in some way, we paid for it!)

Thirdly, we create because we must. If we don't, we don't breathe correctly. We get cranky and depressed. We have nervous breakdowns and develop conversion disorder. Well, maybe not that last bit. That's probably just me. Creating stuff is just who we are. Sometimes artists have other things they can do, like be a dentist or accountant. I'm not one of those people. If I'm not creating, wether a character in a play or a piece of artwork, I'm not living. We should be able to make a living with that which makes us alive.

The ball is in the buyer's court, however. I've found that, unless a piece has a "firm" price, negotiations aren't out of the question, but don't insult the artist, value them. Some artists are willing to barter/trade for services or goods, too, myself included, as long as they are of equal value. Of course, that's between the artist and the consumer, but it can be done.

For example, another friend of mine would've liked the peacock quilt, but she can't afford the tag. What we're going to do instead is, she'll purchase the fabric from my Spoonflower designs and I'll help her with the layout and piecing of her own quilt. (spoonflower.com/tequila_diamonds by the way) When she purchases from my designs, I get credit toward my own purchase, which I'll probably use for samples of my latest designs. Once I've approved them, I can put them up for sale.

So the next time you're walking through the mall and there's a craft show going on, don't automatically dismiss the artist's prices. Talk to them, get to know them, find out if they negotiate. If you really love a piece, it should be worth it to you and it should show that you value the person who created it as well. Something can always be worked out.

What is "Perfect" anyway?

Dictionary.com defines the word "Perfect" thusly:

per·fect

 [adj., n. pur-fikt; v. per-fekt]

adjective

1.

conforming absolutely to the description or definition of an ideal type: a perfect sphere; a perfect gentleman.

2.

excellent or complete beyond practical or theoretical improvement: There is no perfect legal code. The proportions of this temple are almost perfect.

3.

exactly fitting the need in a certain situation or for a certain purpose: a perfect actor to play Mr. Micawber; a perfect saw for cutting out keyholes.

4.

entirely without any flaws, defects, or shortcomings: a perfect apple; the perfect crime.

5.

accurate, exact, or correct in every detail: a perfect copy.

Yet, when I hear the word, I cringe. We put so much pressure on ourselves to be perfect, or what we believe is the socially acceptable notion of perfect. All the plastic surgery in the world won't make a person "perfect" because they'll have the scars. There's no "Perfect time" to get married, change jobs, have children, but so many people wait for that elusive perfection, that they often miss out on something that, while not perfect, is certainly wonderful. How many criminals believed they had committed "the perfect crime" only to be convicted? How often has the "Perfect couple" split up? The "perfect" day gone awry?

I've put off a lot of things waiting for perfect; I've scrapped a ton of projects because they weren't perfect. I didn't want to start this blog (and certainly wouldn't do any demo videos!) until my studio was perfect. Guess what? It's still not ideal, but here I am, typing away, gathering ideas for videos that will eventually be filmed in my messy, cramped studio. I will say it's better than it was, but it's not... well, you know.

When I went to Dictionary.com for this, the daily word was echt. One I've never ever heard of, but one which couldn't have been more (dare I say it?) perfect for this entry.

echt

  \ ekht \   adjective; 

1.

real; authentic; genuine.

As I'm pecking away at things that aren't just the way I expected them to be, I've noticed one thing they all have in common. They're loaded with echt-ness. I mean, look at this thing! I don't know why it's not staying within the perimeters of my blog layout, but I don't know how to fix it, either. And there ya have it. Echt.

I pride myself on being echt. I encourage others to be as echt as they can be. Which is why the health issues of my last year were so disappointing. I suffered a nervous breakdown, followed by conversion disorder. I went to a bunch of specialists, had several MRIs, the first of which presented us with what would later (after being called a tumor, which is what took my father) be labeled as a lesion. I've probably had it all my life, but to be on the safe side, I went through all the testing for Multiple Sclerosis: EKG, EMG (which I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy), Sleep EEG, spinal tap (and blood patch because it didn't heal and I was leaking spinal fluid). I kept hoping it was MS. Why would I want something so horrible? Because then it would mean it wasn't my fault. 

There had been a lot of things which led up to the breakdown, but I had been under stress before. Greater stress, actually. I'm a survivor of rape, I watched my father battle cancer, I've been stalked, I've had two children, one of whom has autism spectrum disorder, I've lived on my own in New York City in the 90s. You know, back before all the hipsters took over and it was still dangerous and cool. So I did not want to cop to the diagnosis of nervous breakdown. I'm too strong for that. Right?

The events leading up to it were numerous and offered a variety of stressors, some of which involved my perceived perfection. All I could think of when it finally got down to "you had a nervous breakdown" was, how could I have let all those outside influences take me over like that? I know I'm not perfect, so why was I so worried about it? Well, okay, the only thing I could come up with is that, deep down, we all wish we could be perfect. Our lives would be so much better, right? But I look around and I have shelter, enough to eat, a family who loves me. I even painted a family sign that hangs on our house that reads, "We may not have it all together, but together we have it all." I was disappointed in myself for not embracing my humanity, flaws and all.

What does this have to do with sewing or art? Well, as artists, I believe we all strive for perfection. Just as an athlete works out every day to get better and better, we study our craft(s) and work toward perfection. Sadly, we too often compare our work to that of others. I had a boyfriend when I lived in New York who was an artist. I liked the style of his work. It was bold and colorful. His best friend is one of these guys who can paint something and have it look like a photograph. Gene was always putting his work down because it didn't look like Phil's. I actually preferred the broad lines and astonishing surrealism of his work, but he couldn't see it or appreciate it for what it was: his echt.

When I was pregnant with my first son, I had grand notions of making my own maternity clothes. On my first trip out, I put the sleeves on backward and couldn't get the seams to lay flat, so I chucked it. I recently found it (almost 12 years later!) in a box in my studio. I really liked the fabric. It seemed a shame that it was just hidden in a box, wadded up in a ball of frustration. So I started to take it apart. Then I fussy cut a few of the motifs into 9 inch squares. I rummaged through my stash and found several fabrics which coordinated with the colors and theme of the print. This was born...

I'm not quite finished with it yet, but when I do git 'er done, I'll have something far more lasting than a maternity top. I may even be able to sell it, who knows?

The other day I went to one of my favorite fabric haunts, Mill End Textiles, which is sadly going out of business. However, it means there are hella good deals going on and I partook, oh, yes, I did. They're also selling the items they've had on display - quilts, pillows, clothing - all made by the people who work and shop there. I bought this pillow, partially because it looks so cool, partly because I wanted to snoop at it and figure out how it was made, but mostly because it was the perfect example of what I'm trying to say here. I'm not the only one who makes imperfect things that still look pretty darn cool.

Cool, right? Like you're looking through glass cubes.

But look at the red border. There's a good 1/8 inch sway in the seam.

Notice how the seams don't even come close to matching.

My first attempt at coordinating a pair of peacock panels to go with two others. I often work without a plan or pattern. I was running out of fabric and options. I did worry that it wouldn't look right.
I ended up changing the blue border into a feather border because I didn't want 2 blue borders next to each other,
which is what would've happened had I left it alone. So I changed it.  No big deal, no worries.  

...And it turned out to be more interesting. Not perfect, but echt and interesting. You also get a sneak peek of my messy studio.

The makers of echt Persian rugs (see what I did there?) always leave a mistake in the pattern. They believe that only God can be perfect and to try to out-shine God is a sin. I don't believe in the supernatural, but I do believe that the idea there is sound; humans aren't perfect, and we shouldn't try to be. We should do our best, certainly, but if things don't quite go the way we expected, we don't have to be so hard on ourselves. 

Here's your assignment: Go though your discarded projects, salvage what you can, recycle what you can. You may even decide it's not as bad as you thought. Of course there's the chance that you'll say, "Good gravy! What was I thinking?" and that's okay, too. If it's isn't echt to you, chuck it. Take it to the thrift store where it may be echt for someone else. Try to be as echt as you can be. Let me know how that turns out...

No, really. Let me know.