Michael

One of my favorite mindless little past times is to look at one of the chain-mail fora on Facebook. It's a nice little community in which people share photos, tips, inspirations, and questions. Great community, too. They're very encouraging, and the moderator is one of the best I've seen in a long time. If petty bickering, or trolling, rears its ugly little head, he's quick to put a stop to it.

Jokes? He often let's them go on. He's kind of cool that way.

On this forum, there is one person, in my own mind, that sticks out: Michael. He's a bit of a kook (and since I know that people from this forum are likely reading this, he's never gonna live that title down), exceedingly generous, and someone I'm very proud to call a good friend. (Hence, I refer to him as a kook.)

But one question I get asked a lot, for some reason, is how we met. After all, there aren't that many of us chain-mailers around, and while we see each other's work on the net, many of us have never met.

Well, I got to thinking about that question the other day, and realized that it was a pretty good story.

So.....

Once upon a time (unless you're from the middle east, then it's "Under the azure dome..."), I was asked to do a chain-mail workshop at a local store. Since teaching is one of my passions in life, and chain-mail is another, combining the two seemed like a good idea. The date was set. The notices went out. The people registered, and all seemed good in my little corner of the world.

And then the day arrived. (Cue the symphonic music.)

The sun crept ever higher in the sky; the clock ticked ominously on; the vultures were circling overhead. (Actually, they were. We have a lot of vultures around here.)

Momentary light-hearted aside - One day, a few summers past, I decided to take a break and head out to nature, as I am wont to do. I drove over to Beaver Lake, a great place for a quick dip in some nice water, or a pleasant walk in the woods, whichever you choose at the moment. On that particular day, I chose the water. And soon discovered that there were tons of little kids, all about 2 - 5 years old, swimming in the shallows of the lake. And overhead? Dozens of vultures circling. Hmmm. Methinks they knew something.

And now back to our regularly scheduled story.

My son was picked up from his bus. My wife had wended her way home. I was properly fed and watered, so it was time for me to embark upon my journey.

As it was early evening, I gave myself plenty of time to fight the rush hour traffic, which on the Island is more like the "rush quarter-hour", and I successfully passed it all heading in the other direction. I forgot that I was going downtown, and they weren't. In short, I got there way too early, and had some time to wander. A cup of tea was acquired, and I scouted out a cheese shop that I had never noticed. Mmmm. Cheese.

And then made my way back to the store.

When I walked in, the proprietor looked at me a bit strange and asked, "Do you know Michael?"

Well, I know a few Michaels. In fact, one of them was best man at my wedding. But this Michael? Couldn't say that I did.

She described him as "a bit of a social misfit, extremely nice, and a touch odd", to which I would only add "kook". I mean, I can now add all sorts of other descriptors, many of which are to be found on the Virtue's poster hanging on my door, and some of which I can't type in polite company.

But no, I didn't know him.

She said, "He dropped this off for you."

"This" was a jar of jump rings, and a note.

The note, which I still have somewhere in the depths of my studio / guest room, said something to the effect of how he really wanted to come to the workshop but had to catch a ferry home, and the rings were a gift for the students to use.

The rings just happened to be the exact same size which I had brought with me.

The workshop went well (in fact, one of the students came by my booth yesterday and wanted to know when he could learn some more weaves), and when I got home I told my wife all about this stranger who dropped off these rings. I am always touched by the overwhelming generosity of others.

I told her that there was one woman in the group who seemed to be having a particularly tough time of it lately, and had obviously scrimped and saved for the class, and so I gave her the jar. She was practically in tears as she headed on out. (The woman in the class, not my wife.)

And I made sure to call Michael the next day to thank him, over and over, for his exceedingly kind and unexpected gift.

This is just a single example of Michael's unfailing generosity.

Not many people know it, but he has also instituted a not-for-profit non-registered charity for supplying chain-mail artisans who are going through difficult times to get jump rings for free.

He also often posts that he's "on a boat" not because he loves sailing back and forth between his home of Mayne Island and Vancouver Island, but because he takes care of an elderly woman, and regularly drives her to doctor appointments here.

And on those rare occasions when he has some free time, he can be found at my booth in Bastion Square, just visiting.

Of course, with Michael, it's never just a visit.

One last story example before I begin my day: Michael was visiting me at my booth earlier this week, just after another friend who was hoping to meet him had left. Timing. It's all about timing, isn't it?

Anyways, he was visiting, sitting on the low rock wall next to my booth, when this small group from Austria came by. I stood up to talk with them, and he patiently waited until I was free. One of the ladies asked me some question about something or other, but evidently didn't quite get her translation from German correct, for I truly didn't understand what she was asking. She turned to one of her friends and repeated her question, I presume, in German, whereupon Michael responded. In German.

I think he said something like, "Die haare in meinem nase ist kribbeln. Und ich wie ringe. Sie beobachten möchte, hunde bridge spielen unter wasser?" Or something like that. I don't speak the language, and just sort of trusted him despite my surprise. (He never fails to surprise me.)

They then had this, to my ear, lengthy conversation in German, and he began singing a German folk song, to which they all laughed and joined in.

Yeah. If it comes down to it, and I had to think about him, I would simply recall him getting a group of Austrian's to sing German folk songs in my booth. That about sums him up.

I love this business. I get to meet all sorts of kooks.

You Never Know, or Happy Coffee

It all began with a simple invitation.

My wife, who is a musician in the Canadian Navy, was invited to the Lieutenant Governor's house for dinner one evening. This woman, the LG, is a great supporter of the arts, and has honoured the band every year since she began serving in this position. Now I, as a military spouse, was also invited. But there was a dress code. I had to wear a suit and tie.

A suit I have no problem with. They're formal, look good and are fairly comfortable to wear. A tie, on the other hand, is just plain silly. It came about because a king was too fat and a bit of a slob. He wore a wide necktie to prevent the food from spilling all over his shirt. It was nothing more than a glorified napkin. They're also uncomfortable when worn "properly". In short, I don't like ties.

What was I to do?

Make one in scale-mail, of course.

And that's just what I did.

I laid one of each of the scales on my suit and chose the colours that I thought would go best with it. I made it that afternoon, and wore it that evening. Voila. Problem solved.

Of course, while I was at the dinner, I had tons of people looking at it, and even sold two while I was there. It was so popular that I had some people take photos of it and post them on Facebook.

I went home, and thought nothing more about it until the very next morning.

"Hi", someone wrote, "I saw your tie on Facebook and was wondering if you had any more of them?" It turned out that they were a photographer and wanted to do a photo shoot in Vancouver a few weeks later.

The photo shoot was in black and white, so I lined up all the scales and took a shot of them in black and white, just to see how they would turn out. I then selected the colours that showed best in that medium and made a tie just for the shoot. No problem.

I gave the ties to the organizer, who worked in downtown Victoria at a store, and she took them to Vancouver. A few days later I was to pick them up, again at the store.

Which didn't open until 10 am.

(Don't you just love how this story winds all over the place? And where's the coffee? Patience, Grass Hopper.)

Well, that morning I dropped off my wife at work, my son at school, and it was only 8:15. I had some time to kill, which is generally not a good thing, since that's how you wound eternity.

I drove downtown and beheld a miracle: a parking spot. Without a moment's thought, I parked, knowing that it was free parking for a little while longer. I got out of the car and paid for an additional hour (I love the fact that you can pay ahead of time like that in Victoria), and then thought "Where to get some coffee while waiting?"

That was when I noticed I was parked just in front of a coffee shop: Hey Happy Coffee. (You know, they actually have a web-site, which I've never visited. This is it: heyhappycoffee.com. Let's click on it now.) (Pretty simple. Straight forward. To the point. And at least they link to a map.)

Anyways, despite the simplicity of their web-site, their coffee is unbelievably incredible. it`s one of those places that measures out the beans ahead of time for each cup. They then grind them when you order, and measure out the precise amount of water.

And you know what? It's really worth it. I was amazed. Like, totally amazed.

I even ordered a donut, which I would never do. I don't like donuts, not much. But this donut was a delicacy. I was really impressed.

Anyways, I ended up talking to the owner, and mentioned why I was there. I was waiting to pick up my ties.

In the end, he asked if I could come back and show them to him, for he had seen me making some chain-mail while I was waiting. After all, what else would I do in a new coffee shop?

I went down, got the ties, thanked the woman who organized the shoot, and headed back to show Mr Hey Happy Coffee dude.

Who just happened to be the partner of the woman who produces Style File on CTV.

He took a quick pic of one of them, sent it to her, and she proceeded to contact me about doing a show on my work.

(This is where I just sit here for a few moments in silence, shaking my head in disbelief about how the world seems to work when you look for delightful miracles everywhere, and saying a prayer of thanks to whoever is in charge of receiving these sorts of prayers.)

Now, let me see. What else do I need to put here?

Oh, yes. Photos and links.

So, in order, here is my photo of the tie:

Here is the black and white test shot:

Here is the link to photos that were taken in Vancouver: http://www.bellomag.com/farris-by-martinareem/

And here's the link for the video interview: http://vancouverisland.ctvnews.ca/video?clipId=602146

I'd paste the last two directly in here, but want to encourage you to visit their sites. Traffic figures and all that.

Anyways, this morning I wandered back to Hey Happy for a cup of coffee this morning and thought this would make a good story for today. You never know, something may come of this.

Customer of the Day

Today was a very interesting day at the market.

It all began when I was setting up. I had only put out a few bracelet racks when this nice lady came up to look at them. I said "Hi' and commented on how it must be a good morning for she had two cups of coffee, one in each hand. "Well," she indicated, "only one is for me. This other one is for you." She said that it was in appreciation of the article I wrote about the butterflies. It's hard for me to express how grateful I was, and how much that cheered up my morning.

We chatted for quite some time, not long enough, to be sure, but still for quite a while.

And that was how my day began.

It continued with more friends coming by to say "hi", as well as some nice people picking up a few pieces here and there.

But what really made my day, out of the numerous great little things that happened, was a visit by one man in particular.

He was from Australia, and one of those people who just seems to love to learn a bit about everything. He was interesting, yet seemed a bit aloof at the same time. He didn't smile, and made little in the way of eye contact. But he seemed to enjoy looking at everything, and then asked if he could take a photo of one of my pieces.

"Of course", I replied, with enthusiasm. "If it turns out good, can you send me a copy? I get some great shots that way."

At that he smiled. He took out his camera, a nice, small digital slr, and took some photos of a few pieces.

Then he pointed to a scale-mail vest and asked some questions about the piece. Did I make the scales? No I didn't, I get them from such-and-such web-site. I mentioned a few other sites and said how they all seem to be the same these days, and that I was hoping to find different scales. I also mentioned that a friend of mine is beginning to make some different types, but they're not really ready yet.

He pointed to a bracelet and asked about how it was made. I grabbed my pliers, a few links, and began to show him.

Twenty minutes we must have talked. All sorts of questions about the work, the materials, you name it.

I really didn't expect him to buy anything, and he was gracious when someone else came by. He stepped aside to allow me to greet the other, and answer any questions they may have had.

All in all, I enjoyed meeting him.

He finally picked out one piece, read the price tag, and asked how much it would be with tax.

"Oh, tax is included", I replied. "It makes change a lot easier, and I just calculate it out at the end of the day."

He ended up buying it, which was nice, but not what made him a special client in my eyes.

No, what made him special was what he said afterwards.

"You know," he began, "every other booth I've been to today I've asked if I could take a picture. They all said no, and one person was even rude about how they said it. When I wanted to buy a piece from someone else, I said, 'twenty dollars', and they said 'you've gotta pay tax, too'. There was something about the way they said that made me not buy it from them. You're the only one I've met today that has treated me well. And this is the only gift I've bought here. Thank you."

That made me feel good. Oh, not the bit about the other merchants, for all the ones I know at the market aren't like that at all. No. What made it a special transaction was that he chose to buy it not only because he liked the piece, but because he liked me as a person.

In my eyes, that makes him the customer of the day.

Thank you, sir. I really appreciate it.

Success?

I love seeing what other artists are doing. In many ways, they are the inspiration for my own work. They keep me pushing my own boundaries, seeing the world in new ways. After all, isn't that the role of the artist?

Oh, and I don't just mean in chain-mail. I get inspired by looking at the paintings of the masters, the sculptures of the ancient civilizations, the jewelry and designs of traditional cultures all over the world. Every artist, and every civilization, has something to offer that is worthy and noble.

One of my favorite designs comes from the Massai tribe of Africa. It is a simple chest piece, and rather than making it out of beads, I use chain. Over the years it has been one of my most popular pieces. And you know what? I can not take any credit for it at all. It is not my design. All I've done is interpret it.

And I think that's what we all do, as artists. We look at the world around us, borrow what inspires us, re-interpret it, and then put it out there for others to see.

Sometimes, though, we have to copy. When I began making chain, I copied the European 4:1 pattern, the 6:1, 8:1, Byzantine, Oriental 4:1 and 6:1, the box weave, and the corduroy, the latter two being variations on the European 4:1. I looked through knitting books and was inspired to come up with many more weaves. I played around, ending up with the Persian and Mobius patterns. Many years later I saw the Helm and tried that, simply a 1:2 pattern with a floater surrounding the single link.

This is how art grows. This is how artists move.

In recent years, I've noticed an interesting thing. Many more people are trying their hand at copying the myriad weaves that are now out there. And this is good. I really encourage it.

But what I've noticed is this recurring question: "Did I do it right?" And I often wonder, is this the best question to ask?

We often tend to view the world in terms of "success" and "failure".

These up and coming artists often post a picture of something with a name attached to it and ask that question: "Did I do it right?" If you're attached to the name, and trying to reproduce that exact weave as is, then maybe not. But if you drop the name and look at the beauty of what you have created, then yes, you've done well.

If we see it in terms of success or failure, right or wrong, then we run the risk of tossing what is wrong. We may fall into the trap of seeing ourselves as a failure. Too many times, in various fields, I have seen people who are struggling at something give up because they don't realize what they are learning; they only see where they are failing.

Too often in my own work I have not been able to get what I set out to make, but you know what? I looked at what I did make and said, "That's beautiful."

I don't look at this as success or failure. Those terms are too stark for my liking. Instead I think about it all in terms of crisis and victory.

And this works really well not just in my art, but in all areas of my life. In fact, I believe that this is how life works, how history works. For every crisis we face, there is a victory waiting in the wings, if we only allow ourselves to see it. And for every victory we achieve, the seeds of the next crisis are latent within. It is like a continual sine wave that is always moving us forward.

A few years back I was selling in a local market. It was quite enjoyable, not too much stress, a pleasant pace, fun clientele. But one day the live band that was playing was just a bit too loud. Well, that's putting it nicely. They were so loud that I couldn't hear my customers from across the table. Nobody could sell anything because we couldn't hear anyone. When the band paused between songs, a couple of the other merchants asked if I could ask them to turn it down a bit. I'm usually fairly nice about these sorts of things, and went up to explain the problem and ask. Well, the band, after having already asked if the volume was ok, told me to talk to the manager. Evidently when they asked, they weren't really looking for an answer. So I went to the manager of the show, and she said, "If you don't like it, you can pack." Well, I was not impressed. I told her, in not the politest of terms, that I thought her priorities were messed up.

And I went back to my booth and packed.

In the middle of the show.

Took my tent down and everything.

Now, those of you who do shows know that this is a big no-no. Even if you sell out, you're supposed to wait until the show is over before packing up. My neighbours were shocked. They couldn't believe what I was doing. When they shouted at me to find out what happened, for the music was still just as loud as ever, I said that I was told to pack if I didn't like it. So I was packing.

Now, in my terminology, this was a crisis. All of a sudden half my income was gone. Did I fail at my work? I could have seen it that way. I could have given it all up right then.

Instead, I saw it as a crisis. Where was the victory going to come from? I had a free slot in my schedule. Of course, it was the middle of the season, and finding a good show in the middle of the summer is not all that easy. But I decided to try.

I looked around and found a show that met my expectations, and sent off a letter. The manager responded fairly quickly, and said that her show was full, but if I submitted my pictures, she'd put me on the waiting list.

Pictures were sent and she phoned me within a few hours asking if could set up in 2 days, on Thursday. I was in.

And that's the show I do today. I lost one show, for one day every other week, and picked up another show for four days a week.

That was the victory.

And the next crisis? Remember, I said that every victory has the seeds of the next crisis latent within? I can't keep up. I sell faster than I can make the stuff. It's a good position to be in, but it is tough, too. I mean, it's not just about the money for me. I feel bad when someone wants a piece and I just can't make it in a good amount of time.

But this is a crisis I can live with. Besides, it's meant that I've been able to help some others by having their work at my booth, too. That is its own crisis and victory.

So the next time you face a problem, or can't figure out a weave, don't see it as a failure or a disaster. See it as a crisis. Look for the victory. I'm sure you'll find it.

So Close

Most of my larger pieces are glorified necklaces. They sit on the shoulders and drape over the chest, designed to adorn any simple shirt, from a velvet top to a cotton t-shirt. It's for this reason that they seem to be so popular.

While some advise me to use much nicer shirts on my mannequins than the t-shirts I have, it is because of the simplicity that I use them. For a long time my female mannequins, my womannequins, had stunning velvet or silk shirts on them, but some people would pass them by claiming that they didn't own such nice shirts. Once I began using the cotton t's, many more people began looking at them seriously. Go figure.

One day, at a winter craft show, a lady came by and just fell in love with one of the tops. This one was simple chain-mail with a curb chain adornment, designed to cap the shoulders and flow across the chest. And this woman had ample of that to flow across.

She was not a small woman.

I mean, she wasn't what I would call fat. She was just very large. If memory serves, she was nearly 6-feet tall, very large boned, and Rubens would have found her a tad on the lean side to paint.

She fell in love with this piece and asked ever so nicely if she could please try it on. Of course she could. No problem.

But then there was.

She wanted to buy it, and I reflexively said that I wouldn't sell it to her. Her face fell, almost in disbelief.

"I'm sorry", I stammered, "I mean, I will, but this one is just too small for you. It almost looks like a toy. I want to make another one for you, to fit. I feel like it needs about another 6 inches on the draping."

She was a bit dubious, but could see what I meant.

"How much more", she asked cautiously.

I quoted a nominal extra amount to cover material costs, and she immediately recognized that this extra amount would not really cover my time all that well. To be fair, though, I guessed it would take an extra hour, maybe, and that was worth it to me to ensure it looked good on her.

In the end, she ordered it, measurements were made, the piece was finished and sent off, as she lived a number of hours away by car.

And then summer came. She must have remembered that I was at Bastion Square in the summer, for she came by my booth, all sheepish. She really loved the piece, she said, but she just couldn't wear it.

Without a moments thought, I told her that I would either properly fit it to her, or refund her 100%.

This stunned her, for she hadn't encountered an artist that would custom make a piece and then offer to buy it back at full price. What can I say? That's how I do business.

She was super happy, and was about to hand it back to me when I asked her to put it on. I mean, I'm fairly confident about my work, and think that I sometimes know what I'm doing. I wanted to see where I went wrong, learn from it.

So she put it on.

And I bit back my smile. Well, I tried to bite back my smile. It kind of crept up on me.

"See? It just doesn't fit the same," she said. "I so love it, but it just doesn't feel right to me. Do you think you can adjust it? Or should I just get my money back?"

"I think I can take care of it."

"How long will it take?"

"Hmmm. I'm not sure. Let's see."

And I rotated it 90 degrees, so that shoulder caps were sitting on her shoulders instead of in the front and back.

Trends

I just don't get it.

Every year I expect the beginning of the season to be slow, and to be fair, the first day or two usually is, but without fail May and September are my highest sales. I've checked.

On Thursday, the first day of the season, which happened to also be the last day of April this year, so maybe it doesn't count, was a good day for me. Friday? Even better. While my neighbours were struggling to reach the single digits in sales, and one was happy because she reached the double digits, I was well and truly ensconced in figures much higher than that.

In fact, and here's the weirdness, I tend to do best when it is cold and windy here in beautiful downtown Victoria. Again, I've checked.

There must be some strange mental aberration that gets people to say, "Oh gosh golly gee whillickers, it's really cold and windy out here in beautiful downtown Victoria. I should strap slabs of metal all over my body."

These people are nuts.

Aside - Yesterday, as I was getting ready for the day, I noticed my change purse was really heavy. I went upstairs and dumped all the change on the bed. "Quarters? I don't deal with quarters." So I put them all in the piggy bank. "Loonies? I deal with loonies." "You sure do", said my loving wife. (Loonies are the Canadian dollar coin.) (Isn't it cool that our currency is called the loonie? Of course, that explains why it's not worth all that much in the international market.)

I love them, but they're nuts.

So, let's take a moment and look at trends.

First, I mentioned that thing about the weather, right? Well, you see, for quite some time I kept track of the weather in my sales book, just because I was curious. Sure enough, there was this weird weather trend. Cold and windy? Sales spike. Hot and sunny? Sales spike, which made sense if I kept my stuff in the shade.  Cool metal on a hot body. Sure. I get it. Still doesn't explain the cold and windy thing.

Anyways. I tracked it for a while until I began to see the trend.

Then I decided to track something else. I had noticed that my sales figures were all over the place. Some days people were like, "Oh my God! Chain-mail!!!!", and other days people would whisper as they walked past, "Oh my God, chain-mail", as if they were commenting on something better left unmentioned and avoided on the sidewalk.

Why?

Aside - Have you ever noticed, fellow mailers out there, that many people tend to say the words "Oh look, chain-mail" when they go past your booth? They never seem to say, "Oh look, t-shirts" when they pass my neighbour's booth. I've never heard anyone say, "Oh look, nature photos", or "Oh look, pottery".Just something I've noticed.

Back to my original thoughts.

I was wondering about the varied sales numbers, so I decided to see what was different about each day. In a word, cruise ships. Ok. That's two words. But they should be one. Cruiseships.

I mentioned that I live in Victoria, BC, Canada. And here in beautiful downtown Victoria (I mentioned it's beautiful, right?) we get lots of cruise ships.

Well, we don't actually get the cruise ships downtown, although it would be amusing to watch them try to navigate the streets. They go in to Ogden Point, regurgitate their slew of passengers, many of whom head straight to Bastion Square to buy my work, or at least sneer at it.

So why the difference in days?

I was curious, so I started recording which ships came in on which days.

I went through the cruise ship schedule, yes they have it here in tourist town, and put it all in a spreadsheet. I eliminated those that came in on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday, since I don't sell on those days, and got rid of those that arrived after 4 pm. That was when I noticed my trend.

Princess Cruise Lines and Royal Caribbean Cruises are like the Walmart shoppers of the tourist trade. They love the chintzy kitsch, t-shirts, "wish you were here" postcards and all.

Norwegian Cruise Lines? They're like the Viking warriors of tourism. Raiding, pillaging, looting, and spending it all on good quality armour, or at least fine armour-like jewelry and fashion designs.

Now, on the days with the Caribbean Princesses, I set up my booth a bit differently. The pink and blue scale butterflies migrate forward, along with the purply and pastel bracelets. The bronze and steel slide into the background. Flowers and cutsey fluffy rabbit-like things suddenly appear, while the big horking shirts fill up the dark corners of scary-dom.

And the next day, when the Vikings invade, all the stops come out. The heavy metal booms forward, the bunnies go scurrying for their lives, the growls and the screams resound, and the flowers are nothing more than a distant pastel nightmare.

And thus hath my sales book leveled out.

There are other trends that seem to occur, but most of them are illusory. You will often hear people say "Purple is the in colour this year" or orange is, or lilac, or fuchsia. Poppycock. That whole colour of the year trend is a joke. While it may have been true fifty years ago, when there were only a handful of magazines controlling the fashion industry, that is certainly not the case today. We live in an age where people can find what they love any time at all. They can follow their own tastes in style rather than some narrow-minded editor locked up in a dark office in New York City who picks a random colour out of a hat. That whole fashion sheep thing is a by-gone memory, in my opinion.

So, no trends there.

Again, I checked.

How, you ask? I'm glad you did, dear Reader.

You see, it only took me 26 years, but I finally realized a few years back that I could sort my bracelets by colour rather than weave. I know, I know. I'm such a guy. All the women readers are sitting there going "Duh, of course." And all the guys are going "Wow. That's brilliant."

Now I have one row of display space for each colour scheme of bracelets. I have little baggies of overstock for each colour. As the baggies empty, I make more in that particular colour. No spreadsheets. No fancy schmacy programming things. I just look at the bags nd think, "That's looking a bit low today."

And you know what? Every year I consistently sell the same ratio of colours, like four times as much purple as orange. Red and yellow? About the same of each. Black? Tons. Blue? Tons. Green? Well, maybe half a ton. Last year, when purple was supposed to be the "in" colour? No change in my sales of it. I checked. I looked at my orders to see how many bags of purple rings I ordered.

Trends.

They're interesting things. And they're worth looking into. You never know what fascinating things you'll discover.

Like my Vikings and Princesses.

Or that cold and windy thing that happens.

I still think they're nuts.

If at First You Don't Succeed...

Yesterday.

Day 2.

Bastion Square.

The beginning of the season is always slow. Very slow. Terribly slow.

At the end of Day 1 I was really happy, for I greatly exceeded sales expectations, which wasn't all that difficult. My expectations were low. Very low. Terribly low. I could have given away a bracelet and exceeded expectations.

My hopes for yesterday weren't much better.

But then this couple came up to the booth, well tanned, older but not elderly, and obviously still very much in love with each other. I loved talking with them. They were fresh off the tour boat, and live in Arizona. After talking geography for a bit, I learned that his daughter lives in the town in which I grew up, over 3600 km away. That was a nice little connection.

Now, let me back up a moment. In recent weeks the issue of materialism has been rearing its ugly head over and over. You only need to read my article on the business of business to understand that. And with market season beginning, the importance of people over profits is something I have to deal with even more. Just the other day I saw a video in which another artist is "coaching" artists on how to sell their work. She actually says "Don't compliment people on their jewelry." Don't compliment people? She acts as if the sale is the most important thing of all, forgetting that community and people are far more important. We're not Walmart, Shell Oil, IBM, or any other corporado. We don't have to believe the lie that growing the economy is the most important thing. We can understand that people come first. We can act on it. We can make a difference, when we recognize that people come first.

Have I mentioned that? It really is important. Here. Let me say it again.

People come first.

Anyways, back to yesterday.

Mr and Mrs Arizona came by, and we had a delightful little chat.

They were also fascinated with my work.

Of course, they'd seen chain-mail before, but "never anything like this". They would pick up a bracelet, examine the structure and weave, and he would place it on her wrist. She would smile and praise the piece, but I could see in the ever-so-slight wrinkling around the very corners of her eyes that this was not a piece she would wear.

She liked the colour, the weave and everything about it, but it would just sit in a drawer.

"How about this one", he asked, putting a $15 item on her.

"Well...", she began.

"It's not really your style", I offered, relieving her of the conflict of wanting to say 'no', but not risk offending either him or me.

"So how about this one", he said, trying on a $30 bracelet.

"It's nice...", she began.

"But you wouldn't wear it," I said, as I smiled at her, "would you?"

"No, not really. I mean I love it, but I just can't see myself wearing it." She looked as if she wanted to apologize for that, but I assured her that it was ok. I understood. I didn't want to sell a piece that would just sit around. People have their preferences, and that's great.

I told them that I was very happy just having met them, that I wasn't worried about selling anything. I'd make a living this year, I knew that. I trusted it. They shouldn't feel any pressure.

This goes back to that materialism thing, again. People are more important. I often praise their jewelry, or something else that is praiseworthy about them. I try to get to know them a bit, and if I feel that another vendor may have something that they would love, I let them know. "Oh, you seem to like this style of work. Be sure to check out my friend over there." It all works out, and makes them feel that they are more than just a walking wallet.

I made sure she knew that she didn't have to buy anything she wasn't going to wear.

But he really loved her, and this was how he expressed his love. He enjoyed buying her little gifts. I understood that and honoured it, too.

Over and over he offered her various bracelets, rich purples, ruby reds, emerald greens, sapphire blues, all the bright tones. Over and over again she smiled in loving appreciation, and declined each and every offer.

Then it hit me.

I reached over to a pile of stuff I hadn't sorted out yet and got out a necklace made by my friend Francois. It was a simple necklace made in a random assortment of gemstone colours.

"Here", I said, offering it to the man. I realized that he had only been showing her bracelets. I said that I could cut it down to a bracelet, if he wanted, assuring him that I just make lengths and sell them as whatever.

But I knew her. I had watched her reactions. It wasn't the chain-mail she wouldn't wear. It was the bracelets. She had enough bracelets at home already.

And the corners of her eyes lit up.

He saw it, too.

He had found her piece.

He also found a piece that he could buy from me, which was his way of expressing thanks. I knew that was important to him, too, and I acknowledged it.

In some ways, he reminded me of my own Father. That was how he would say "thank you", too.

After they left, I found myself admiring this guy and thinking of him often throughout the rest of the day. Come to think of it, I find myself thinking of him today, too. I admire his tenacity, his determination in finding a way to say "I love you" to his wife, and "thanks" to me. I mean,  I was satisfied with just having met them, but watching this made it more special to me. I just know that they're going to talk about it, too.

Oh, and the cost was far more than that initial bracelet, which I could have talked them into, had I wanted the quick sale. But really, I was far more interested in their happiness. The fact that I ended up with a larger sale is incidental.

Actually, the fact that it was one of Francois' pieces makes it even more special to me. Good job, Francois.

And thanks, Dad, I love you, too.

The Secret of Gift-Giving

A couple of years ago I was selling my work at a Christmas sale. It was fairly typical, in that much of the work was fairly crafty type stuff, with the odd higher end item here and there. Most of the people attending were in the "elderly" category, to put it kindly. But every now and then a family would show up, with the various teens and youth in tow.

The most enjoyable part of this show, aside from the volunteers organizers, were the folks looking for gifts for their grandkids. They would come up to my booth, stop, and then come out with the most wonderful exclamations that I hadn't heard for many a long year. "Bless my soul." "As I live and breathe." "By gum, I haven't seen chain-mail since Heck was a pup.'

But out of the entire weekend, there was one family that stood out, far and above the rest. It was your typical family with a mom, dad and young teenage son, trying to make the best of the day and seeming to have a hard time doing so. The son, in particular, seemed to be quietly and politely going out of his mind, eagerly counting down the nanoseconds until he could escape this private little jingly hell, even though he obviously loved the time spent with his folks.

Then he saw my booth, and stood transfixed as his parents continued on to the popcorn booth next door.

Chain-mail.

It was like a little nerdy oasis amidst a desert of kitsch.

He must have taken a good 20 minutes to walk from one end of my table to the other, which, if you calculate it, comes out to a zipping .00454545 miles per hour. And he must have been so out of breath walking at such a pace for he was unable to say a single word during this entire episodic trek.

Then he left.

A few minutes later, he came back with his folks in tow.

And the whole escapade was repeated again for my viewing pleasure, but this time in triplicate.

20 minutes. All three of them. In silence.

It must have been genetic.

Now, if that wasn't enough, when they reached the end of their journey, they turned around and did it again, for old time's sake, I guess.

Occasionally, to break the monotony, they would point out one piece or another. All in silence.

And then they left.

Now, during this time, I did say hi to them. I did offer assistance. I said the obligatory greetings, and offered what help I could, but none of it seemed to get through. I began to suspect that they might have been from lower Estonia, and fluent only in Akurio. But that was just a guess. Wrong, as it turned out.

For about half an hour later the mother came running back.

"Can you hide this bracelet", she said, picking one up. "I want to get it for my son, but don't want to risk him seeing it."

I hid it behind a display while she moved to another booth to get out her money. I packed it up, and passed it on to her as she flew by, not looking in my direction, swapping the money for the bag as if she had been trained by the KGB during the Cold War.

I could only smile in appreciation for her successful venture in getting her son a gift without him noticing.

But then, about two minutes later, the son came by. He grabbed a steel bracelet and said, "Can you wrap this for my dad? I'll be back in a minute to pay for it." And like his mom, he surreptitiously went off, swinging back to make that same monetary swap.

This time I was able to get a quick "thank you" in.

I could only laugh, and smile, at the thought of the two of them successfully making their purchases without the others knowing.

But then, two hours later, genetics won out again. The father came by. He looked relieved, and said, "I thought I'd never get away from them. Is there any chance you could wrap this bracelet for my wife? I think it's the only thing she actually liked in this whole show. And she really loved it."

To be honest, I couldn't read what any of them liked as they snailed their way past, but I trusted that they knew each other far better than I did.

So in the end, all three of them had picked up a gift for one of the other three from my booth.

Oh, how I would have loved to have been there on Christmas morning when they each opened their presents.