Years ago, say back in late 19th century, many people were craftsmen. They created things with their hands, were proud of their accomplishments, and were somewhat respected in society for it. But then something happened; society changed. We began to look down on the craftsmen, praising instead the intelligentsia, encouraging all our children to get a college education and work in the field of the intellect. We only need to think of the lowly plumber or grease-stained auto mechanic to see the truth of this.
Way back when Henry Ford began developing his assembly line form of auto manufacturing, he had to hire ten times the number of workers he actually needed. Why? Because 90% of them would quit.
But why?
Simple. They were bored.
The people he would hire were artisans, craftsmen, people who were highly skilled in their field and who took pride in their work. These were people who would take a tree and turn it into a wagon. Well, maybe not. I'm sure many of them went to the lumberyard and used boards, but you get the idea. They were not the sort of people who enjoyed making the same widget over and over, day after day, week after week, with no reprieve in sight. They were far more interested in crafting and creating the whole wagon, responding to the peculiar qualities of each individual piece of wood, moving from one part to another as needed, keeping their interest by fabricating an entire object, not just one tiny little component over and over again, ad nauseum.
Within a few years, though, all that changed.
There were no, or at least few, master craftsmen left. Those who were educated in the new public school programs that were designed at that time never knew the satisfaction of a beautiful creation, from raw materials to completed product. They were trained to work in factories. Society had told them that this is what life was meant to be like, and they believed it, and their craft was relegated to the realm of hobby. Their salary was merely compensation for having to put up with the boredom of their work, no longer seen as a reward for a creating a work of lasting, or at least functional, art.
We went from a society of creative artisans who would look at each and every individual problem and strive to find a creative way around it to a group of people who were trained and taught to follow instructions from a collective think-tank of managers who had likely never built anything in their life. These new managers didn't see the art in the product their company made, but rather merely the broad lines: how to streamline the assembly line, and ways to fatten the bottom line.
These new managers and factory owners don't want creativity in their workers but instead hire people for their ability to take a set of instructions and problem-solve by looking up the correct page reference in their corporate-approved manual. Even the companies that strive to encourage their workers in making their job more efficient are often ham-stringing their employees by taking their suggestions and either filtering them up for approval and back down again as another paragraph in their manual, or giving a token reward of a few dollars while upper management reaps in millions. Either way, the lowly worker is no longer seen as one worthy of respect, but rather as a, well, lowly worker who is expected to follow the rules.
As Frederick Wilson Taylor said, "...(M)anagers assume... the burden of gathering together all of the traditional knowledge which in the past has been possessed by the workmen and then of classifying, tabulating, and reducing this knowledge to rules, laws, and formulae." The founders of the MBA program at Harvard loved this, as did Joseph Stalin.
In short, process replaced craft.
"All possible brainwork", Taylor went on to say, "should be removed from the shop and centered in the planning or laying-out department..."
And that brings me to today, and my work with chain-mail.
Over and over I see on the internet, or hear from mailers who stop by my booth, "Am I doing it right?"
That very question presupposes that instruction manual approach. Just the other day I had a friend over who had begun to make a bracelet and was talking of taking it apart because it wasn't what he wanted. "It's no good", he said. "It's not JPL-5."
"So? Who said that you had to make JPL-5? What you have made is beautiful, and worthy of finishing. Why waste the time taking it apart? Why not just finish it?" He was surprised, and possibly even ashamed, that he hadn't recognized that himself. He had fallen into that trap, even though he knew better.
"Is it ok to use this?" "Can I do that?" "Where are the instructions for this?"
While these may be reasonable questions for a rank beginner, I feel that they should be discouraged. Instead of answering them with a dichotomous yes or no, we should, perhaps, respond with a more educational, "What happens if you do use this or do that?" "Look at that item. Can you figure out how to make it? Here are the ring sizes, to give you a head start."
Just this morning I was asked to make a few flowers to go around a beautiful metal hummingbird on someone's wall. I asked them the colour of the room, about the view from the window, and the size of the space on the wall around the hummingbird. They had seen some of my small flowers and thought they might look nice with the bird, but I happen to know that hummingbirds don't feed on those types of daisy-shaped flowers. And those flowers, in relation to that bird, are way too small. They make the hummingbird look to be the size of an eagle. I'll make a few of them, as requested, to match the room, but my pride in my work forces me to create a more conical larger flower, one that a hummingbird enthusiast will recognize as relevant to the scene. Has one been made before? Not that I'm aware of. Do I have instructions? Nope. But I have materials. I have my inspiration. I have a vision. And I have perseverance. While I hope to get it done by tomorrow morning, it may or may not happen. But I will have made a start, can show them what I have, and hopefully create something new and beautiful which they will love, and of which I will be proud.
Will it be "right"?
No.
It will be a work of art, like all my work. And all of yours, too, if you only allow yourself to see it that way.
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
Friday, July 10, 2015
Memory
Summer is my busy time. This means that I end up writing about one article every month, if I'm lucky, as opposed to my usual two or three a week in the winter months. It's not that I can't think of anything to write; quite the contrary. There is a lot to write about. It's just that by the time I get home, unpack the car and get a bit of food or water in me, I'm completely exhausted. I've wholly forgotten all the ideas that flit through my mind during the day. Gone. Pfft. Even if I write them down in my notebook, I still can't remember to think about that notebook when I arrive home.
But writing isn't the only thing that suffers from my lack of memory at this time of year.
Of course, there is the usual parenting issue of calling the child by the pets names, or forgetting where I put the keys. There are the odds and ends that end up oddly in the freezer for no explicable reason. And there are the countless times I end up remarkably dog-like, walking into a room and having no clue why I went in there in the first place.
Memory is one of the major casualties in the summer.
Of course, it's not just me.
Yesterday, at the market, one of my neighbours came up to me and asked me if I had an extra table cloth. It seemed that somehow he had left his at home. Of course, it just so happened that another neighbour had picked up a brand new table covering for me just the week before, so yes, I did happen to have an extra one.
That was an unusual request, to be sure, but not, by far, the only one.
Over the years I have left at home things like my change float (which is the stack of small bills that I use to give change to people throughout the day), my credit card machine, various boxes of stock, all my mannequins, and even my pliers. Oh yes, even the Mobius Balls have suffered this indignant fate.
My various neighbours at the market also suffer this aestas careo memoria.
There have been many days when a friend leaves a pile of boxes at their booth site only to run back home to get some essential thing. I've seen people try to set up their booth, having left their tents, tables, or various display items at home. One of my favorites are the times when someone has set up their tent, hung all their items from it, placed all of their stock ever so carefully where it all belongs, and then discover that they forgot to put their banner on said tent. It is quite amusing watching as they try to find various ways to hang their banners without lowering their tent. Being taller than most there, I offer to help, but it's still fun to watch.
The best of all, though, was my own sad story. There was one time that I got in the car and headed out to work, bright and early, ready to face the morning traffic into downtown. It was sunny and there were some good tunes on the radio. It was looking to be a great day. The temperature was just right for that wee hour, signaling weather that would be perfect, neither too swelteringly hot nor too cool for comfort, with just a gentle hint of a breeze for good measure. I made it downtown without too much difficulty, a little bit of traffic, a few minor snarls. I got caught behind an ancient bicyclist on the bridge, and had to wait for this seemingly one-legged arthritic tortoise to get across, not being allowed to pass cyclists on that particular bridge. Then there was the garbage truck in the alley, so I had to wait for them, too. Of course, these guys were particularly virtuous, striving to demonstrate excellence in a job well-done. They took extra care to ensure that the garbage was placed ever so carefully in the back of the truck, and even more care to place the bins back exactly where they had been. They were something like world champions of the OCD refuse collection olympics. Finally, I was able to pull in, and back up to the place where I unload. With my daily sigh of relief at getting there intact and in a somewhat timely manner, I got out of the car, walked around to the back, and popped the trunk.
Only to discover that I hadn't loaded it before leaving home.
But writing isn't the only thing that suffers from my lack of memory at this time of year.
Of course, there is the usual parenting issue of calling the child by the pets names, or forgetting where I put the keys. There are the odds and ends that end up oddly in the freezer for no explicable reason. And there are the countless times I end up remarkably dog-like, walking into a room and having no clue why I went in there in the first place.
Memory is one of the major casualties in the summer.
Of course, it's not just me.
Yesterday, at the market, one of my neighbours came up to me and asked me if I had an extra table cloth. It seemed that somehow he had left his at home. Of course, it just so happened that another neighbour had picked up a brand new table covering for me just the week before, so yes, I did happen to have an extra one.
That was an unusual request, to be sure, but not, by far, the only one.
Over the years I have left at home things like my change float (which is the stack of small bills that I use to give change to people throughout the day), my credit card machine, various boxes of stock, all my mannequins, and even my pliers. Oh yes, even the Mobius Balls have suffered this indignant fate.
My various neighbours at the market also suffer this aestas careo memoria.
There have been many days when a friend leaves a pile of boxes at their booth site only to run back home to get some essential thing. I've seen people try to set up their booth, having left their tents, tables, or various display items at home. One of my favorites are the times when someone has set up their tent, hung all their items from it, placed all of their stock ever so carefully where it all belongs, and then discover that they forgot to put their banner on said tent. It is quite amusing watching as they try to find various ways to hang their banners without lowering their tent. Being taller than most there, I offer to help, but it's still fun to watch.
The best of all, though, was my own sad story. There was one time that I got in the car and headed out to work, bright and early, ready to face the morning traffic into downtown. It was sunny and there were some good tunes on the radio. It was looking to be a great day. The temperature was just right for that wee hour, signaling weather that would be perfect, neither too swelteringly hot nor too cool for comfort, with just a gentle hint of a breeze for good measure. I made it downtown without too much difficulty, a little bit of traffic, a few minor snarls. I got caught behind an ancient bicyclist on the bridge, and had to wait for this seemingly one-legged arthritic tortoise to get across, not being allowed to pass cyclists on that particular bridge. Then there was the garbage truck in the alley, so I had to wait for them, too. Of course, these guys were particularly virtuous, striving to demonstrate excellence in a job well-done. They took extra care to ensure that the garbage was placed ever so carefully in the back of the truck, and even more care to place the bins back exactly where they had been. They were something like world champions of the OCD refuse collection olympics. Finally, I was able to pull in, and back up to the place where I unload. With my daily sigh of relief at getting there intact and in a somewhat timely manner, I got out of the car, walked around to the back, and popped the trunk.
Only to discover that I hadn't loaded it before leaving home.
Sunday, May 24, 2015
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.
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.
Friday, May 22, 2015
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.
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.
Thursday, May 21, 2015
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
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.
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.
Saturday, May 9, 2015
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.
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.
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