I read somewhere recently that a bee symbolizes industry, and therefore wealth.
If I had time to illustrate today (which I might, it will just get posted
later), I'd draw a bee, a very busy one, possibly one rolling in lots of cash,
as a hopeful, optimistic wish for the show outcome this weekend. I've been
cramming tons of stuff into this week, we've got lots of cute stuff to sell. I
have no idea what to expect at this little show. Might make a few good
connections; hopefully will get a few custom Christmas Card orders. Those always
bring in good last minute Christmas spending money. Even if there aren't alot of
orders, Dallas will be a great time. There's this great little restaurant called
Thomas Avenue Beverage Company that serves the best ever jalepeno-chipotle
dumplings and bleu cheese steak that we're going to hit Friday night. I'll be
taking the sketchbook, with hopefully a little time to doodle, and catch up with
some old friends. And if I remember, I'll have my camera, batteries charged, to
post some pictures on Monday! Wish me luck!
October 2004 Archives
It seems like there are some awesome changes happening in the personal web lives
of fellow bloggers lately. It seems like so many people are giving their notice,
quitting their day jobs, getting married, becoming pregnant, celebrating
anniversaries, starting new ventures. Pink champagne all around! That's what
life is about! It seems more and more lately that "big news" announcements are
appearing on some of my daily reads! Maybe it just that change is our only
constant, or maybe it's just that I'm more in tune with the lives I read about
daily than I was year ago... One year ago I had just discovered blog world,
thanks to Kevin and Ragan. One year ago, I had just started dating Drew. One
year ago I had never been to New York, never dreamed I'd own my own house in
less than four weeks, never dreamed I wouldn't move in until 6 months later. One
year ago I had no Amanda--the one person who manages to hold my life together
just by walking into my office and saying, "Don't you think we should take
Christmas tags to Dallas? They'd be a fast, easy, cheap sale." To which I reply,
"Brilliant, Amanda, you rock." One year ago there was no Sophie, no idea how to
build anything in Pagemaker, let alone illustrator, no ambitions of cooking
derived from watching Emril on summer weekends. One year ago I don't think I
even believed in myself. It makes me wonder what life will be like one year from
today. After elections are over, Christmas is done, the new sales year begins.
Time will fly, I know, because it has flown this year, and they say it just gets
faster. Lately I've begun to realize how reluctant I'm becoming to give up this
life, these roots, I hardly cared about two years ago. It was a sort of carefree
existence, a come-what-may-as-long-as-the-bills-get-paid-who-cares sort of
mentality. How I graduated to the responsibilty of paying someone's salary and
actually starting work at 10 in the morning and came to the pressures of having
to choose between sea grass and sisal is beyond me. So I've come to that point
where it's time to say goodbye. Not to you, darling readers, not to my beloved
internet, but to the me who didn't have to get up and go to work in the morning.
The me that ate hamburgers and fries every day, the me that didn't care if my
hair was combed and my lipstick was on. Goodbye to twenty-five. Hello to alarm
clocks and disappearing waist lines and having to sit through the agony of
highlights, staring into a mirror, watching crows' feet appear. And hello to
change. I might as well embrace it. Today was a hard day. We had three canceled
orders, almost unheard of for a week, let alone one day. I heard Amanda sigh
three different times when she got off the phone. I didn't say anything, but
when she brought it up in conversation, I realized I no longer had the luxury of
expressing my concern. She had handled each situation beautifully and
gracefully, with as much understanding and warmth as she could muster, given
that the month has been very lean. She knows it's lean; she's as worried about
it as I am, but I can't let on that I'm worried. That's the change part. That's
the responsibility part. That's the I-don't-get-to-throw-a-fit part. SAJ talked
about dark moments in her post--today was one of those dark moments for me. I've
been through enough to know that the dark will pass, the change won't be so bad,
and that there will be some unexpected perks along the way. So this evening, to
combat the tears of fatigue, I'd like to thank every single person who has read
this blog lately, and posted any bit of advice or encouragement. If it's always
darkest before the dawn, each of you has been a glimpse of the sunlight on the
horizon, and words cannot even begin to express my gratitude.
I've always been fascinated by patterns. The idea of repition offers a sense of
visual security, kind of a you-know-whats-coming-next feeling. Lately, I've been
all about plaids, probably because of the upcoming holiday season. There are
millions out there, but most recognizable in today's trends is the Burberry
plaid. I spent the evening deconstructing it in my mind. It's actually so
simple. A series of three lines, consistently the same proportion to one
another, consistently the same white space between them. Those are the only
constants. Everything else changes; color, scale, the presence of a single red
line running through and offsetting the others. Amazingly enough, however,
almost anyone can see those three dark lines contrast with the two white lines
and instantly say, "That's burberry plaid."
This is the notecard design I did a couple of weeks ago for one of my clients.
I'm getting ready to go to Dallas next week for a little show; this weekend I'm
going to work on some design samples in this vein. It's very custom looking, and
I think that would be a good sell for the market I'm going to target. Fingers
crossed!
Sent the cease and desist letter this morning, telling ebay woman to quit using
three separate designs: a gingham, a stripe and a toile. Got an email
immediately, complying to remove the stripe design, but insisting that the
gingham came from Printmaster and the toile was a Quill paper from Staples. She
sent me a sample of a digitized gingham and insisted it was the same as my
watercolored version she had up. After I proved her wrong on that one, and asked
for a sample of the Quill paper (because I know that toile Quill paper doesn't
exist), she sent me a poorly photo-shopped rendition of my toile. I told her
that that wasn't acceptable; take it down or I'll pursue further legal action.
She complied when she heard that, but still insisted we were talking about
different toiles. When I sent her a scan of my original design, she finally
admitted that they were the same. Her final email to me stated that she bought a
disk of fradulent artwork. Hmm, interesting. Because even though she immediately
agreed to take the stripe down, I thought the gingham was from Printmaster and
the toile was from Staples. Now it's all artwork from a fradulent disk. Give me
your suggestions, though: she finally took the designs down, but should I pursue
the issue to find out how she came by such a large quantity of my artwork?
Thank you all so much for the FABULOUS ideas and the great encouragement! After
a heartening conversation with my darling friend Dawn, over at Blue Moon
Invitations, I began to take action. Gathering cease and desist letters,
contacting the other companies that were infringed upon as well, printing copies
of the pages to proove the designs were actually there. I had a full
afternoon--my last one of volunteering for awhile--and tonight I strategize.
Tomorrow, I'm going to contact ebay, the switchboards, her web service host, and
send the letters, probably CC'd to all the aformentioned. I don't want to
unleash the wrath of my fellow do-gooders out there, so I refrain from posting
links. I think she'll get scared enough when the owners of 6 different, HUGE
companies all decide to descend upon her with the wrath of gods. What boggles my
mind is that she probably doesn't realize that this is wrong. Makes no sense.
Ok, I new this would happen, and I tried to prepare myself, but it still is
twenty times more shocking than I prepared for. SOMEONE IS COPYING MY STUFF!
I've been a member at the Switchboards for awhile now, and she's on there. I
read her intro, looked at her website, and saw that she had copied some other
manufacturers. Now she's flat out scanning my stuff (!!!), changing the color,
printing it on an inkjet (or something equally awful) and selling it on ebay!
I'm so freaking mad I could curse! What should I do??? I don't have a lawyer,
nor enough money for one. Do I email? Send a letter certified mail? Call her up
and scream "are you an idiot? I'm on the same entrepreneur support site as you
and you're copying me?". Help!
I just finished off 5 Milano dark chocolate mint cookies, half a piece of
pumpkin cheesecake with cream cheese icing and a Dr. Pepper. Methinks the sugar
made my tummy hurt. I do a pretty good job of keeping sugar out of the house,
but lately it's been shouting my name loud and clear, as it usually does when
I'm stressed. It's been a crazy week, and I've been out of my element. It just
seems like there is so much going on that there is no room in my brain for any
eloquent thoughts, and the effort to develop any was exerted this afternoon
unpacking a booth for a retailer at this year's jr. league market. And now my
tummy hurts.
I'm scared again. Is it ok to admit that? I just got done sketching a navigation
page for a new site, all of a sudden I'm terrified. I've wavered back and forth
on the concept of combining this journal with my professional life. So many
people have done it--Keri Smith, probably has done it most effectively, if I had
to guess. But I'm terrified of putting my heart out there, in a very competitive
industry, doing things differently. Being young and making waves. In one breath
it sounds fabulous, doesn't it? And the next second, I think about what I'd be
going up against and something says, slow down. And two minutes after that I'm
reeling in a field of dreams, thinking, no one has done this before! Could I
really be myself and make money doing it? I wish you could see this sketch in
front of me. I know you're thinking, "Way too easy. Go scan it." But it's not
that easy. It's not hard because I have bad ideas. It's hard because it's
putting those ideas out there. It's hard thinking of people who have made a
whole heck of alot more money than I have looking at this, copying me in one
breath, ridiculing me in the next. The sense of artist comradery here on dear
Internet does not exist in my everyday world. I'm scared.
I was trying to take pictures of the new chair when Sophie decided it would be
the perfect perch. I'm not crazy about the upholstery, but the blue in it
matches my office walls exactly, and it's in very clean condition, and it's very
expensive fabric, so, knowing me, I'll just live with it. Every single
upholstered item in my house needs reupholstering at the moment. I just can't
bring myself to the point of spending what I would have to spend on fabric and
labor to make it happen. It was a busy day today. All I did was package all day,
and the monotony of the task made me realize exactly how long my to-do list is
getting. For tonight, however, I'm going to watch CSI: Miami. Also, I've got a
little project cooking for those of you who have been wanting to see some of my
cards. More on this later...
I can't disclose how early I got to the estate sale Saturday morning, because I
beat both my mom and the gay decorator, who was, as promised, "tinkled" at me.
In fact, he tried to buy my first place in line for fifty bucks, which was
tempting, but I think my mother would have had my hide. It's been months since
we've been first at one of these sales. The cars started lining up on the street
outside the house at around 4 a.m. I had packed pillows and blankets, and Sophie
and I crawled into the back seat to sleep for awhile and wait out the hours. On
the cold mornings, everyone tries to stay in their cars for as long as possible.
There is an unspoken rule of respect that gives the first in line spot to the
first car there. Saturday, however, some rookie had been woken up by her son at
4:20, and decided to get to the sale earlier than she usually did, and got out
of her car at 6. Since rookies don't know the rule of "first come, first serve",
this means everyone else has to get out of their toasty little cars to make sure
they retain their numerical ranking. The banter is always interesting; who is
looking for what, the rookies asking questions about how it all works. At 8 a.m.
the sign up sheet comes out, you can put your name on the list (in the order
which you arrived), and then everyone disperses to get coffee and breakfast
before the sale opens at 9. Of course, the door didn't open at 8, and so Dyed
Orange Hair Lady, now known as Dyed Black Hair Lady, annoyingly pushes to the
front of the line to gripe at all of us about not ringing the bell. And rings
the bell. And runs away. As if we're not going to know who did it. So signed up,
coffeed up, danished up, and warmed up, an hour later, we're in line again,
because if you're not there when your name is called at 9 you have to go to the
back of the very long 120-person line. Gay Decorator is still trying to buy me
off. My mom is still shooting darts at me telling me to say no. And the door
opens, and we're in. The race is on. The first thing I spy is a crewel-work arm
chair, as advertised, and I rip the tag off. After a quick 360 in the living
room, I rush through the kitchen (later, I realize, a mistake--there is nothing
but dishes in kitchens), and then down the hall to the bedrooms. I skip the
first bedroom, because I see people already sweeping the room, and dart to the
second bedroom. Jackpot. Two twin caned French beds, a gorgeous painted French
blue partner's desk, a small caned French desk chair, and a smashing mirror.
Now, into the first bedroom, where, much as I expected, tags are being removed
even as I glance about the room. My mom has alread snagged a set of 6 Louis XVI
dining room chairs. We're talking less than 5 minutes into the sale, and all the
good stuff is gone. It's a highly valuable lesson on being first in line. Now my
mom and I surf the "little" stuff. Linens, china, knick-knacks. She has an
antique booth at one of the local antique malls and is pretty well known for
getting some good buys. My dad and I start loading up the truck (it's going to
take two trips). We pay, we're outta there. The stuff is now scattered across my
mom's living room floor, with the exception of the crewel-work armchair, which I
promptly carried home and put in my office. Last night my parents regailed my
sister and brother-in-law with tall tales of my competitive spurt at the sale
that morning. It totally explains why I've never understood the nature of
football: why fight over a little odd-shaped ball you don't even get to take
home when there is gobs of French furniture out there at bargain prices?
Since my last blog entry, I haven't stopped going. I've been packing and
shipping and babysitting and finally I'm home and I'm still not going to stop.
There is an estate sale tomorrow and I'm going to be the first one in line.
Yeah, I'm the nut who stays up all night just to get there at 3 a.m. No, I'm not
kidding. I don't need much of anything. I have tables coming out my ears, two
sets of six dining room chairs, a sofa I don't have room for, and too many
lamps. I'm sorely lacking in the arm-chair department--you know, the comfy,
crawl-into-it and curl up kind. My well saved babysitting money is burning a
whole in my pocket, however, so no telling what I'll come home with. I wish you
guys could see the ins and outs of these sales. It’s practically a religion,
complete with commandments:
This is the first and greatest commandment: thou shalt stand in line by first
come, first serve.
There shall be no cutting in line.
If there is a dispute about what number in line someone is, it shall be
resolved by Bill.
Thou shalt discreetly discuss what you are there to purchase in order to
determine your enemies.
Upon entering the sale premise, thou shalt smartly move in the opposite
direction as your competitor, thereby reaching different rooms first.
Thou shalt not ring the sale house doorbell at 9:04 if the doors have still
not been opened.
Thou shalt realize that once inside said doors, every man is for himself.
Thou shalt remember the names of all fellow early morning salers, as you will
see them again on a weekly basis.
Thou shalt discreetly discuss those who break the commandments and quietly
exclude them from your clique.
I could write a book on the characters that show up, and someone would buy the
movie rights in an instant. It's the oddest set of people, from all walks of
life, all there for different reasons, who really have grown to hold these early
weekend mornings as endearing. The sense of rapport is touching. There is the
persnickety old man, who collects art, and is usually there first, unless it's
rumored to be a really good sale, and the gay decorator is there first. There is
the 65 year old lady with dyed orange hair and a fanny pack, constantly annoying
the art collector. There is the snooty dude who always cuts in line and lets his
wife in, even though she gets there way later than any of the rest of us. The
quiet lady who is there for doll things, the other gay guy with the dog who
pulls his white socks up to his knees, the neighbors of the old lady who just
died who have been there before everyone else, do not follow the commandments,
talk really loud, and think the rest of us are all there because we are SO after
that 1970’s metal and pleather and laminate-top breakfast room set. Little do
they know the set would have actually sat there through the course of a
Saturday, on until half price Sunday, when they actually would have been able to
call it a wise use of spending. Tomorrow's sale qualifies as "really good", so
I'm up against the gay decorator to be the first in line. The last "really good"
sale I arrived 15 minutes after he did, thereby almost beating him, and he told
me that if I ever beat him he'd be "tinkled" at me. I think that's gay for
"pissed off". I’ll let you know how it goes.
I'm working on my Illustration Friday interpretation of "smelly". It's taking
forever (like, I might not be done until next week), because I couldn't think of
one thing smelly I wanted to draw and have ended up drawing all things smelly,
as polled and nominated by friends and family. Today is GORGEOUS outside. I
propped the back door open and Sophie is running in and out, celebrating a new
found freedom in the choice to move about the property as she pleases. It's also
a great day for the door to be open because I bought two new sisal rugs last
night, and already lectured her today on what would happen if she decided to
potty on them. So I've pulled back the curtains, mopped the kitchen floor and
I'm getting ready to start working on the big project o' the day. Amanda will be
here any minute, and we've got no less that twenty million sets of photocards to
get taped and shipped. Today. I want the boxes out of my living room floor. If
anybody needs any holiday photocards, email me. I can make ya a deal.
I got an email from a client last night discussing the new price sheet I faxed
over to her yesterday. She is concerned that she will not be able to sell my
product, despite the fact that we are now offering a superior product, that has
to be purchased in higher quantity, but at a lower cost per piece. I call this a
"Great Value", she calls it "hard to sell". Competitors are offering the same
thing at a much higher price per piece, and frankly, it's just too much darn
man-power to work my tail off, run back and forth to printers, use up gasoline,
and stress out over mistakes for what I'm making on these things! And wouldn't
some law of consumerism state that if you raise prices, you get fewer orders,
but you make more on each sale?
I didn't blog yesterday because there were workers pounding on my roof and it
sounded like I was living in one of the outer layers of hell and I couldn't
think. I haven't blogged yet today because the darling workers pounding gave me
a headache yesterday that's carried over today. Lovely mood. I started tackling
(picture: wrestling to the ground) a horrendous stack of papers this morning.
Each delightful (sarcasm) piece of paper has to have it's own little
micro-management meeting, and so I've only gotten past the first page. I'm
finding myself wishing, wishing, wishing I could just have enough energy to get
everything done in one day. I think I need a nap.
I just updated the links, and I know I've forgotten someone. Remind me, if you
want to be linked. I really can't believe what a link-whore I'm becoming. But I
love it! I love all the oodles of creativity out there, and this is just easier
than going back to my bookmarks every day. Oh, and thanks to Giao, YAY! is my
new word of the week. Yay! Blogs!
I have a deadline that's tomorrow, for artwork I haven't started, and am not
inspired to create. I also have to get a disk to the printer that has taken me
all too long to put together. I've had a three hour nap, I've got Guster on in
the background...something's gotta happen here. Soon.
It's been a full week, and I'm not sure where my head is. Last night I lost it
in the car on the way home from my sister's house, getting all over Drew for
stuff that really could have been left alone. This morning I feel guilty, and
still overwhelmed. It's a good overwhelmed, not the
waters-swirling-above-my-head kind; more like the
I-love-the-possibilities-of-my-life kind. I'm off for a morning of community
volunteering--picking through piles of old clothes and sorting them out for a
thrift shop. This afternoon holds the task of painting cabinet doors and
drawers. There is a chance that I'll actually have a kitchen by the end of this
month.
Participation in Illustration Friday, over at Penelope Illustration.
So I left off with Rubber-Sol's request for a doodle, here are a couple. Ashley
asked for a pic of me and Drew, and a fave outfit. I don't know if I have a fave
outfit, but I know I can't keep from living in this pink cable-knit hooded
cashmere thing. Luscious, and worth every unreasonable dime I paid for it. And
Kathleen, here are more favorite shoes (can't have too many of them)--I still
need to get the pic of my kitchen window view and the last book I read.
Irishgirl also asked for a fave place in my house--I don't know if I have a
favorite place in my house--yet! Still very much a work in progress, as
evidenced by the front porch (thanks alot). Ashley, Jes and Katie got a three
for one--here is my backyard, and a view of my favorite tree, a redbud. For
Yvonne, here is my favorite mug (note evidence of remodeling), comfy chair (with
cards on top, Katie), and my bedside table. Jes asked for my front door, and
bulletin board--lacking bulletins. I promise I wasn't procrastinating when I did
this. Let's consider it multitasking today, shall we?
The batteries on my camera died, so I only got halfway through the pictures. The
rest will come later. This little exersize in creativity was harder than I
thought. Anyway, Violet wanted to see my desk (which one?) and my fave book
(couldn't decide, so I took a picture of the whole stack), and something from my
childhood. Ironically, the stuff remaining from my childhood is a bunch of
sentimental knick-knacks I don't know what to do with, so I took a picture of
the whole lot. I agree with Kevmo--a bathroom countertop is very revealing, so
let me know what you think. And as far a junk drawers go, I don't really have
just one (despite my theory on junk drawers), so here's a picture of the closest
thing. Courtesy of DG, we have Sophie and some family pics; the self portrait is
gonna have to wait. And I got halfway through Rubber-Sol's requests: my purse
and a fav pair of shoes. More tomorrow, if I procrastinate as much as I usually
do.
Ok, I found this on Feisty's site, who got it from Meegan, and as lover of all
bandwagons, I've hopped aboard. Think of 3 things you want to see from my world.
Be creative; leave the 3 things in the comments. Anything about my life, around
my house, as long as it's easy enough to take a picture of. As soon as I have
enough, I'll post them; you can get ideas from the above blogs. This could get
totally interesting.
I'm an artist? Since when? Like two weeks ago? I mean, I'm ok with that and
everything, but it's sort of a new term, a new name tag for me, something I'm
just breaking into. I've been an artist to everyone else for a long time. Mego,
last year, when she was helping out with the business, introduced me as her
"boss, the artist". I guffawed her into the next room each time she did it.
Clients, viewing my work, asking, "You drew this?" immediately went on to
assume, "So you're an artist!" How about entrepreneur? Chief cook and bottle
washer? Queen o'doodles? But artist? Really, come on. Artists live in
hippie-cottages and have lots of piercings and like the color black. For
everything. Not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just not me. Growing
up, my math papers were littered with 6 apples and 4 oranges--an equation drawn,
always the wrong answer. Alphabets were practiced, and out of sheer boredom,
letters became mini works of art. In highschool, one of only 14 (very
sports-oriented girls) in my class, I would spend the afternoons trying to find
the smallest watercolor brush possible while they spiked a volleyball. In
college, my design classes, always the one ending up doing the renderings. (But
I wasn't an artist, so I took business classes instead of art classes). Then, in
Dallas, little doodles popping up here and there, everyone always staring over
my shoulder, telling me I should really quit my job(s) and "do something with
that". What really boggles my mind is that along the way someone didn't fire me,
thrust a paintbrush in my hand, and tell me to lock myself in a room with
acrylics for 16 hours straight. I'm not claiming that I'm great, or even good,
or an expert on any one subject of the topic, but for the first time in my life,
I'm claiming that I'm an artist. I feel like a little girl, twirling in a field
of daisys, sucking in life like it's been stifled in me for years. Next time
maybe I'll explained why it was stifled.
Week is off to a crazy busy running start. Sooooo much to do, starting here:
Happy Birthday to the oh-so-fabulous, incredible, wonderful, talented Daisy
Girl. If you are looking for a little humor, a little inspiration, and alot of
absolutely incredible thought, mosey on over to her site and check out her
writings. The girl is going places, I'm telling ya.
Need this one cleared up: to lose weight, do trainers tell you to go home and
eat grilled chicken and potatoes? Without using a name (ie, Atkins, South Beach,
etc) what is the diet of choice for weight loss?
Also, has anyone out there ever had any experience purchasing OEM software? It's
way cheaper than the real versions, and I'm wondering if there is a catch or a
red flag that should be making me not buy it.
And if you like beatuiful things, you need to go check out Yvestown and make a
new friend. She has fabulous taste, great links and likes to talk fabric. How
could a blog get any better?
I'm figuring out that there is no one out there quite like me, and learning to
believe that's a good thing. It's a shocking revelation for someone who comes
from a world where acceptance comes by dressing a certain way, shopping certain
places, and coloring in the lines. I feel like I'm standing in a newly
discovered world--my world--and everything is making alot more sense.
My parents just came over and helped me arrange a little house stuff. My mom
suggested we try hanging some of the pictures, instead of leaning everything
against a wall, which is the way I tend to live life--half organized. My dad
hung a few light fixtures, so now there is something besides wires and dangling
light bulbs in my hallway and the dining space. It's coming together. There are
still boxes of crap everywhere (I'm contemplating listing it all on ebay in one
big lump as "buy a garage sale"), and of course, envelopes and stationery
overflowing every table, but with a little more effort and time, I'm convinced I
can organize it well enough to make Martha envious.
Drew is off to the races, I just woke up from one of those fretful, heavy,
mid-day naps, and now I have to decide what to do with myself. There is alot of
cleaning and organizing to be done; a big painting that is itching me, designs
lurking at the back of my head once I overcome some conquerable Illustrator
battles, a new website to design for part of my "expanding" idea. I think the
painting is what I really want to do. I sent Kristi to Michael's the other day
to pick up some paint. I handed her a photo in a Ballard Designs catalog and
said, "Pick 30 colors from this picture". What started out as just being an easy
thing to delegate ended up being a lesson in how to look at things from other
people's perspectives. I would have shown up with the same colors I already have
a box full of, but she comes back with metallics, oranges, turqoise, salmons,
corals, reds. I got inspired just looking at her palatte. Maybe I'll chronicle
the painting and post it as I go.
