how to start a pottery business

if you're me

You start by taking a pottery class. You’ve seen other illustrators (that’s how you identify) painting on clay and that is what want to do. It does not come easily. You watch videos at work about how to center clay. This many years later you still sometimes forget to anchor your left elbow in your hip. There’s a lot of metaphor in how bossy clay is on the wheel and how you forget you’re the one in charge.

You are claimed by this activity. It is like an alien ship has sent down a beam for you and you’re gone. You start saying no to all kinds of things. You think less about what you’re invited to and whether people like you but instead you consider what you want, which is to go to open studio hours where you forget to eat and pile up failed attempts next to the wheel.

You are not satisfied with what’s available and are told about underglazes and the pottery store Georgie’s. You spend your money on supplies. You obsess about progressing. You want feedback. You take requests. You’ve never been like that before.

You find a wheel for cheap on craigslist and a friend drives it up to you. You decide to start selling work. You donate part to the cause and part to The Cause. You do this on Etsy and you have instagram for it. Donating gives you a cover. You would not be selling otherwise. You are not good. You’re using every clay and every glaze. It’s just one cook in the kitchen but there are too many recipes on the counter. You’re trying to be so many artists at once.

You’re seeing a speckled brown clay a lot on instagram and you comment on Alexandria Cummings’ post and ask. She answers. You buy it, and you put underglaze on it and that’s that. The magnets inside your taste and your materials have clicked together. You apply to a craft fair called Renegade because your sister did it. They feature your work in their promotion and you suddenly have instagram followers who you aren’t friends with in real life.

At the market you mildly underprice everything and nearly sell out. It’s thrilling. Sarah from the Yo Store comes to your booth and asks you to wholesale with her. You don’t know what that means but you’re texting your sister and she tells you what to say.

After the market two stores buy work from you. You say no to others. You’re still so slow. Folks online ask when you will have new things. You feel like this is your big break and want to quit your job. Your mom flies out to Portland and helps you build walls and tables in your basement. She makes you a studio. You ask Sarah Wolf questions over email and she invites you to her studio. She talks through your business with you. You still want to quit. Your husband does not want you to quit. He is skeptical. You want two things: to have a baby and to quit your job. It’s a lot.

You get pregnant. You are ill and you pause for months. Alison Roman asks for plates and bowls for her next cookbook shoot and you don’t follow through. You have Bruno. Tornado of time and it’s been months and months of him. You quit your job on maternity leave because you didn’t have a daycare and they tell you you can’t work for Powell’s again. Your studio is a sun and you turn your face toward it.

You and Pete make studio time for you. You want childcare but the expense is intimidating. Tornado of time and it’s covid. You are producing work and it is selling out. Trump pandemic protests and people are shopping with their values. They set alarms to purchase. It is caffeinating. Anthropologie wants to produce your work. They offer so little. You say no.

It’s still pandemic. You cry often. Bruno does too. You hear about a spot at a good preschool and they say that you have to do all five days. You agree. Suddenly you have full time care. Suddenly you are a full time potter.

You have everything you wanted and you are scared. You start working with a coach. You raise your prices and begin to feel real. People with bigger platforms share your work and you get more notice. You go to Portland Flea and they’re good to you and give you good placement.

You rename. You love being a business. It harvests every part of your animal. Clay moves your body. Writing and strategy move your mind. Instagram lets you perform. Artists you’ve long admired give you attention. But.

Your business is a house built on land you do not own. Instagram owns it along with the mineral rights. Fewer people see what you post. Real Simple magazine shares your work and it doesn’t do a thing to your numbers. Your numbers. You obsess over your numbers. Sales numbers. Reach. Follower count.

Tornado of time and you’re not sure how to adjust. Lots of people wholesale, which you’re considering. It's not ideal for you because you spend so long on each item. 

You’re now listing products on three different platforms. When something sells you race to remove it from the other places. Markets are no guarantee. You take out ads but they don’t spread much of the word. You are glad you have been coached for years. You have tools for panic now. You watch it with binoculars. The work waiting on your shelves is better than the work that used to sell out. It’s not about you. Folks are getting day jobs. You’re all resourceful and inventing ways.

If you see scarcity you need to widen your lens. That is what you're trying to do. It's been a beautiful 7 years. Here's to many more (🤞)