The Wonders of a New Tent

You heard that right...I finally bit the bullet and bought a new tent.

I've been struggling through leaky canopies, torn zippers, sides that flap in the wind and bags and bags of zip-ties. My credit card company increased my limit...and I bought a new tent.

This is the Godzilla of All Tents.

It is the Shangara-La of Tents. It is the Absolute Best Tent in the history of tents.

It has a canopy top that is heavier than three ten-pound bags of potatoes. And it doesn't leak. It has flaps that fold over the panels, which attach with a ZIPPER and velcro, creating a waterproof barrier. The mesh panels I ordered are perfect for hanging my art. The steel poles stand firm against gusts of wind. Everything fits together, everything does its job, and everything fits into bags especially made for it.

I can even use my corner shutters that have become a trademark of my setup.

It might take me a year to pay off the darned thing, but if there is one piece of advice I can give you today, it is...

Buy the tent.

Just Put Brake Pads On It, He Said

So, last festival, two months ago, LuLuBelle presented us with a rather bad power steering fluid leak. As in, gushing out almost faster than we could put it in.

Hubby looked at it, but between his frustration over "not enough light to see" and actually not being able to see anyway ( and of course, he won't get glasses), he could not ascertain the problem.

Neighbor Bob was going to look at it, but he's got his own Honey-Do list and none of them are "look at neighbor's van's power steering pump."

So I put out a desperate plea to the Universe (which currently consists of my 'hood) and I got a name. The name of an honest and trustworthy automotive mechanic.

Auto mechanics are in the same class in my brain as dentists, medical doctors and lawyers. Not only do they make about the same amount of money, but they also have a reputation of padding labor and equipment charges, especially where women who have no clue what or where mechanical parts are located under the hood consist of are concerned. So, when a neighbor told me of an auto mechanic who had serviced not only their parents' cars, but theirs, and satisfaction was guaranteed...I prayed for karma to be kind.

My hubby, always looking to maximize the opportunity of not having to do any car repair, suggested that as long as I had taken LuLuBelle to the mechanic, I should have brake pads put on because the brakes were making grinding noises. "Don't have them turn the rotors, or do anything else - just front brake pads. Should cost about $35 each." I agreed with his reasoning, and, the possibility of not having it be put off for another couple of centuries and not hearing copious amounts of swearing from the front driveway, I gave the nod for brake pads.

So, LuLuBelle needed an entire new power steering pump. And, the labor was pretty steep because of the location of the pump, which required the radiator being taken out just to get to it. There were no usable salvage pumps, so a new one, all bright and shiny and ready to last another 18 years, was installed. new fluid, hoses and gaskets intact. Big smiles for both myself and LuLuBelle.

But then, the brakes. Bobby, my new best friend and car mechanic, pulled the left brake off, and the rotor was not only completely ground practically to bits, but the brake pad wasn't even there anymore because of a broken caliper. Not to mention rust. I live by the ocean. Everything rusts. Hell, I think I am rusting sometimes.

So, left brake fixed. Right front brake was just about in the same condition, only there was still a brake pad, it was just in three pieces.

Poor girl. She still stopped every single time she was asked, every single time. Even on a steep bridge, even with all the tile I've heaped on her for years.

This vehicle, with her Bondo'ed lower panel and her flaking, rusted roof....this girl with her badly painted bumpers and her insides full of screws and dents and glue...she still completed her missions from here to Tallahassee to Georgia and everywhere down South. In fact, if a vehicle could truly be said to be happy, she literally beamed with joy when she began on a new journey at 2 a.m., creaking and groaning but happy to be out of her designated parking spot in front of my house.

So, yes, a trailer would be more efficient. No insurance needed, no working parts, save tires. Easier in the long run, and certainly less expensive. Unhitch the trailer at shows and run with the freedom of the Jeep. And air conditioning would be a life saver during the hottest months.

But, her loyalty has touched me, and although it's going to take months to pay my debt back, it's worth it to me at this point. She's beautiful, she's a good storage unit for all my art stuff and she won't go down without a fight.

And, I won't let her.

Gearing Up Again

It's that time again. I weathered June because of a random festival in Dunedin, FL and was quite pleasantly surprised with the financial outcome! It helped me to take my trip to Seattle and Portland, where I got even more inspiration for art. It took me into the outstandingly hot July, where no festival in my state is remotely possible (but a client came by the studio and bought $500 of art, so that was a windfall)  and now, in August, I'm scratching the days off until my next festival in Jekyll Island, GA and hoping it'll be a good one, because LuLuBelle has developed a slight cough in the power steering pump, and needs a little TLC. The AC has never worked, and it would be very nice to get it fixed, but going into the fall season, I'll have to pray for a miracle, because with all the show fees, luxuries like having a working AC in the cab is not on the agenda.
As I write this, my hubby is lying on his back under the engine, grumbling and groaning and griping the whole time, as he is not a fan of LuLuBelle and keeps pressuring to buy a trailer we can tow behind the Jeep.But, he understands my emotional connection to this mosaic journey I have undertaken with her, and also knows that unless we sell her...we have no place to park a trailer. So, he is under the cab, in 94-degree heat, to try and determine the cause of the loss of power steering fluid at such an alarming rate. We always try the DIY route first, then if we have to, we take it to an automotive pro, albeit kicking and screaming the whole way.
So, I'm waiting patiently inside (if I go out there to "help," it will only result in cursing and fuming and threats to dismember her one gasket and hose at a time) to hear the grisly news as to whether she will cost us $20 or $200.
LuLuBelle is my art storage unit. I keep everything I need for the festivals inside her roomy tropical insides except of course, the art. She waits patiently for her weekly start-up and after a 15-minute motor run, she's back to waiting again. I couldn't take her out the past three months because of her medical illness, and I'm worried for her other internal organs at this point. And her tires. I put off getting her new tires, and this year, it has to be done without fail. Hot asphalt in excess of 150-degrees in Florida sun and older-than-dirt tires do not make for a happy LuLuBelle.
So, it's just another day in the life of an art gypsy and her caravan. And yes, that would be a good name...Cara.

Scrambling For Deadlines

So, it is now mid-July. The Ides of July, we Art Gypsies like to call it.

And, deadlines for art shows in the cooler months of September, October and November are fast approaching. With them comes the requirements of jury fees and booth payments. With no income coming in for the Hellaciously Hot Days of Florida Summer, it can be dauntingly depressing.

This is where the fable of the ant and the grasshopper come in to play. I am definitely a grasshopper. Always have been. I daresay, most of my art friends are the same way, save a couple of the more industrious go-getters who have arranged for galleries and gift shops and wholesale opportunities in the merry, merry months of June, July and August (tourist season here).

I am, however, trying to get my inventory over the limit so that I have enough to sell in case I hit the tides just right. That's not going so well right now either, as I took an extended vacation and house improvements are looming. I've had tile to put down on the bedroom floor for 2 years, I have security lights ready to install in the back yard, my kitchen counters are to be tiled and the walls grouted and I have a studio light that has been sitting in an unopened box for over 8 months.

So, I've been "researching" for new shows, and taking note of shows I did in 2015 and 2016 that were good for my particular brand of whimsey. I'm trying to mark dates so that I don't forget them, pull out folders for shows I liked doing and looking for the new demographic areas to try out that don't conflict with my already favorite shows. I have papers from one end of the studio to the next, I have pages still on the printer tray and little post-it's everywhere from the lamp to the tool box to the light switch. I continually feel inadequately prepared for meeting deadlines.

What I have managed to take note of is that I have received several (as in over 15) e-mails "extending" deadlines for upcoming shows.

This is a matter of concern for most artists, as it generally means...no one is applying to the show. They haven't received enough applications. They are reaching out to artists, and even reaching out to some, namely me, who were not juried in to their shows the previous year.

So, of course, I put out my feelers to other artists about the concerns. They generally feel the same way.

Are Art Gypsies dying out as a breed, or are the New Ones just readying to come on board as the Old Ones drop like flies? I've heard many discussions of Pro-Panel Buying and Art Tent Sales from artists "getting out of the business" more so than ever this year. Is it just becoming too expensive to do the shows? Is there no profit left in the festival circuit?

As for me, I really have no recourse. It's what I do. Until I can't do it anymore, physically. It's my retirement income, as I blew my money wad on a bad decision during a bad marriage. And unless I win the Florida Lotto, I can't see any more employment opportunities coming my way.

There's always Publix. But then, I'm not sure I could pass the psychological test...

June. In Florida. And You're Doing An Art Festival.

The words, "are you fucking nuts?" come to mind.

I have always avoided art festivals in the months of June, July and August in the state of Florida. First of all, there just aren't very many to do and second, it's too bloody hot.

Summer in Florida means afternoon thunderstorms and rain, usually of epic, however short-lived, proportions. So, if you sign up for a festival in June...you have to prepare for torrential rains. June 1 means the start of hurricane season here, but that's really not an issue. It's the heat that's an issue.

There is the problematic generator. Most festivals won't allow the use of a generator (because it's too noisy and creates a possible health hazard with extension cords and fire possibilities). Some festivals have the use of electricity at a cost, but most do not. So, your 12-volt fans are useless, unless you have the generosity of a next-tent neighbor who has a really good marine battery or a quiet $800 generator that he lets you plug in to (thank you, Mr. Make Chalk Boxes For Kids).

The last festival I did was in Dunedin, FL and it was a specific craft festival, so I really didn't expect much. I was (thankfully) surprised by the sales so I'm definitely planning another trip to Dunedin in better weather.

Because, it was hell. Hell as in hot. Hell as in hot on parking lot asphalt hot.

I gave in and purchased a battery-operated fan at CVS Pharmacy in a fit of wild-eyed fever so that I had some sort of moving air on Sunday, because Saturday with no fan almost did me in. I was literally drenched in sweat from just setting up in 80-degree humidity. "Drowned Rat" best described my appearance the rest of the day, which turned in to 101-degree heat. I think people bought my art out of pity for the poor creature that looked like she stepped off of a Les Miserables set.

My hubby absolutely will not do the marine battery thing. Not sure why, other than the cost factor of a marine battery. We are looking in to a Ryobi charger and battery, with a fan attachment. That is about the same cost altogether, but he says he can use the battery for other devices, which just means that when we load up and do another art festival, the charger and battery will inevitably not be in the van, because he will have taken it out to use it at work, and I'll never see it again.

Lesson here is: Buy a fan. Keep it in your art vehicle. Write your name all over it. Don't leave home without it. Because, if you are going to brave a festival in Florida in June...you will need it to survive.

Wearing White After Labor Day

Specifically, wearing white at all when you are an Art Gypsy.

I love wearing white. I love the crispness, the cleanness of white. White shorts tend to make my otherwise scary pale legs look tan, and white shirts or tank tops are just so classic.

But, what I have learned, is that if you want to wear white anything (sneakers, socks, shirts, etc.), you'd better run back to your van or to the port-a-potties and change into them because if you wear one little smidgeon of white anywhere, it's going to be a mess after you set up.

My stubbornness always gets the better of me at setup. Almost all of the shows I do now are in the Kingdom of Florida, and it's hot, no matter what month it is. So, I wear white. Bad move.

I've seen so many Art Gypsies wearing their "I'm An Artist" attire – funky skirts, tank tops with handprinted whatever, beads up the ying-yang, fringy things – but I tend to stay pretty normal, with a pair of shorts, shirt and flip-flops. These other Art Gypsies look so cool and collected, while I end up looking like I just took a swim in a muddy pond.. They set up their tents the same way, get their product out and still have time for a crossword and a latte before the opening bell. I'm sweating bullets, my white shirt is smudged in all the wrong places, and my feet are so grimy from wearing flip-flops you could plant corn between my toes. And I usually end up finishing three seconds before opening.

So, after this last show, the Great Sprinkler Mishap of 2016, I have decided to bow down to the fact that I simply cannot wear white during set up and must build in some clothes-changing time if I want to present a clean and crisp appearance.

Now, all Art Gypsies know that Saturday morning is the ONLY time you can abide being in a port-a-potty.They are somewhat clean, still have tissue available, and if you have to change in them, it's relatively easy. Sort of. Well, not really. Not if you're changing in to white. Because, no matter what, if they are set up on Friday evening, they've collected an inordinate amount of scum on the floor, so nothing you wear can touch the base. There's no where to hang anything. And putting something on the side plastic by the toilet  – well, you might as well pick your clothes out of a dumpster.

My solution is now to just give up wearing white until I own an RV, where I can get in, change and be back out in relative cleanliness and comfort. Sunday mornings can be my white days, after a nice hotel stay and a shower. During load out, no-one looks refreshed, no matter what they are wearing, and it's usually a long drive home, and take-out is on the menu.

I'll save white for Sundays.

The Marvels of Automatic Sprinklers

My first question that morning was: Why in the Bloody Hell is Everything in My Art Tent WET?

My second question was: Is THAT a sprinkler head?

And yes, yes it was.

I was all set up on Saturday morning at the Delray Beach Craft Festival. Now, I generally stay away from straight craft festivals because I prefer to do juried art/fine craft shows, but this was being held
in a popular cultural area of Florida (Palm Beach county), and it was a week before I'm set to go on vacation, so a little extra cash would be outstandingly helpful.

This is a "promoter-run show," which means it is staged, promoted and run by a company whose sole purpose in life is to make their living from filling up 10 X 10 spots in popular cities with artists and crafters looking to make a buck. Most of these places are in public parking lots, mall parking lots, public parks and smaller downtown venues. But, that's a whole 'nother blog post to come. Anyway, the objective is to get as many artists as they can to fill up those spots to pay their application fees and booth fees as to pay for all the public permitting, facility use, staffing, police security, and other sundry costs, and still make a ton of money for themselves. So, the point being, their reputation as a promoter of art shows and art show venues is at stake if they screw up.

Now, I have done many promoter-run shows. Some promoters have a genuine love of the game, and some know that it is just plain profitable. Low-end cost on a promoter-run booth fee is $225. Multiply that by, let's say, 120 (classified as a "boutique" show) and what do you have? $27,000. is your answer. Now, remember, that does not include the "application" fee of (low-end) $15...which adds another $1,800. That is a craft vendor fee. Artists fees are higher (low-end $405; application fee $25)
with food vendors even higher (because they make a LOT more money than artists). Promoters increase their costs down the line to the artists, crafters and food vendors depending on the costs in the area. For example, South Florida venues are much more expensive to promote than Central Florida shows due to use costs, so the fees for Art Gypsies are higher, to offset that cost.

All this to say, we are ultimately paying the entire cost of doing the shows, therefore, we deserve
to have reasonable accommodations, such as (preferably) level ground, space behind the tents to store additional inventory and necessary items, and some sort of security overnight. The other perks, like dedicated parking, booth-sitters and water/breakfast are great, but Art Gypsies are a hearty bunch, and never without our own provisions.

Didn't make money at this show on Saturday, but decided as we were in a seafood town, to at least treat ourselves to great food and music, and then hunker down in the motel for a  Golden Selling Day on Sunday.

When we opened the tent on Sunday morning, the place was flooded. Not wet with overnight rain (none). Not wet with humidity (some, but not like that). Wet as in torrential, all-morning SPRINKLERS. And, of course, my booth was set up directly on top of one.

I had pools of water IN my closed plastic bins. I had water-damaged art hanging on the walls (24 pieces in total). My booth banner was soaked, my walls were soaked, my chairs were soaked.

Not one thing was left untouched by the sprinkler, which was finally located under my sales table in the back left corner of the booth.

Now, after my blood pressure and migraine headache subsided...

I asked the two men who "help" out with this promoter show what could be done...they just stared at me with a blank expression and shrugged. Many of the other craft people who do this show on an annual basis, as well as other shows by the promoter, just said they were amazed that no-one told the Tennis Center at Delray Beach (where the show was held) to turn OFF the sprinklers.

I probably have no real recourse, but I will pursue a line of questioning to the promoters on how they could compensate me for lost art. You can bet it will be a question I ask every single time I apply to one of these promoter shows...have you done your due diligence?