We have thoughts on things

a collective journal from a collective of women creatives on living and making and making a living in the post-post-post modern world

A Creative Journey Through Portugal & Spain’s Summer Splendor

From Alison Zavracky

September, 2023


I hope everyone had an amazing summer! A fulfilling summer for me, is one with plenty of lazing in the sunshine with a book, long hikes, and extra time with friends and family. But even more importantly, summer is often the time for a travel adventure. A time to fill up on new shapes, colors, and ideas, that shake my perspective up a little bit and inspire my work for the rest of the year. I was lucky enough to get that time this year.

This summer, my husband and I went to Portugal and Spain for a couple of weeks. Like most everyone else, the pandemic stunted our ability for far flung journeys for a few years, and we were SO excited to be making it back to some cities that we knew we already loved. Lisbon, with its vibrant nightlife and colorful tile designs, is full of memorable moments. The juxtaposition of old and new is embraced fully in the decorative facades, with mixed tiles filling gaps where older ones had fallen away. It’s unique and beautiful. Unexpected color combinations and rich patterns saturate the urban landscape. 

From Lisbon, we caught a train heading south to Lagos, a popular coastal town in the Algarve region of Portugal. The main draw of the Algarves, for me, were the jaw-droppingly gorgeous Grottos scattering the coast. In order to get closer to them, you can book a boat tour with a local guide who can bring you under the archways and through the cavities of the rocky coastline. These natural rock formations had originally been hidden underwater before the water levels receded, and you can see the passing of time in the subtle color transitions of the stone and sediment. After touring the coast by boat, we joined the sunbathers to take advantage of a flat sandy beach among the rocky cliffs, for a quiet summer afternoon softly lulled by gentle sound of waves.

After a few sweet days by the sea, we continued our journey west, to Spain. We’d heard so many good things about Seville, and we were looking forward to seeing the ancient architecture of the Alcazar Palace and Cathedral. Seville was a LOT busier than we expected. Bustling with people in narrow streets, this was not the quiet small town we’d read about online. Biking through the city streets is bumpy with cobblestones and a little confusing, even with GPS directing the way. Several times, the map apps didn’t seem to know how to locate the address we put in. When it came time for our tour of the Alcazar Palace and Cathedral, we were more than ready to be led around by someone who knew where to go and how to get there! Our guide was hilarious and overall super entertaining. I highly recommend booking a guide to see these two historic sites, if you’re looking for a comprehensive tour with an expert pointing out all the noteworthy features.

As a kitchen and bathroom designer, I work with tile selections and applications every day. Sometimes it’s difficult to break through conventional layouts and getting inspiration from travel really helps me get a new perspective, and break out these conventions when I have a client who is open to new ideas.

After a sojourn like this, I feel full; overflowing with new shape ideas, color palettes, and new design perspectives. These tasty experiences will surely last me until next summer!


The Cost of Making Art for a Living: Part 1

From Brenna Chase

August 2023

Among all of the challenges related to running a sustainable small business, I find pricing to be one of the most difficult domains. It is only getting harder in these times of economic uncertainty and never-ending inflation. And as an artisan marketing and selling my artwork as the commodity, there are various added layers of difficulties and grey areas in terms of pricing. And because I'm selling what I create, it's personal! I've vented and commiserated with my Hinterland womxn and other artist and artisan peers on this very topic. This is not just an issue of "how much did our time and materials cost to make this".  Many of us struggle with the larger question of just how much our time and skills *are* worth to people, and the discrepancy between this figure and how much people interested in our work will actually agree to pay is often vast.

As a stained glass and gold leaf artist, I have very few examples of comparable work or "competition" to others in my niche fields. This works in my favor in many ways, of course, but not when it comes to pricing. There are online resources like 
this pricing guide, but they are generalized to types of art that don't really apply to me. Found, antique stained glass windows vary in cost depending on their age, rarity, condition, and context of who is selling them and where - you might find a similar farmhouse style panel you see for several hundred dollars at an upscale interior design priced at a garage sale for twenty bucks. But when it comes to new, custom commissions of original designs built from scratch to custom specification, there's got to be more of a formula to the pricing that properly compensates the original artisan. 

Each stained glass studio and glassworker has their own, often complex formula, and there is no standard pricing across the board. These formulas and prices are not posted on the internet, as a) estimates must be sourced directly from each studio or individual artisan as no two projects are alike - think of contractor work - and the scope is all circumstantial b) prices shift over time depending on material cost inflation and demand and c) generally, long-established stained glass studio websites (and online forums) can be outdated and sparse at best. Gold leaf pricing also remains a complex matter of infinite combinations of circumstances and is also up to the discretion of each gilding studio and artisan. Again, the absence of comparative data in these old world arts is both an advantage and a challenge to contemporary artisans looking to price their work at fair and competitive rates that will turn a sustainable profit.

The modern-day concept of anyone's ability to sell their work online adds another layer of complication, especially when it comes to smaller glasswork that takes several hours to make as opposed to several weeks' time for a window. The internet has expanded the niche art of stained glass to hundreds of creators and millions of observers. I love that people anywhere in the world can now appreciate glasswork and learn some of the longstanding methods of how to make it via their computer or phone - emphasis on the "some" due to misleading teachings and information I've seen go viral because they look cool even though they're outright wrong. Anyone is also now able to order stained glass, tools and supplies and try their hand at creating copper foil or leaded stained glass work of their own, even if they can't find an instructional class or supplier nearby. This is all wonderful, and I love to see people of all ages and backgrounds exposed to this old-world art form that I actually flew across the country and invested in to learn, then spent years working in another studio and on my own to perfect!

There's several steps these internet hobbyists miss compared to learning the correct way to make stained glass work on-site as an apprentice involving structure, longevity, and safety, but that's a blog post for another time. WIth hobbyists marketing and selling their goods online at low prices as a side business to move product, acquire followers and likes, and get their work out there, their listed prices break even with their monetary investment in this pricey craft at best. The market for these types of creations, then, is quite skewed.

No one is to blame. Everyone should follow their passion and get their work out there however they desire! And please do not take my frustration as condescension. If glass art and craftspersonship were not my business, I wouldn't think or know about any of these details in my everyday life. But it comes down to reality: why would someone searching for a small glass panel or suncatcher online be willing to pay full price for my original, professionally-made glasswork when there are pre-made, handcrafted pieces that can be easily found for half the price?

Glasswork takes a maddening amount of time and there is no way around this. Either I can price my pieces competitively to match what sells the most on sites like Etsy and hope to get back only the cost I paid for the glass and solder, which means my business never turns a profit, or I can fairly and accurately price my smaller pieces based on the hours I spent creating them as well as the cost of my materials and hope that someday, people who are willing to pay over a hundred dollars for a small copper foil flower will do so. Neither of these options is viable when my art is my business and my source of income.

With years of hands-on experience in both stained glass and gold leaf, working at long-established studios, and talking to other artisans I've met along the way, I have developed and committed to my own general formulas. New stained glass panels are based on square footage and amount of pieces in a design, gilded and hand-painted signage is priced by quantity of numbers or letters and style elements, and architectural gilding can be priced by square footage or time, each with materials either built into the cost or added as an additional charge. For suncatchers, I've chosen a middle ground between those two previously-mentioned crummy options and price items based on an intentionally minimalist design, an unreasonably low hourly rate (think: less than minimum wage) and materials. The suncatchers are not much of a source of income in and of themselves, sadly, due to the uneven competition, so I consider them more of a marketing tool than a product, and from a business perspective, I do not know how anyone can turn a profit from strictly selling suncatchers. My formulas allow some prices to be more justifiable of my time than others, with the reasoning [hope] that these instances will offset those that are not.

The formulas I've arrived at, while helpful, still can only be applied to the most standardized projects. The more complex projects remain somewhat of an enigma - all the varied, irregular commissions and ideas people reach out to me about, and especially the glass and gilded installations I create for my own artistic endeavors outside of commission work. I have yet to even mention the time it takes to create proposals, maintain ongoing conversations and countless emails concerning questions, measurements, alterations, approvals, and logistics that take place before even settling on a design, and the hours of brainstorming, sketching and eventually drawing out designs before I can begin my physical work. I do my best to account for this time in my labor cost, but usually end up having to undercut myself. If I price all of my work exactly according to my time and skills, the cost is often so exorbitant, I have to curb it in order for customers to be able to consider buying it, so I am undervaluing my own work for the sake of selling it. I know so many of my artist and artisan peers understand this, and it's a tough, frustrating spot to be in when we are dedicated to creating to make a living.

Acquiring hands-on experience with both stained glass and gold leaf and building a local network, client base and following over time have all made pricing less difficult, but I don't think I'll ever be able to say it is easy. Please accept this as a small glimpse into the never-ending obstacles of running a small, intentional business. If this creative world is foreign to you, let this be a humble request to consider the immeasurable time and skill an artist has put into their work before you question the price. You do not have to buy it and you are in no way expected to afford it! Just think about it.

 

From Strangers to Familiar Faces:

Navigating Change and Building Community in a New Place

from Nyamka Ayinde

April 2023

Moving from the east coast to the west coast is an inherently dramatic change. You pack up your home, your possessions, and everything you've known for years and move into a place that is entirely new (physically and mentally). New landscapes, new culture, new people, new relationships... a new you? Sometimes we forget to go with it willingly. Other times we find it thrust upon us before we can say goodbye. What does this mean for me? How am I supposed to balance both states of being for so long: the person I left behind in NJ/NY as well as the person trying to exist in California…the person I know and the person I want to be?

The thing about change is that we know it's coming. We can see the signs and often try to stop it. It's the fear of the unknown that scares us, but in a way, that's a blessing. We can prepare, we can try to mitigate the effects by starting off with small steps and little action plans. In my case I tried to stay connected to Hinterland NY and the people I loved there; I was involved in the Kingston Design Show House and tried to maintain my participation, yet that proved to be challenging. However, I am incredibly proud of Hinterland NY and how hard they worked on maintaining my involvement with this project .

But still it's hard, especially when you live in different states, thousands of miles apart from each other. So to that I say goodbye for now.

I will be watching Hinterland NY from the sidelines, working on my fall fashion debut for Ny's Closet—offering outerwear and accessories for the fashionista in all of us.

To the ladies of Hinterland NY: as you continue to do and create amazing works of art, fragrances—and experiences! Remember my words in my voice at times when you need some serious cheering up. "You...Are...Fucking...AMAZING!!!!"

- Yours Truly, Nyamka

 

Adaptation as Growth, from Babs Mansfield

February 2023

In Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland Alice changes sizes a dozen times. I was told by a college English teacher, a guy that actually wore jackets with leather patches on the elbows, that Alice’s size changing symbolized the “uncomfortable” nature of puberty. I read Adventures in Wonderland way before puberty because my mom told me it was too advanced for me.  I like a challenge. Alice is a girl adapting—not the girl that doesn’t fit, as Patches offered. Put that in your pipe and smoke it Prof.

Last year wasn’t what I planned.

I opened Phoenicia Soap Makers Space in Mt. Tremper, NY in May of 2022. Jenn transformed a cold, gray box of a space into an inviting and unique place for events and classes. I was excited about hosting parties amid the shiny copper stills and aromatic plants. I was thrilled at the opportunity to have more personal interactions. But, the general public tip-toed around that.  Rather than big parties, mostly couples dropped in for classes. Rather than in-person sales, folks kept finding me online. I think it was a sort of Covid hangover. 

But, in many ways, 2022 was so much more fulfilling than I could have planned. My Hinterland sisters inspired me and strengthened my creative reflexes. Like so many of our Hinterland Creative Intension Setting sessions, I was reminded not to waste time trying to feed achievement. That’s a chase to more of the same. Sometimes you get the results you planned. Sometimes things are different than you thought they’d be. Feed the source—that juicy well of inspiration that enables you to create when things don’t turn out as expected, that underground spring that opens you to collaboration when isolation had you spinning wheels, that long drink that leads to “what if…" 

I’m adapting, this time I’m shrinking, refining to fit a BIG move. I’ll be opening Phoenicia Soap Makers Space at Hinterland! How perfect is that?

So, come make soap, bath bombs, and other goodies with us, come get your fave smell-goods and partake of the feel-goods at the center of my creative universe. I’ll be closing the Mt. Tremper space on March 15, 2023 and plan to open at Hinterland April 2023. 


Ramping UP! from Sophie Grant

May 6, 2022

Wild leeks of the Catskills appear by mid April, and hang around for about a month. Ramps, as they’re lovingly called by those of us who are obsessed, are in the allium family. They taste like if an onion and a head of garlic had a baby, and as a result the most luxe green and silky leaves emerge from well-irrigated forest floors. One moment they’re here, the next they’re not. You want to take advantage while you can, but ensure you aren’t burning out the patch. It feels like an important metaphor/reminder as the next season is in view.

After a winter of hibernation, ritual morning teas in front of the wood stove, and near-constant abstract planning for “the season”, this May feels like the release of tension. For me, ramps are my much-needed reminder that spring is in fact here (even when it might still be snowing), and that summer is just a few moments away. Possessing the same sense of urgency of many event planners and seasonal workers, this month is a formidable transition time from planning to execution. 

In every aspect of my work, I find a seasonal rhythm that leaves me questioning my sanity come April. Disbelief sets in as meetings pile up and my analog paper calendar begins to look schizophrenic. Who is the overachiever booking up all my time? I need to have a word with her. But there is something that happens in the first week of May. Perhaps it’s the spring cleaning of my brain, to recenter and remind myself why I love cooking, event curation, farmers markets. May brings about this sense that my quest to build community is actually working, and that new friendships and collaborations that weren’t present last year are wildly fun and productive in the present. I’ve officially arrived at this point, today, and it feels good. 

Across the Hinterland community, our visions are coming into focus. Collaborative projects, events, and partnerships are unfolding in the most delicious ways. We have a stacked calendar live on our website, and we are in full execution mode. So – spring, ramps, seasonal shifts – it all has a purpose, and we can’t rush it. But the wild leek reminds us, the annual rhythm does happen every year.

Enfleurage, Capturing Essence from Babs Mansfield

Spring is a heartbreaking trickster here in the Catskills. We might have flowers…we might have snow. We might start hanging with friends again, or we might all have to retreat from another COVID variant.   

On the plus side, spring is lilac season, and that means it’s almost game-time for the purest of that flower’s perfumes, brought to you by enfleurage. That is fancy-French for a method of extracting essential oils from flowers using an odorless, solid fat. I use refined shea butter and the cold enfleurage method, which involves spreading shea onto glass plates called chassis, then placing lilac arrays, tiny flower by tiny flower, replacing each tiny flower daily for at least a week—until the aroma is diffused. This method was developed in southern France in the 18th century, about the same time the guillotine was invented.  In terms of form and function, the guillotine was more efficient.

Like every creative endeavor, enfleurage demands time and patience. But, the past two years have created a chaotic fluency: time and patience are balloons contracting and expanding as we breathe thought into making. 

That first spring of the COVID pandemic I wrote a post on the Phoenicia Soap website about enfleurage—the most time-consuming method of extracting essential oils. In those first stunning weeks of lockdown I mused about a new endeavor with my family pod, “We are marking time picking flowers and placing them in rows. In this moment we’re not asking what we did today, what our plans are. We’re soaking in a quality of time we might never have as a family again.” Since then, an insurrection in America, far too many lives lost, and my pod is far flung… I look back on that post and think, “How twee.”

In 2020 the making of lilac pomade was a way of clinging to my family in a rumination of gratitude. By 2021, enfleurage was just an excuse to make a product I love and to see other people. “Come help, and there’s two ounces of pure lilac pomade in it for you.”  This year, enfleurage still offers a safe, outdoor congregate activity, but it’s not looking quite as transactional. Turns out, not very many people want to pay the price tag that comes with this particular painstaking process.  

This year, for Lilac season, I’ll bring out the glass chassis for another round. I’m looking forward to hanging out, in person, with actual real people again. There are so many things that might upset this plan though. War, pestilence, global warming’s impact on perennial blooms. If I’m able to do even one tray, I’m in it purely for the experience this year. 

The Invitation of Winter and The Country Pivot from , Alison Zavracky

February 13, 2022

For me winter is always a difficult time. Short days leave me feeling behind on all of my projects. Ice covered trees and blankets of snow are beautiful from inside a warm room, but for someone  who wants to be out in the garage making things and making a mess, they only feel suffocating, heavy, debilitating. 

The weight of winter, the wait through winter, tests my patience every time. So I need to remind myself that instead of allowing myself to give in to frustration, just breathe and try to find a purpose for this pause. I’ve found that the best way to deal with these long months is to use them as an incubation period. Setting goals and plans, developing new skills and ideas for the coming year. Learning, thinking and preparing; filling a pool of stimulating resources that I can tap into during more active times of year. In a way, this sedentary time is helpful for building strength for all the new challenges that lay ahead. Something I’ve learned about myself: nothing gets the creative juices flowing more than collaboration. Shared goals and fresh perspectives lead to endless possibilities! 

A little bit more about me…

Since 2018 I’ve been dipping my toes into country living. That’s when my husband and I decided to buy a place in the NY Hudson Valley to take brief breaks from life, as we knew it. We didn’t take the full plunge until 2020 when (surprise, surprise) we ended our lease in our tiny Brooklyn apartment and embraced the quiet, natural landscape around our new home in the Catskills. After 22 years of city living I wasn’t sure how the new environment would affect my work, but I did know I was beyond ready for a change. 

Some of the aspects I knew I was already ecstatic about were the space (so much!) and the potential for a vegetable garden. The main thing I was apprehensive about as a designer / maker was transitioning from a shared community wood shop / metal shop / maker space into a workshop I needed to create and maintain myself. Needless to say it’s been pared-down quite a bit, but it didn’t take too long to gather the essential tools for what I typically do. And, writing this 2 years later, if any nugget of inspiration has been lost from the creative energy oozing through NYC, it has been completely replaced by newfound resources my own yard offers. Don’t get me wrong, Brooklyn has a bounty of “FREE!” and funky sidewalk treasures that were the free-source of inspiration for many up-cycling projects. But the access to green wood (for furniture) or willow branches (for weaving?) when a tree falls during a storm - this is a whole new kind of inspiration. One that leads to curiosity about what other resources I can discover to harvest and cure and shape into useful and beautiful objects.

On Happy Homemaking for Happy Life Living with Hinterland Founder, Jenn Salvemini

January 4th, 2022

When I was a kid, I spent Saturday mornings in bed with my mother watching House Beautiful and Martha Stewart Living – my mom cupping her coffee while little Jennifer precociously shared whether or not she cared for the drapes or sofas of these lavish homes. And then there was the perennially elegant style of Martha Stewart who’s robin’s-egg-blue-everything was also my everything. She made country living so terrifically chic, I developed a subconscious disdain for our gauche suburban existence. This was how it started.

I suppose growing up in a home that was always in flux – my mother was constantly entertaining her own design whims – pushed me to form those strong opinions at a pretty early age. My mother also entertained my design whims, allowing me to redecorate my room (and I mean major overhauls) at least four times that I can remember. As a child, I had hot pink wall-to-wall carpeting. My comforter and matching curtains had a wild, multi-colored confetti pattern all over. I can still remember arranging my dolls and stuffed animals on my bed just so.

When I was properly a “tween,” before such an age group existed as a target market, I graduated to a charming lilac floral print with light grey-violet walls and dark, hunter-green carpeting. The final version of my bedroom happened when I was a freshman in high school. This time, instead of ordering the complete bedroom set from a catalog as we had done before, I went to the fabric store and picked out several complimentary textiles. I was going custom for the first time and I’ve never gone back. I chose a dramatic, neo-classical style floral with giant peonies printed on cotton twill. I picked a delicate white lace and a burgundy silk brocade as accents. This time, the carpet came up for good and I oiled the now exposed hardwood floors myself. I painted the walls a chalky, ultra pale yellow. My kiddy daybed was replaced with a full-sized four-post canopy on which I strung tiny white Christmas lights around. This room was romantic and sophisticated with whimsical touches. It was an emo-adjacent adolescent’s dream! I spent the next four years locked in that room hating pretty much everything except the content of those four walls. Good times! It was likely in that period of my life that I truly learned that a space can be a sanctuary. Every home I’ve ever had, I’ve held and treated as such.

Apparently, homemaking has always been in my blood, but I’ve come to appreciate that it’s not entirely intuitive for many people. So, I’ve developed a practice that I’ve come to regard as a form of aesthetic therapy as I help clients create beautiful and functional homes. I think it’s important to note here why I insist on “homemaking” as my way of describing what I do. Is it interior design? Yes. It is decorating and styling? Yes. Is it sometimes general contracting and project management? Ugh, god, yes. But what distinguishes what I do as homemaking is that I work with my clients to extract from them their own aesthetic sensibility. Together, we build the elements of their home organically – often slowly –and feel through the process as we go, making changes as their relationship to the space changes, which ultimately gives that sensibility authentic expression. The consideration of practices – how one lives in the space – is always a part of the conversation. A home is not a static thing. It is meant to be lived IN and therefore engaged with. That engagement is our routines and habits and modalities which the design of the house can help not only inform but also improve. Our homes are an ecosystem. Homemaking is an ongoing practice of building healthy relationships between the people and the objects that share a space.

For a while, I struggled with the word “homemaking,” as historically it implies female domestic servitude. The image of the 1950’s housewife donning pearls and heals, pushing a vacuum while sipping a martini is easily conjured when I hear the phrase. Certainly, the domestic sphere has been a feminine sphere across cultures for millennia. And it really has looked quite like internment for women for just as long. In some parts of the world, it still does. Hell, in some households right here in the States, it still does. But the work of creating safety for one’s family and oneself is a job that shouldn’t be dismissed. There is real value in the making and maintaining of a sane environment where one can escape the madness of the world out there, and where children can thrive. Homemaking is incredibly important work. Two years into Covid and it has become apparent how critical a happy home really is to a happy life. Frankly, in January 2022, the discussion of gender roles in the home couldn’t feel more antiquated. I keep wondering if a Gen Z-er reads this they’ll think “what the hell is she even talking about…” Aren’t we moving to a post-gender society anyway? (Maybe once the Boomers get out of the way. ) So really I see no issue with encouraging you, whoever you are and however you are oriented, whatever role you play in your house, to put on some pearls, pour yourself a martini, and get into happy homemaking. You’ll be happy that you did.