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Secondarily
Dec. 14th, 2014 10:57 amThere was this guy… in Roseburg, I think. He'd come into my booth early Friday afternoon right after opening, and say "Did you bring any seconds?" I'd say "No," vaguely annoyed, and he'd leave again. This happened for several years.
Finally, one year, I lost my temper. "I'm down here for the weekend," I snapped, "And I have a very small van. Why would I want to make space in it for anything but my best work? " He back-pedaled, stammered that a bunch of potters used this sale as a place to get rid of their seconds. I said I respected the Art Center more than that, and my customers, and I haven't seen him since.
My thinking about seconds is heavily influenced by an article I read--I think it was in Smithsonian magazine--about C. F. Martin & Co., maker of guitars and mandolins. At one point in their recent history, they were in financial trouble, and hired in a new CEO from outside the music business. Touring the plant, he saw a big crate of instruments marked seconds, and upon asking, was told that they'd be sold at a discount, because the company needed the cash flow. No, they wouldn't, he said, and ordered them to be run through the band saw. He didn't want any inferior products on the market with the company name on them, and saw this as the first step in rehabilitating the brand. Today Martin is one of the most respected names in stringed instruments, and that's one reason.
For a few years after reading that, I had a no-tolerance policy toward seconds; I'm a little less dogmatic than that now. But I still have a iron (spot)-clad rule: Don't sell seconds in my primary markets, i.e. no seconds where I'm trying to sell firsts. No bargains box in my Saturday Market booth, or at any road show. I break a lot of seconds, still, but I also have a couple of other ways to get rid of them.
One is Going To Pots, a seconds and bargains pottery sale that's been happening up in Albany, Oregon for over ten years. The original founder, Connie Petty, died a few years back, but she'd be happy to see her legacy lives on. It's a weekend in mid-October, when I'm making room in the shed for holiday inventory. They take care of set-up and sales, and take a percentage that goes toward local art education projects. For me it's ideal, because it's in an area where I don't have any other sales or galleries. I'm not competing with my own work, and people know going in that they're not buying first quality.
The other one is coming up this month: the annual Holiday Market Great Pot Smash. Well, it used to the the great pot smash; now it's more like a Benefit Auction With Percussive Interludes.
It started off as a lark, when potters Jon King and Alex Lanham did a seconds-smashing derby before opening on the next-to-last day of Holiday Market. People would bid on the opportunity to break things, proceeds going to the Kareng Fund, Market's local emergency relief program for artisans in need. While the potters delighted in destruction, some of the other vendors wanted to bid and keep things, and eventually a compromise was reached. It's now a seconds auction involving almost all of the potters, as well as some glass, bead, and tie-dye folk. I always bring a couple of boxes for selling and a stack of items for breaking, and last year I joined Jon and Alex as an auctioneer.
Doesn't this break the iron-clad rule? Admittedly, it's happening right in the middle of my primary market area, Eugene, and my biggest sales event of the year, but not during open hours. It's still only for Market vendors and staff, food booth employees, the occasional musician staffing their co-op booth. Friends and neighbors all, folks who deserve and appreciate the bargains, and sometimes bid ridiculously high for a good cause. All the money goes into the fund; I get warm fuzzies, and the opportunity to make some crashing noises, in public.
Finally, one year, I lost my temper. "I'm down here for the weekend," I snapped, "And I have a very small van. Why would I want to make space in it for anything but my best work? " He back-pedaled, stammered that a bunch of potters used this sale as a place to get rid of their seconds. I said I respected the Art Center more than that, and my customers, and I haven't seen him since.
My thinking about seconds is heavily influenced by an article I read--I think it was in Smithsonian magazine--about C. F. Martin & Co., maker of guitars and mandolins. At one point in their recent history, they were in financial trouble, and hired in a new CEO from outside the music business. Touring the plant, he saw a big crate of instruments marked seconds, and upon asking, was told that they'd be sold at a discount, because the company needed the cash flow. No, they wouldn't, he said, and ordered them to be run through the band saw. He didn't want any inferior products on the market with the company name on them, and saw this as the first step in rehabilitating the brand. Today Martin is one of the most respected names in stringed instruments, and that's one reason.
For a few years after reading that, I had a no-tolerance policy toward seconds; I'm a little less dogmatic than that now. But I still have a iron (spot)-clad rule: Don't sell seconds in my primary markets, i.e. no seconds where I'm trying to sell firsts. No bargains box in my Saturday Market booth, or at any road show. I break a lot of seconds, still, but I also have a couple of other ways to get rid of them.
One is Going To Pots, a seconds and bargains pottery sale that's been happening up in Albany, Oregon for over ten years. The original founder, Connie Petty, died a few years back, but she'd be happy to see her legacy lives on. It's a weekend in mid-October, when I'm making room in the shed for holiday inventory. They take care of set-up and sales, and take a percentage that goes toward local art education projects. For me it's ideal, because it's in an area where I don't have any other sales or galleries. I'm not competing with my own work, and people know going in that they're not buying first quality.
The other one is coming up this month: the annual Holiday Market Great Pot Smash. Well, it used to the the great pot smash; now it's more like a Benefit Auction With Percussive Interludes.
It started off as a lark, when potters Jon King and Alex Lanham did a seconds-smashing derby before opening on the next-to-last day of Holiday Market. People would bid on the opportunity to break things, proceeds going to the Kareng Fund, Market's local emergency relief program for artisans in need. While the potters delighted in destruction, some of the other vendors wanted to bid and keep things, and eventually a compromise was reached. It's now a seconds auction involving almost all of the potters, as well as some glass, bead, and tie-dye folk. I always bring a couple of boxes for selling and a stack of items for breaking, and last year I joined Jon and Alex as an auctioneer.
Doesn't this break the iron-clad rule? Admittedly, it's happening right in the middle of my primary market area, Eugene, and my biggest sales event of the year, but not during open hours. It's still only for Market vendors and staff, food booth employees, the occasional musician staffing their co-op booth. Friends and neighbors all, folks who deserve and appreciate the bargains, and sometimes bid ridiculously high for a good cause. All the money goes into the fund; I get warm fuzzies, and the opportunity to make some crashing noises, in public.