![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Silver lining
Aug. 24th, 2021 05:19 pmStill sorting out my experience with the Silverton Arts Festival. It was... kind of a lot.
In the past, it's been a pleasant and well-run show. Never a top-seller, but they treat us well--dinner on Friday night after load-in, breakfast, sandwiches and snacks in the Park Building Saturday and Sunday, volunteer booth-sitters circulating throughout the weekend. The show information is helpful and comprehensive, both what we received before the show and what was in the move-in envelope.
This year, things were a little scrambled. From what I could understand, the entire organization dispersed during the pandemic, and an all-new (four member) board was in charge. We didn't get any information in advance beyond what was in the contract, and hardly anything in the envelope. When I called to ask when to load in, I got an I dunno, we're going to be setting up after 9 am, so I guess then? (In fact the contract said noon til dark.) They also added an insurance requirement, but had no idea what the coverage was supposed to be. And there was a bridge out on the road from Salem to Silverton, and they didn't think to tell us to expect a detour--nor which detour was shortest. They didn't know how to stock the Park Building until a couple of vendors told them, and they went around the fair both afternoons of a cool-to-chilly weekend offering ice cream sandwiches to the artists.
Like I said, a little scrambled.
The weather wasn't baking hot, like the previous weekend, so that was good. I had a reasonably level spot, only took a few shims to get the shelves straight. We did have rain driving up Saturday, quite a bit in Salem, in fact, but it tapered off to showers by the time we arrived, and had stopped entirely by the 10 am opening.
Saw some familiar faces, people we'd sold to over the years. A couple were at the stop-and-hello-but-there's-no-room-for-more-pots stage of their life, but it's still nice to see them. One couple were at the opposite end of the spectrum--they'd lost their home in the Lionshead fire in 2020, and one of the only things that survived was a small covered crock, fox pattern, that made it through with just a few drips of window glass fused to the rim. They got a few things to start their new collection, and updated their address on my mailing list. (The postcard was forwarded, so managed to find them. There's no mailbox left at the old address.)
We also ended up next to familiar vendors, Joe and Lizzie with their fused and stained glass, Doug's jewelry. Lindsay, the rain chain maker was down at the other end of the row, so we didn't get to talk, nor to see her cutting copper sheet into leaves all weekend.
It was a strange weekend; I got into a debate with a five-year-old girl about why my bear was wearing a mask. He's too little to get the vaccine, I explained. Stuffed toys don't need masks! she insisted. I asked if she'd asked her stuffed toys their opinion; she actually paused to think about that, then returned to her previous assertion.
A little later, Elisa the jeweler looked in on the back of our booth, a little shook. She'd had a customer ask why she was masked up, and she explained that she being exposed to many people at the event, she wanted to take precautions. Oh, COVID isn't real, opined the woman. It's just a bunch of unrelated symptoms the doctors slapped a name on. They haven't even [something sciency she couldn't remember] the genome. Elisa was like, "Was she right? I'm thinking, how much do I really know about this thing, really?" We reassured her that, yes, it is real, they did sequence the genome, which is how they were able to construct the RNA vaccine, and we both know people who died of the thing. Besides, who's more believable, doctors, scientists and NPR reporters, or some rando at an art fair with a "Religious Exemption" non-vaccine card? And gave her chocolate chip cookies.
I'd say that was the low point of the weekend, except for the couple with the pug dog on Saturday. They'd spent a fair amount of time in the booth, talking about the work, and then she tells me (at length) how she makes pottery too, and has too much in her cupboards, and that's why she's not going to buy anything from me... while her dog pees on my sandbag. When I interrupt her with this bit of news, she yanks the leash, apologizes abruptly and dashes down the path. I rinse off the weight with water, and bring in the enzyme cleaner Sunday morning to give it a more thorough washing, but I still see several dogs sniff the ground around it over the next few days.
Sunday afternoon, a couple of plein air painters set up along the path behind us, recording the scene. One of them included my booth. That's it on the right, with the blue sandbag. Yes, that sandbag, immortalized in art.
The show is just on the edge of too far from home, about a 90 minute drive, which makes for long days, but there are compensations. We get to sleep in our own beds, for one, and Sunday morning as we passed through Albany, we saw three hot-air balloons, presumably in rehearsal for the Art and Air Festival this weekend.
Sales were down from previous years, unlike my other two road shows this summer. Could have been weather--Sunday was downright chilly; could have been the bridge. I'm always on the fence about doing this show, and this year didn't make the decision any easier.
In the past, it's been a pleasant and well-run show. Never a top-seller, but they treat us well--dinner on Friday night after load-in, breakfast, sandwiches and snacks in the Park Building Saturday and Sunday, volunteer booth-sitters circulating throughout the weekend. The show information is helpful and comprehensive, both what we received before the show and what was in the move-in envelope.
This year, things were a little scrambled. From what I could understand, the entire organization dispersed during the pandemic, and an all-new (four member) board was in charge. We didn't get any information in advance beyond what was in the contract, and hardly anything in the envelope. When I called to ask when to load in, I got an I dunno, we're going to be setting up after 9 am, so I guess then? (In fact the contract said noon til dark.) They also added an insurance requirement, but had no idea what the coverage was supposed to be. And there was a bridge out on the road from Salem to Silverton, and they didn't think to tell us to expect a detour--nor which detour was shortest. They didn't know how to stock the Park Building until a couple of vendors told them, and they went around the fair both afternoons of a cool-to-chilly weekend offering ice cream sandwiches to the artists.
Like I said, a little scrambled.
The weather wasn't baking hot, like the previous weekend, so that was good. I had a reasonably level spot, only took a few shims to get the shelves straight. We did have rain driving up Saturday, quite a bit in Salem, in fact, but it tapered off to showers by the time we arrived, and had stopped entirely by the 10 am opening.
Saw some familiar faces, people we'd sold to over the years. A couple were at the stop-and-hello-but-there's-no-room-for-more-pots stage of their life, but it's still nice to see them. One couple were at the opposite end of the spectrum--they'd lost their home in the Lionshead fire in 2020, and one of the only things that survived was a small covered crock, fox pattern, that made it through with just a few drips of window glass fused to the rim. They got a few things to start their new collection, and updated their address on my mailing list. (The postcard was forwarded, so managed to find them. There's no mailbox left at the old address.)
We also ended up next to familiar vendors, Joe and Lizzie with their fused and stained glass, Doug's jewelry. Lindsay, the rain chain maker was down at the other end of the row, so we didn't get to talk, nor to see her cutting copper sheet into leaves all weekend.
It was a strange weekend; I got into a debate with a five-year-old girl about why my bear was wearing a mask. He's too little to get the vaccine, I explained. Stuffed toys don't need masks! she insisted. I asked if she'd asked her stuffed toys their opinion; she actually paused to think about that, then returned to her previous assertion.
A little later, Elisa the jeweler looked in on the back of our booth, a little shook. She'd had a customer ask why she was masked up, and she explained that she being exposed to many people at the event, she wanted to take precautions. Oh, COVID isn't real, opined the woman. It's just a bunch of unrelated symptoms the doctors slapped a name on. They haven't even [something sciency she couldn't remember] the genome. Elisa was like, "Was she right? I'm thinking, how much do I really know about this thing, really?" We reassured her that, yes, it is real, they did sequence the genome, which is how they were able to construct the RNA vaccine, and we both know people who died of the thing. Besides, who's more believable, doctors, scientists and NPR reporters, or some rando at an art fair with a "Religious Exemption" non-vaccine card? And gave her chocolate chip cookies.
I'd say that was the low point of the weekend, except for the couple with the pug dog on Saturday. They'd spent a fair amount of time in the booth, talking about the work, and then she tells me (at length) how she makes pottery too, and has too much in her cupboards, and that's why she's not going to buy anything from me... while her dog pees on my sandbag. When I interrupt her with this bit of news, she yanks the leash, apologizes abruptly and dashes down the path. I rinse off the weight with water, and bring in the enzyme cleaner Sunday morning to give it a more thorough washing, but I still see several dogs sniff the ground around it over the next few days.
Sunday afternoon, a couple of plein air painters set up along the path behind us, recording the scene. One of them included my booth. That's it on the right, with the blue sandbag. Yes, that sandbag, immortalized in art.
The show is just on the edge of too far from home, about a 90 minute drive, which makes for long days, but there are compensations. We get to sleep in our own beds, for one, and Sunday morning as we passed through Albany, we saw three hot-air balloons, presumably in rehearsal for the Art and Air Festival this weekend.
Sales were down from previous years, unlike my other two road shows this summer. Could have been weather--Sunday was downright chilly; could have been the bridge. I'm always on the fence about doing this show, and this year didn't make the decision any easier.