One Artist's Adventures
in the Wonderful World of Business
Chapter 1

In May I quit my "real" job as an Occupational Therapist and Rehab Director for a busy treatment center for older adults. I had gotten burned out on health care and wanted a dramatic change of direction. I had a little money saved and the house is paid for, so with the help and encouragement of Tessa Bennion, a Personal Coach, and David, my youngest brother/graphic designer/ soul mate (as well as many doll and email buddies, including Sara Austin); I decided that since life is short and uncertain, it would be a good time for me to really put all my energy into something I had been doing on the side for years-the Business of Art.

I have been a compulsive writer and journaler since I was in my early 20s. Coach Tessa suggested that others might want to hear about my journey, struggles and triumphs, as well as the steps I'm taking and resources I'm using to work on the formidable task of making a living doing what I love the best. elinor peace bailey, being the mother of all doll business ladies, as well as a boundless source of information and advice for newbies and oldies alike, graciously agreed to play first hostess to this chronicle of my progress. Martine House and I started corresponding after a quilt store owner friend recommended I visit her website, and I am presenting my saga, with some revisions to apply to her wider audience of artists in all the fiber and visual arts. Fiber really does weave it's way into many areas of the arts, including painting and drawing, collage, basket making and the rest.

I thought it might be helpful to start at the beginning, for those of you who don't know me already. To see more of my work, go to my web site: www.pamelahastings.com or email me with any questions/comments at pmoonlight@ulster.net. Phone is 845-246-9906, Pamela Hastings, PO Box 772, Saugerties, NY 12477 (first lesson from elinor is to put all the contact information on everything, because you never know when someone might want to know more about your work.) As the oldest of 5 children, I love to tell people what to do and answer questions, so if anyone has metaphysical to practical questions about making a satisfying living in the arts, please email me. FYI, as of this writing, 1/31/03, I am not yet making enough to pay my living and business expenses, but I believe that I am a good investment, so am continuing to do the work that feels the best to me.

My Life Story

Both my parents wanted to be artists, but there was the Great Depression.

Early memories: my grandparents' old house was demolished to make way for a wider road when I was 4, but they had a room that my father had filled with hand-made model trains and terrain. The way the moss grew on the gray stone step where I played with tiny green drinking glasses. The stories my mother told us-she wanted to write and illustrate children's books.

My father going down to the basement in his white tee shirt, gray Sears pants and loafers to print photographs in the evening. He used peacock blue ink on the name stamp he put on the back of the photos. How proud I was when we would go to a railroad yard and the men working there would know who "Doc Hastings" was because of his pictures of trains they had seen.

No matter how little money we had (my father was going through his medical training most of the time I was growing up), I always had crayons. A big new box was such a thrill, I remember trying to sleep with it under my pillow. By 5, I was encouraged to fill essay books with stories and drawings of princesses. My grandfather had lots of books and would always read fairy stories, Uncle Wiggly and Christopher Robin to us.

My maternal grandmother taught me to sew when I was too young (my birthday was in March) to start first grade with my friends, and my mother's friends gave me scraps from sewing projects they had done. Soon I was carrying a shoebox full of things to do everywhere we went. Lots of long family drives were spent to search out and wait for the perfect train photo, with many first-of-spring picnics beside a railroad track; so I definitely had the example of following your Passion for Art in front of me from earliest memory, along with the obvious necessity for making a living.

We made our own Christmas Cards and presents; we had a set of wooden crates as a jungle gym; my parents sent us on treasure hunts at birthday parties. Dad dressed up as the "old prospector" with a brillo pad strapped to his chin as a beard.

I do have a bad (regretful) memory of burning all the paper dolls my mother had saved for me from her youth. Apparently I was quite headstrong at seven.

I was encouraged to learn a trade in college, as my parents had-the memory of the Depression was still a strong part of them. But I never stopped art making, and after two years as an Occupational Therapist in Boston, we bought an old schoolhouse near where my grandparents had lived, and went "back to the Land." After all, those were the Sixties, and that was what one did. For over a decade, in my 25 by 36 foot studio, overlooking the Connecticut River, fields, and trees, I made art-and also learned to cut and carry 12 cords of wood a year, grew and preserved vegetables, battled -35 degree cold and snow that came at Thanksgiving and didn't leave until the end of May. I thought I had had my retirement when I was young enough to enjoy it and strong enough to endure it.

It wasn't until much later that I felt the economic pressure to have a profession along with my art. The urge to decorate, to make art seems to exist in the most primitive cultures, as a way of communicating, as a way of making everyday objects more beautiful in their user's eyes, as a way of passing time when food gathering and child-tending doesn't take every available second, and as a way of communicating, from anger and fear to joy and celebration. Art can help us process difficult emotions and share joyful occasions.

I feel that Everyone has some potential to find satisfaction in making art. Unfortunately, our culture especially seems to install a critical judge that sits on our shoulder and gives us hard-to-ignore messages, like: "You can't draw:" "Stop right now, that's not going to be any good." "You're wasting time fooling with that stuff." "You don't have any good ideas." In my teaching, in my books and patterns, and in my own work, I try to help myself and others silence that destructive inner critic, and release the artist within.

Some of us seem to be more driven than others to feel compelled to make art no matter what, as a means of self-expression and as an important part of who we are as people. That sense of urgency of expression comes out for me whether I am a full-time artist, or making my living as a Rehab Director in a Nursing Home. I experience creativity when I am making a business deal, writing in my journal, inventing yet another dish to serve with the too-plentiful zucchini from my abundant garden, writing, making paper dolls, painting, or making sculptural dolls. Like any other type of exercise, using one's creative "muscle" makes it grow strong.

Allow yourself to play, explore, grow. I know from my work with the elderly, that those who stay interested in learning changing and challenging themselves stay young in spirit, even when their bodies give them trouble. One doesn't notice the aches and pains nearly as much when one's mind and fingers are busy. Life's trials and tragedies are less overwhelming when they are expressed in art.

Some of my work may seem scary; little of it is "pretty" in the conventional sense. There have certainly been tragedies and difficult times in my life-an abusive husband, many years of never enough money, my mother's depressions. I have used my own art-making as a way of looking at and learning to deal with some of the things I have experienced, so some pieces may bring up strong feelings in the viewer because I put strong feelings into the piece. At the same time, part of what I make is simply because I absolutely LOVE the materials, the fabrics, the colors, the textures, the lines! The pieces can be made and experienced on many different levels.

Often people will see things in my work that I never consciously intended. It's always interesting to hear what they say. In trying to get rid of that Judgment Guy, I work as "un-consciously" as I can. Of course I have had lots of art classes and read lots of books about color, balance, and design so that's in there, too. But I try not to think too much about, "I guess I'll make a doll today about the conflict between Art and Making Money in my everyday life." When the Judgment Guy is too strong, I do something decorative for a while-production work or follow a pattern, because the process of working with the materials is very satisfying to me as well. In school, studying for my degree in Occupational Therapy, I learned that "piercing activities," like sewing, were excellent outlets for aggression. I remember working in a VA hospital during my training and watching a young Vietnam Vet paint endless pictures of volcanoes-he was certainly exploding inside, but by painting it, he could see and talk about it. They were very powerful pictures.

With this series of columns, I will be talking about my own personal procedure of making art and of trying to make a living with my art. I sold my work at craft shows for twenty years, eking out a living, but never doing business in a really "business-like" way. This time around, I want to apply all of the things I learned about organization and marketing in my professional career, and learn all of the other new tricks I can, as well as taking advantage of all the local small business resources that exist now. I can afford to go for about 6 months without making an income, so let's see what happens.

To contact Martine about classes or lectures, write to Housefiber@hotmail.com

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