I am proud to say that I am participating, for the second year in a row, in Mozambique's National Crafts Fair from September 4 - 9 at the Fortaleza de Maputo.
Participation in a relatively large fair is always a challenge, with many lessons to be learned. I think this is especially the case for me in regard to this particular fair, which is clearly branded and promoted as a "Made in Mozambique" fair. Granted, my jewelry is made in Mozambique and incorporates many local materials such as trade beads from Ilha de Moçambique, hardwoods from Nampula Province, horn and some stones. However, it is hard to look around at the fair participants and see that I am the only one who is not Mozambican (or at least born and raised here).
Last year I really struggled with being the only
artesã estrangeira. I got a little bit of backlash from the other artisans, and the occasional snide comment, but looking back most of the pressure was self-imposed, and any "weirdness" I felt was a product of my own uncertainties and, to be honest, insecurities regarding culture, nationality and identity.
This year, my worries concentrate more around my product rather than who I am as an artist and a vendor. It never ceases to amaze me how powerful that inner critic can be - in particular when fueled by random outside commentary. My main concern is that my pieces are priced too high (very common among all artists, so I know I'm at least in good company here). Most of the participants in the fair go for the high volume x low price formula, and tend to fare quite well. However, while their raw materials and inputs may be cheaper than mine (wood vs. goldfilled wire; clay vs. turquoise), I also think their prices are very low because they are not adequately calculating their production costs and overheads.
Yes, I am the product of a business-minded family and an MBA. Yes, fundamentally, I look at the world through the lens of a businesswoman. It's almost funny applying this to an area like art, but it must be done. I calculate all my costs down to the penny, including labor, packaging, overhead and any anticipated fees or commission. I know my profit margins and have a reasonably effective formula for caluclating prices. I've been (semi-)seriously selling my jewelry now for just over 2 years, and it seems my little business is a sustainable one.
How-e-ver. Past successes, business-friendly formulas, and a rational approach to pricing do not, unfortunately, drive out the inner critic. That voice is ever-present in my mind. I compare my pieces to the other crafts at the fair and all I can see is how my booth is so much more expensive. I start to doubt the worth of my jewelry, and worry that ego is driving my pricing much more than any logical calculations of cost and markup. It gets worse when potential customers pass by and make comments like, "Is *that* the price?" Or, "It's nice, but too expensive."
I try to be a good saleswoman and tell people the stories behind my fusion jewelry. I talk about how the trade beads I use are over 300-years-old, how they originally came from Bohemia and Venice and were carried to Africa to be used as currency by traders, how now they wash ashore on Ilha de Moçambique after ships wrecked and spilled their cargos, and now boys sift through the sand on the island to find the tiny colored beads and string them together on fishing line. I tell people about the turquoise from New Mexico, the agate from Brazil, the silver that I hammer by hand, and the endless inches of wire that I form into knots to hold handmade glass beads.
If I am at the booth to tell the story of my jewelry, usually the prices aren't so much of an issue. People begin to understand the materials, the time, the love that go into making a particular piece.
The hard part is on days like today, where I am stuck at work and had to have my lovely friend A. do the fair on my behalf. She is great at selling, and used to be a fashion designer, however she doesn't know the full story of all the pieces and, perhaps most difficult, she doesn't speak Portuguese.
Rico and I just dropped by the fair to visit her and check in on my booth. It has been a slow one so far, though it is only halfway through Day 1. Still, it was difficult to see no sales, and to hear that a few ladies commented that my pieces were too expensive. All of this made my heart sink a bit, and the inner critic start singing out loudly, "I told you so!"
I know that worst-case scenario, the fair is a failure and I don't sell much (or even anything!). Life won't come screeching to a halt. I will still continue to create and make sales elsewhere. We all eventually find our audience. However, it's hard to sit with such insecurity, especially since I could give a friend in my exact shoes the mother of all pep talks and truly believe it. It's so hard sometimes to turn around and give that same support and positive thoughts to ourselves, but that's what I'm trying to do. After all, there are still 5 days to go!
UPDATE: I guess I needed to let these feelings out and name my insecurities. I just got a call from A. and she's just sold a nice big necklace set with turquoise and pearls! Yay!
Partial view of the orchard and entrance to the boschetto (little forest) behind my Grandmother's house. The river is just beside the property - actually there are two: the Vipacco and the Isonzo.
Our nephew Felipe showing off freshly picked walnuts and playing photographer.
Our nephew Thiago and his father Martin, with a view of the house in the background.
Proudly displaying the massive basket of figs I picked. I managed to eat all of these in about 4 days!
Portrait of the Vida Difícil.
My sister-in-law Andrea searching for hazelnuts.
Somehow I managed to convince Thiago that it wasn't, in fact, a good idea to take the lawnmower for a spin.
Rico examining the engine of the 1938 Fiat my Grammy gave to us grandkids to restore.
Martin checks out the convertible top. Everything in the car is in remarkably good condition.
Words fail me to describe how much my Grammy likes Rico. Seriously!
The Fiat is a one-family car. My great-great-grandmother was the original owner, and we still have the car papers in her name. Quite the legacy, né?
