I’ve decided that the word “exciting” is the latest victim of over-use and blatant self-promotion.
It occurred to me very recently that I receive way too many messages via the internet that inform me of the immediate appearance of “exciting news” or an “exciting new” something. For example, this morning when I logged onto my internet banking, I was greeted with the following:
“Exciting news! Your desktop e-banking experience (including this page) will shortly be upgraded to a new modern platform.” Oh happy day - a new, modern banking platform! (LOL). I can’t for one moment imagine that I will ever be excited about my internet banking experience - in fact, I would feel my life had reached a new low if internet banking ever became a source of anticipated pleasure.
The philosophy behind this behaviour seems to be that if the promoter of the product can successfully convey their hyper-enthusiasm for whatever it is they’re spruiking, this enthusiasm will of course be transmitted (much like a virus) to the prospective consumer of the product, thus imbuing an otherwise very mundane experience with a spark of delight it doesn’t intrinsically contain. Of course, I could just be old and cynical.
However, I am now refraining from telling you that we are very excited about our new shipment which should be delivered in the next couple of weeks. (We are excited, as it’s such a rare occurrence it feels like Christmas, but I won’t mention it. There is also a sense of trepidation as there are always worries such as broken pieces).
So, stating it blandly, our new shipment is arriving very soon. We won’t be able to easily access everything immediately but if you do want anything in particular in the patterns and shapes that are coming please let us know and we will locate those boxes somewhere accessible.
Sometimes customers admire the small bowls but wonder aloud what they would use them for. These bowls are like many things - once you start using them you wonder what you ever did without them. Here are 11 suggestions to get you started but you'll think of many more.
We haven’t served soup at The Cup&Mug for 6 months now but with in the last few weeks we’ve turned away quite a number of people who had been looking forward to a hearty bowlful. Our vegetable soup received the highest accolade when a very sweet elderly lady told me she was 93 years old and hadn’t tasted soup so good since her grandmother and mother’s soup.
A bowl of this soup is a meal in itself and freezes well. To make a big pot full takes some time and effort but put some in the freezer and you have some pre-prepared meals for another day.
A recipe is definitely guidelines rather than rules - it points you in the general direction and you can then exercise your own judgement. However, there are a few ingredients that give this vegetable soup an edge. The secret is in the pearled barley and the swede and parsnip. The barley provides the texture and those two vegetables, the extra flavour.
Parsnip and swede are two very unfashionable root vegetables. In the 1960s in the depths of the Tasmanian winter when few vegetables were available, my mother served mashed swede as part of the standard healthy-but-unappetizing grilled meat and boiled vegetable main meal. It’s two appealing features were its availability and its low price. The downside was the taste.
However, while not having broad general appeal because of their individual taste, both swede and parsnip help make many slow-cooked savoury dishes such as soups, stews and casseroles very flavorsome. They are now at the more expensive end of vegetables because they are not common but it’s well worth paying the extra few dollars. Don’t be surprised if the person on the checkout asks you what they are.
Old-fashioned Vegetable Soup:
Combine the following ingredients in a large saucepan and cook for a couple of hours:
Heather: When I originally started down the pottery road I intended to wholesale to retail stores. However, I wasn’t thick skinned enough to shrug off the rejection of cold calling on business owners who didn’t like the product or more tactfully said it didn’t fit in with their style. So in the end, like the little red hen, I decide I would sell it myself then!
I intended to go to markets and events and sell online. Neither of those is as easy as they sound. The former because most quality markets and events won’t take us - we don’t meet their criteria of the products being made or designed by us. I’ve tried explaining that what we have is a unique, handmade product of the highest quality, but my powers of persuasion have never proven up to the task.
My business savvy friend Jasenka had made herself a free, very attractive looking website, using the Weebly platform and suggested I do the same. I foolishly dismissed this idea, saying that I needed something that was really professional.
I trawled the internet looking for businesses that built websites (I didn’t know they were called web-developers) and somehow found myself in a meeting in a trendy space in the city. I explained what I thought I was after and at the second meeting they showed me some beautiful pictures of what my website could look like. I’m sure they could tell I had no idea what I was doing and very little money. I was staggered at the quote - $22K. The kind girl who handled the administration obviously realized I was totally out of my depth and suggested I pay for their design and have someone else (recommended by her) build it for half the price. I took that suggestion, even though it was still way beyond my realistic budget.
I possibly wouldn’t have minded paying the money if the !#**xx@#$! website had worked properly. It never did. The landing page looked gorgeous but that was the extent of its appeal. It was very slow and awkward to use, it was full of glitches and there was so much we couldn’t change ourselves. However because we didn’t want to throw good money after bad trying to have it patched up, we struggled on for years.
I belatedly took Jasenka’s advice and made a couple of free websites, including thecupandmug.com so that we could have a tiny piece of cyberspace with easily up-dated information.
Tim: The moment I started building an online store for our range of Nicholas Mosse pottery - using Mum’s much loved Weebly, of course - it was obvious how much easier it was going to be to use this new website. It emphasised just how awkward the old website was both for us and for customers. We decided that it was time to cut our losses, ditch the professional website, and put the Polish Pottery on the new website too.
Snatching blocks of time here and there, within a few months we suddenly had by far the largest selection of pieces we have ever had available online. But it wasn’t published yet. The pareto principle was at play yet again - pushing on to the very end is always the hardest part.
DYI when you really don’t know what you’re doing, even if someone has tried their hardest to present you with a foolproof step-by-step process, is bound to have hiccups. More than a few choice words were uttered that I wouldn’t have even considered using in front of my lovely mother, before going into business with her. But that’s what ‘electronic bullshit’ (as a favourite author of mine calls it) will do to you!
A little knowledge can be a dangerous and frustrating thing. Too many things were just not straightforward. How to transfer the old email to the new email host but keep the old name and have no changeover gap? The same with the domain hosting. Once we published the new website there was still cause for more than a little anxiety, as things take a while to propagate through the wide expanse that is the internet.
There were times when the new website would show up, and times when the old one would, and times where an error page would show. Sometimes it would appear properly on one device but not on another. Finally, a very, very long 48 hours later, the new website was there in cyberspace, for all to see, and functioning as it should. Or so we thought.
The website’s security certificate wasn’t playing nicely with some search engines. Accessing the website directly worked fine, but not if you used a search engine and clicked the link to our site you saw a security error notification, telling you to return to safety! Not a good look when you‘re hoping to sell things on said website.
More swearing ensued, as I’m sure you can imagine. Mum tip-toed around me very carefully for days. She suggested on more than one occasion that we pay one of our IT professional friends to help sort us out. Cue my Shakespearian character flaw; independence. Asking for help isn’t something that comes easily or naturally to me. Surely I could figure out ‘the internet’. But does it need WD40, duct tape, or a bigger hammer? A very helpful Weebly support team member came to the rescue, and eventually everything was as it should be.
Finally we have a much much better website. Its front page isn’t quite as inviting as the old one, but that seems to be its only comparative failure.
In one of my more philosophical moments, I decided that with sufficient motivation, you can learn just about anything. The new website certainly felt like more trouble than it was worth at times. But persisting with the old one wasn’t an option. And paying someone to build a new one, well, we weren’t going to close our eyes and stab in the dark again. So with that in mind, I had to learn a lot about websites, domains, hosts, dns forwarding, security certificates, embedding code, and a whole lot more too. It’s still ‘electronic bullshit’, but I’d do it all again if I had to - when it works out, Do-It-Yourself feels very satisfying.
p.s. If you have feedback about using the website we'd love to hear from you.
Many of you will be aware that at the end of last year we closed our kitchen and now only serve a range of beverages and homemade sweet treats. We made this decision because our core business is bringing you beautiful, unique handmade pottery. However, an extremely disproportionate percentage of our time and energy went into our tiny food offerings. Cooking, cleaning, serving & shopping for such a small scale operation was not financially viable and kept us from our main goals.
People’s reactions to this news have been very interesting. We heard the whole spectrum of responses: positive, negative, upset, disappointed-but-understanding, disappointed-and-baffled, bewildered and so forth. Here are a few of the various responses;
This disparate range of responses made me reflect on how and why something so innocuous could have produced such a breadth of diametrically opposed views. Mum and I discussed these various perspectives at some length. We found it an interesting example of the way we all perceive the world through the lens of our own situation, needs and experience. No matter how unbiased we think we are, we are unlikely to ever be entirely objective in how we view our surroundings. I guess this is just part of being human. Everything would be a bit boring wouldn’t it if we all liked that same things, had the same priorities, the same views and had the same outlook on life.
As hard as it is to admit, maybe our beautiful Polish Pottery and lovely Nicholas Mosse Pottery isn’t as objectively wonderful as we think? Although if you are reading this blog, I think you might agree with us - that it truly is fantastic!
Many of you have noticed the tips jar at the shop, which was named ‘Tim’s pottery wheel fund’. Last year Mum bought me a term of pottery lessons for Christmas. It was, as much as anything, for us to gain a more in-depth understanding of the actual processes that turned a lump of clay into the pieces we sell in the shop. It is all well and good to know something in theory but having a hands on knowledge is quite a different matter.
I was hooked. Lessons are great but practice is the key to perfecting any newly acquired skill. So, a couple of months ago now, I decided that it was time to bite the bullet and buy a pottery wheel. My beautiful wheel arrived, shiny and new. But not for long, clay has a tendency to get everywhere, if you let it.
When learning any skill, you have days where you seemingly can do no wrong, and others where nothing goes right. There is also the sporadic nature of a hobby to contend with, grabbing snippets of time where you can.
It starts with the clay of course, too soft and you can’t shape it without it collapsing; too hard and you are really fighting to control it. Once the pot is thrown, it needs to dry a bit, to what is called ‘leather hard’ so that the pot can be trimmed and cleaned up, and attachments like handles and spouts can be added. Too wet still and the clay will collapse, deform and lose it’s shape; too dry and it will blunt the trimming tools, possibly crumble while being handled, and handles and spouts will crack after applying as they will then dry at a different rate to the body of the pot.
Next up is drying the pot out completely so it can have its first firing. It needs to be completely dry, or else it will at best crack, but it may even explode in the kiln if it isn’t dry all the way through. When using a shared kiln service (Thanks Northcote Pottery!) you definitely don’t want your pot to explode - you’ll likely ruin other people’s work, and probably won’t get to fire there again, not to mention potentially causing more than a just few dollars worth of damage to the kiln.
All in all, it’s not really a big hurdle to make sure things are dry, but I have a restricted window of time each week when I am able to drop pots off or collect from the firing service. It can become quite a juggle! Combine that with a one to two week wait for the work to be fired, and time can quickly disappear.
Of course, as always, I’ve started down that slippery slope of one thing leading to another. I am starting to feel that I need a kiln of my own.
The part that is most frustrating for me, is the amount of time that elapses between starting a piece and ending up with the final product. I need to produce a certain number of pieces in order to make a trip to the pottery for a firing worthwhile (I’m pretty ruthless with what will get fired, clay can be recycled all the way up to the first firing), getting through the first firing, decorating and glazing and then a final firing.
Making pieces while the previous ones are away for a firing is a recipe for repeating mistakes, but I don’t want to sit idly waiting to see the results of the latest firings either!
The trickiest bit though - I haven’t renamed the tips jar yet. ‘Tim’s pottery supplies fund’ doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, nor does ‘Tim’s kiln fund’ come to think of it. Mum has suggested The Fiery Furnace Fund.
We’ve all been aggravated at some time by something we acknowledge as trivial. We tell ourselves that we shouldn’t get upset over something that in the grand scheme of things is so insignificant. But because it goes against the core of who we are – the attitudes and values that are at the centre of our personalities, we essentially don’t want to overlook an incident that feels like an act of blatant disrespect.
At the back of our shop we have 3 car parking spaces. They don’t constitute a specifically designed and built car park, but we’re on a corner and by driving slightly on the nature-strip and footpath, the single crossover allows access to all three. We usually have a vehicle parked in the hardest to access spot and the other two are left for customers. Our kitchen window looks out onto the side street and the carpark.
We weren’t specifically looking for premises with parking but it has been very handy. If you come some distance to visit us, you need to be able to park. However, way too often, members of the general public also decide it’s very handy, park their car (always in the best spot) and disappear for the day.
We hadn’t been in possession of the property very long at all before a car appeared and stayed for days. Eventually I rang the local police who traced the owner. The owner explained that she’d been driving to the airport to go on a holiday, had a small accident and left the car. This sounded very strange as the car seemed undamaged.
A ute appeared which turned out to be the landlord who was working next door. He did know his legal rights (or otherwise), said he knew he was completely in the wrong, apologised profusely, apology accepted and that was the end of the matter.
We put signs up specifying that the parking spots are for the use of Cup&Mug customers. When I ordered these signs I asked for “Customer Parking” but to my chagrin, received “Customers Parking”. Regardless, the message is still the same.
We’re closed on Monday and Tuesday but every Tuesday afternoon when one of us arrived to do some work there would be a particular car parked in the “good” spot. One day as I was leaving, the owner of the car was also about to leave. We offer after hours pottery sales by appointment, so I disingenuously asked if she was wanting to buy some pottery. She replied that she was parked there because she knew we aren’t open on Monday or Tuesday and drove off.
Very recently a car was parked in the “good” spot from before 9am. In the early afternoon I put a note on the windscreen. The note was to the effect that this is not a public car park, rather it is for the exclusive use of customers shopping at The Cup&Mug and we would appreciate it if they would respect this in future.
I just happened to see the person return to their car later in the afternoon and decided to go and speak to them. The gentleman concerned was quite defensive, saying that he is a customer of mine. He reminded me that he had just moved to the area and had come last week for a drink. He said he had intended to come regularly but now doesn’t feel welcome and told me that business needs to be a two- way relationship.
What? A $3.80 cup of soy latte entitles you to use one of our scare parking spots whenever you feel like it (of course I didn’t actually say that, just thought it). I did point out that by his parking there, customers carrying pottery had to walk further. He said he hadn’t realised that and we parted on very sour terms.
The parking episode that takes the cake happened on a recent Tuesday. When I arrived with supplies for the shop, I was confronted by this view of the car park. The large vehicle doesn’t even fit without over-hanging the entire footpath.
It is easy be annoyed by these incidents which are really no more than opportunistic displays of bad manners and to take for granted the vast majority of people who are courteous and use the carpark as it is intended.
We had one reasonably frequent customer ask if he could leave his car in the car park for a few hours while he went to the city on the tram. Of course we said that’s fine.
We’ve had people say as they’re leaving the shop that they’re just going for a walk in the park before going home and is it ok to leave their car where it is? Of course it is.
I recently noticed a customer who had parked in the car park while in The Cup&Mug, then moved his car to the street and walked over to the park with his son. How thoughtful of others was that?
It is usually seemingly small differences in values and attitudes encountered at very close range that annoy us most. A much bigger issue which we observe as an outsider is a lot easier to dismiss. It is easy to tell ourselves, we’re not rude, racist, judgemental, or intolerant when we’re not in direct conflict, when we’re looking on from a distance. But when we’re brought nose-to-nose with an attitude we think is wrong and disrespects us it is much harder to turn the other cheek. In fact, there are times when we ignore something that seems small and we live to regret this. It grows into something bigger and we wish we’d nipped it in the bud.
You’ve heard us say it before, but we’re continually surprised by the unexpected things that pop into the life of a shop-keeper.
I grew up in a poor-but-honest, small-country-town family where both parents worked hard to provide the best opportunities and example they could for their children. Although both my mother and father had fulltime paid employment (part-time work was rare in those days), the division of labour within our home was fairly much along traditional lines with my mother doing the bulk of the inside domestic chores and my father mostly taking care of the outside and home maintenance. Both my parents were good with their hands and were creative, resourceful, flexible, able to improvise, and proud of being able to make-do with very little. They encouraged their children, both directly and by example, to have the same attitude.
The times may have been changing in the 60s and 70s but things change more slowly in country towns. The expectation at school and in the community in general, was that every girl should learn to cook, clean, wash & iron, sew, knit and crochet, and these skills were specifically taught to every girl at Wynyard High School (well, not crochet, I took a special elective to learn that). They were referred to as the Domestic Arts or sometimes Domestic Science (playing with semantics to assist in pushing your own barrow has been around a while) and I enjoyed so-called women’s work, finding it skilful, creative, and satisfying despite it now being seen in a more negative light . My mother didn’t wait for the school to teach me these, or many other things, for that matter – (I distinctly remember learning to read at home) and I learnt to knit at a very early age.
When I was ten years old my mother decided that it was time for me to knit my first jumper (eleven by the time it was finished). It was plain stocking stitch, olive-green, round –necked, over-sized and very slightly disappointing because I made a mistake in the neck-band, right in the front and I couldn’t help but see this mistake every time I looked in the mirror. I still see it very distinctly in my minds-eye. (in retrospect, I have no idea why my mother didn’t fix it for me – maybe this was the fix and the mistake had been worse).
This was the start of what became an annual autumn ritual. Mum and I would visit our local general store, which stocked quite a selection (so it seemed to me) of knitting yarn and patterns – Patons and Cleckheaton, mostly 8 ply, but also 5 & 12 and some “baby wool”. I would choose a pattern and wool, we would take what was probably enough wool home, and if it became clear that we were going to need more, we’d have to hurry back while that dyelot was still available.
For the next 20 years I knitted at least one garment every year. It takes many hours of knitting to produce a garment and people knit while doing other things –watching TV, watching sport matches, sitting in meetings, chatting with friends, travelling, waiting for appointments. Every opportunity to knit a row was utilised and it didn’t feel like work, it felt very pleasurable. The garments I knitted were not intricate or difficult – function and durability took precedence over form.
My parents were both perfectionists in their own way and believed that if it was worth doing, it was worth doing properly. Patons wool was slightly more expensive than Cleakheaton but my mother insisted that if we were going to put all that time and effort into producing the garment then we shouldn’t compromise on quality. In my twenties, I purchased bags and bags of seconds from the Paton’s spinning mills in Launceston.
Also around this time, I bought a spinning-wheel (which has been sitting on top of a wardrobe since Tim was born) and took up hand spinning for a number of years. I made the significant men in my life completely handmade jumpers – I can’t remember why it was men, I didn’t make anything for myself. In my mind, I can still feel those gorgeous fleeces.
Knitting is essentially a very simple process – it involves making loops - and many knitters really don’t need to concentrate on what they’re doing much of the time. In fact, if you ask a knitter to show you how to do it, many struggle to work out exactly what they’re doing. Female teachers often knitted on yard duty or in staff meetings. Sometime in the 1990’s my friend Kath, who was a teacher, was taken aside by her school principal and told to stop knitting at school – it was “Soooo unprofessional”.
Gradually I stopped knitting. In fact, over the years, I gradually stopped all the “domestic” things I loved as I tried to perform super-human feats of juggling paid employment, household chores (inside and out), trying to be a good parent, wanting to keep up some contact with friends (whose lives were pretty much as overloaded as mine), and all the while desperately wanting to do something I enjoyed. I felt as though I was clinging to a round-a-bout which was spinning so fast that to let go would prove disastrous. Any unessential activity had to be jettisoned in order to keep the family ship afloat.
Every now and then, particularly in the autumn, over the past 20 years I have had the urge to buy some wool and knit something. Mostly I resisted knowing that I would just be adding to the pile of half-done (at best) projects. One autumn, a number of years ago, I met Annie Stephenson who hand knits professionally. I toyed with the idea of having her knit something for me. I didn’t because I was vaguely aware that I really wanted to produce the garment, not just own it.
I recently mentioned Wilhem Jakob’s short film which used The Cup&Mug as a one of its locations. Tim and I attended the screening of this and the other films produced by the 3rd year fashion design students at RMIT and of course the mainly young audience were overwhelmingly dressed in all sorts of amazing, handmade, (probably self-made) unique garments. I was so inspired, I mentioned to Tim that I really wanted to do some knitting or sewing. However, I thought of the cupboard of unfinished projects (some unstarted) and didn’t allow myself the luxury of even fantasising that I might try to stuff something more into my life.
Three days later a miracle happened! Off-and-on for years (twenty something years) I have met with a group of friends – people come and go but the core group has stayed the same – some Friday evenings, to play music together. The standard of our playing has slowly deteriorated, much like our bodies, but we hope not our brains. We enjoy the convivial atmosphere and stimulating conversation and the playing together gradually became secondary. This particular Friday night I arrived late, to be informed that we were not playing - Philippa was learning to knit before becoming a grandmother (that was not on the immediate horizon but her son was interested in a girl and she thought learning might take some time) and we were all knitting squares for her first project, a blanket.
Someone handed me a ball of 8 ply and a pair of needles. I was in heaven. It felt so unbelieveably good to be knitting. Our ever attentive host, Sue, kept asking me if I was OK because she had never known me to be so quiet. Knitting is immensely soothing.
That marked the end of our musical attempts.
We quickly moved on from Philipa’s blanket. Some women are crocheting, some are knitting. Some are producing very beautiful, elaborate baby shawls, others are experimenting with an endless array of different “granny squares”. There have been hats and scarves and larger garments produced. It’s fun, creative, productive and inspiring.
I haven’t yet succumbed to the temptation to buy a gorgeous pattern and yarn for a new project. Instead, I’ve taken my half done projects, unravelled them all, and am determined to use them up before embarking on any other knitting venture.
I’ve been harping on for some time about my theory that many more people would be much happier if we used our own hands to make things. A few weeks ago someone from our knitting group sent me an email saying “you were right!” and included this link to an interesting article in The Conversation: http://theconversation.com/knitting-your-way-to-a-healthier-happier-mind-46389 .
Not only does it feel good to make things yourself, but to own something skilfully or lovingly made by someone else gives you a sense of connection and continuity. I’ve always loved second-hand goods (much to my mother’s disgust, she tried very hard to shame it out of me) and I now realise that I was drawn, certainly in part, by the fact of them having passed through someone else’s hands.
…….. And I guess this is one of the reasons I love our beautiful, handmade pottery.
One of our customers, who is a fashion and design student, recently made a short film as part of his course. Willem used The Cup&Mug as one of his locations and we were very happy to support his creative endeavours. We’re really looking forward to viewing the end result and here are the details if you would like to see it too.
When: Tuesday June 23rd
Time: doors open 6:30 for 7pm showing
Where: RMIT Storey Hall 336-348 Swanston Street, Melbourne
Entry by gold coin donation and there will be light refreshments available.