Showdown, Showcase, Showboat, Show me the Money, Showtime!

This upcoming weekend I’ll be at the only show I’ve booked this season. Why this particular show? Many reasons: this will be my seventh year, it’s in my hometown (Kingman, Az), it’s indoors, it’s small but lucrative, it supports a great cause (the Kingman Cancer Care Unit) and lastly, I have a big customer base that would hunt me to the ends of the earth if I didn’t Show Up.

One of the things I love about making soap is that it’s functional art; it’s practical, accessible everyday luxury. I enjoy setting up my booth next to other artists and that’s a wide spectrum. I’ve been near artists who create everything from oil paintings to glass blowing to metal working to anything in your home made out of crocheted yarn. Love the crocheted yarn ladies– they’re always willing to trade pot holders for a bar of soap.

Some “Art” shows have a restricted definition of art and yes, I’ve done those shows and also been turned down by those shows. This is Showbiz, emphasis on the biz. Soap isn’t everyone’s idea of art. On the other extreme, my show this weekend—if it’s handmade and you pay the booth fee, you’re in. Potluck art so to speak or working class art even, which invariably means lots of mildly funny sayings painted on wood, dried flowers in every conceivable pose, ostrich and alligator jerky, quilts that turn into pillows that turn into steering wheel covers that turn into a handy five-pocket tote bag and of course, a veritable smorgasbord of crocheted yarn. All Show-Stoppers.

At the beginning of a show the buzz of setup is thick, everyone scurrying around unpacking boxes and plastic crates, hauling stuff here and there, checking their watches, saying their prayers. “Good luck,” “Have a great show, “etc. I’m fairly lazy, truth be told, when it comes to shows. I’m always in awe of the booth with the fully folding perfectly proportioned display racks and the insta-wire-wall surround. Often I witness complicated set-ups involving architectural plans and power tools. Real Showmanship, I suppose.

Whew, I say, too much work for this Wild Woman.

I feel smugish by saying I like my soaps to speak for themselves, a simple display presents my wild offering in the best light, but of course it’s also just plain easier to borrow tables from my Mom, use the hauling crates on their sides for shelving and scotch tape a few pricing signs around. Who needs a Dog and Pony Show when you have great soap? (And you’d rather enjoy a latte over a power drill at 6:30 a.m.)

Some of my unsung favorites in this cast of characters:

The Organizers: the folks who Run the Show, and I’m not joking here. They carry measuring tapes, frowns and clipboards and are deadly serious about inches and combustibility. I’ve learned to steer clear whenever possible, no eye contact is a helpful strategy.

The Competition: I don’t identify these people, they self-identify and most of the time they’re selling something totally different—doesn’t matter, they don’t want to meet me, they don’t want to chat business or weather, they don’t want to trade goods and they certainly don’t want me in their booth where I just might get that great idea and Steal the Show. I get a kick out of this scarcity driven phenomenon.

The Looky-Loos: They wander in, wander by, wander around and never ever buy anything, from anyone. Perhaps this is a good past-time, just here to Enjoy the Show! I don’t know, but come on—how about a nice bath salt for $2.00?

My Lovely Assistant: I couldn’t do a Kingman show without my kindred Wild Woman and soul sistah who is always game for killing a weekend for 10%, small talk with locals and making tedious change with a beat-up calculator while I stand up front and yak endlessly about the nuance of scent and lather. She boosts me up with support and caffeine and a shared funnel cake. She reminds me The Show Must Go On when I’ve forgotten an entire crate of body mist and she gets it– the whole thing—the soap, the collections, the vision, me, the insanity, my life… ah, feel the love. People always ask us if we’re sisters and I’ve stopped saying no.

I’m consistently sleep deprived before a show, getting all… that… product… ready. It’s a dreadful amount of work. But once the show begins and the crowds come through, it’s like grown up Show and Tell for me– I’m adrenaline pumped and ready to rock. This brings me to my favorite show characters:

My Customers: I adore my customers, (that’s you)—I adore you. And if I get the opportunity to talk to you in person, it’s flat out nirvana. And it’s obvious. Ask me how to make soap and see me light up like a Christmas tree. Ask me how I got the idea for such ‘n such and I might just scare you with my intensity. Tell me how much you love a certain soap and I’ll blush (yes, still) and we’ll be instantly bonded with the glue of shared pleasure. Tell me what doesn’t work for you about a certain soap and I’ll rope you into the whys and hows and whats of you, your nose, your tastes, your experiences and loves.

So there truly is No Business Like Show Business. I’m looking forward to it, all of it (except for maybe the 4 hour drive with my van stuffed full of cargo and my kids squeezed in and around boxes). I get great inspirations by talking to soap lovers and soon-to-be soap lovers (“You might just want to try a bar and see…”), and I’ll have some new artistic juice to bring back to the studio and decant for my spring creative time.

And least anyone think I don’t like crocheting, I in fact do. I come from a long line of women who know their way around a crochet hook. My Grandmother and her friends would crochet the edges of anything standing still—washcloths, skirt hems and small animals. She had Best of Show awards from county fairs and the like. I fondly remember a crocheted toilet tank cover in my magical Grandmother’s house of escape and cinnamon cookies. Honestly, the talent one has to employ to crochet the wide range of things needing covering: baby feet, kleenex boxes, cold necks, toasters and golf clubs—it is staggering.

I honor all artisans, the famous and the humble, the rich and the poor, the scented and the unscented—and the crochet ladies. Especially the crochet ladies. (Even though everyone knows crochet ladies are all Show Offs.)

~The Wild Muse

One of the most often asked questions from customers is where I come up with the ideas for all my soaps. It’s really a good question, one I’d ask, and one that especially occurs to people visiting me at a show or festival—entering the booth and coming face to face with over 30 kinds of colorful, funky soap all lined up and practically calling out to be held, sniffed, noticed—it strikes the average person as well… a bit much.

And it is. I admit. Right on over the top.

To answer this question of inspiration though, is difficult because the muse visits in different ways. For many of my creations the idea has been in my head a long time. Brewing, as it were. A place, an experience, a myth, a plant, a landscape, a person, an ingredient, an emotion, could be anything, if it’s rich and meaningful to me it quite often carries the thought, “now, that’d make a great soap.” I probably think that at least once a day—some ideas resoundingly better than others— traffic jam soap anyone?

Once a concept is in my head however, the “how’s” have to fall into place and for me, I’ve learned, this cannot be rushed.

For example, I knew for years I wanted to make a Grand Canyon
soap. It’s a profound place full of awe and majesty, a place where I’ve met my own human frailty and discovered more inner strength reserves than I ever imagined. Amazing light on rock, on plant, on water, on gorge, on trail, on vista, on sky, on wing… I had the great idea, but struggled to find the visual, worked hard to come up with the right ingredient formula and experimented even longer to find a scent blend that was, to me, Grand Canyon. We’ll call this the great inspiration with loads of work technique.

Sometimes it’s much easier. I was at a blending class a couple years ago and smelled galbanum essential oil for the first time. Instantaneously I was somewhere else, transported into what I can only describe as infinite green. I could not put it down. I knew very quickly this would be the beginning of my Gaia soap. There it was already made, I saw it, I knew it, it was an old friend, I just needed to get back to my studio and do it. We’ll call this the KABAM technique— pure gifts with very little to do with me actually.

Another way new soaps emerge is by scent evolution. Blending scents is one of my passions, and I have many, many little vials sitting around my work areas with numbers on them. Experiments, tests, liquid ideas. I’m always playing with a little more of this, some of that, a note of mystery, a chord of silliness. Most of these will stay trials in vials, but some have more to say. Some have stories to tell that I need to hear and share. My new soap, Salida del Sol, came about this way, a blend of essential oils that gently emerged over time. A blend that became.

A wish then, on this most auspicious occasion of my first musings entry—may we all become. Gently evolving with inspiration, refined by tests and trials, strengthened through lots of work and spiced with the occasional flash of KABAM.

~The Wild Muse