The Business of Art : ‘I could not pressure people to buy; it just was not in my nature to market myself.’

The following is from “I Shock Myself: The Autobiography of Beatrice Wood,” by Beatrice Wood, to be published by Chronicle Books in May. Wood, once a member of the Dada set, is a ceramist. She has lived in Ojai since the mid-1940s.

WHEN I MOVED to Ojai I intended to find myself a business manager. I thought they grew on trees, just as I had once assumed that everyone had $10,000 a year. Though (my husband) Steve took care of the books and swept the workroom, his deafness and stooped posture made him ill-suited to deal with the people who came to the studio. I had no choice but to interrupt my work and greet the public.

My first big sale was to a short, thin, overdressed man who came with his genial wife. While she chose pottery, he stood by, his face pinched and formal. I tried to talk to him, but he kept backing farther into the wall. His wife bought several pieces, amounting to the unheard of sum of $450. I acted as if it were peanuts. After they left, I rushed into Steve’s room and, in excitement, cried, “What do you think of this check, can it be good?”

Steve put on his glasses and grumbled, “What’s the matter with you? It is from Zellerbach. You bet it’s good! He is president of the biggest paper company in the country.” And here I had feared they might be con artists.

Never in my right mind did I think I would end up running the place myself. I thought anyone had a better business sense. But while I do not have a commercial mind, in other ways I am businesslike. I pay bills promptly, am punctual, my word is my bond, and I am so organized I could be a planet around the sun. After years of hoping someone else would manage my place, I finally accepted the responsibility, consoling myself that people are more important than pots.

Copyright 1985 by Beatrice Wood. Reprinted by permission.