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Safety tips for the Bizarre Bazaar

What you don’t say in front of an artist might save your life

My first craft idea was brilliant. I would paint boxer shorts with hearts on them. They would be a massive hit and a huge bestseller. People would clamour for them around the globe, I would become rich beyond my wildest dreams and retire at 25. Besides, how long could it take to paint simple little red hearts on boxer shorts?

Are you kidding? Nanoseconds!

Wrong. The actual procedure, which seemed so simplistic in my head, became fraught with hundreds of unexpected delays that didn’t jive with my anticipated time schedule. Just getting the boxers out of the package, unpinned and ironed took up a remarkable amount of time. The paint smudged, my hearts sucked and my screams of expletives woke the neighbourhood. But finally, after a few hellish weeks, the first pair of perfect hand-painted boxer shorts finally rolled off the Bushwoman production line. Bolstered by the glowing initial reaction from my friends, I signed up for my first craft fair and put them in public for all of Whistler to see.

It was nerve-wracking. Here was something that I created all by myself that was up for public scrutiny. Suddenly I didn’t care anymore about the millions I had planned on making because the real test had come. Would they be a total flop on the open market? Were my friends just blowing smoke up my insecure ass?

I just wanted people to like them and sure enough, they did. After selling a few pairs I finally relaxed.

Until a couple of gals strolled up to my booth. One said, "Ohhh, look at these! They’re so funny!"

Then the other one said, "They are, but you know, I could do that."

I wanted to lunge across the table and strangle her.

"I could do that." The most hated remark of every artist I know. Yet it falls so easily off the tongue doesn’t it? Hell, everyone has said it at one time or another without thinking about what they’re really saying or who their insulting in the process. I’ve said it myself. But not anymore. Not since an old business partner and I looked at some funky wooden clocks, declared that "we could do that" and then actually tried it.

The clock, it turned out, was constructed out of 32 separate pieces of wood that had to be cut, sanded, painted, assembled and varnished. It took us about a month to master one. If we had wanted to get our money back in labour alone the clock would have to have sold for $2,000.

What frustrates artists most by someone declaring "I could do that." is that one thinks they could do it cheaper. Now let’s examine that shall we?

I’ll use a simple painted plant pot as an example. When I had a store in the village I painted clothing, furniture and plant pots. If I had a dime for every time people would say, "Pffff, I could do that" I wouldn’t be writing this article, I’d be in Bora Bora sucking back a large fruity cocktail.

Let’s, just for fun, break down a hand-painted $19 plant pot that the novice crafter thinks they can do themselves for less money.

• Drive to Function to purchase plant pot, getting stuck behind person who thinks the speed limit is 30 km/h.

• Plant pot and bottom, approx. $5. Buy paint – the pot you plan to copy had five colours @ $2.50 each. Oh, and you’ll need brushes ($12 for a cheap set of three) and varnish ($2.50).

• Sub total $32 and you haven’t even started painting!

Get home and look around for a clear spot to paint on. Throw roommates underwear off the top of dryer, spread out newspaper. Find containers to put paint and brush water in. (Use your roommates "I’m a Sex Machine" coffee mug you’ve always hated for brush water.)

Look at time; rush to work. Come home exhausted but still inspired to paint pot. Discover the pot/paints have been moved by roommate who accidentally spilled paint on your dog and replaced their coffee mug with your "I’m not fat, I‚m just fluffy" mug that they’ve always hated. Attempt to paint pot. Realize you can’t remember the design on $19 pot and that you haven’t painted anything since Grade 8 art class. Throw pot and paints into corner (ironically on top of unfinished birdhouses you were going to start building last spring). Plan to get to it "later". Are you starting to catch my drift?

To say "I could do that" gives the artist who followed through with their idea and did do that, very little respect. For one, there’s the time factor, which I’ve demonstrated with the plant pot, but there’s also the conjuring up the idea in the first place. For someone who says "I could do that," what they should really say is I could copy that. Then the artist might feel a little less like killing them.

Take a fellow crafter friend of mine who was manning her craft table and listening to a couple discussing her work.

"These are beautiful," said the wife.

"Yes," agreed the husband, "But really, it’s just a picture slapped onto a piece of wood. And she wants $48 for them... you could do that!"

My friend, who’s also heard enough of this line to be lounging next to me in Bora Bora, snapped and said, "Excuse me, but I’m standing right here."

The husband said: "My wife and I are having a private conversation."

"But I’m right here," she reiterated. "And yes, you may be able to copy this, but you probably won’t. And I don’t need to stand here listen to your crap when I’ve lugged this all the way here. So sir, please step away from the booth."

"Yup," recalls my friend, "I lost it."

So people, when you go to Bizarre Bazaar this weekend appreciate the imagination and the work the artists have put into their product before you even think about uttering those four little words. Or at least wait until you’re out of earshot.

It might just save your life.