Since I quit working in a real job last summer, I've had time to do some quirky little things that are real time bandits . . . art, reading, genealogy research, and a new favorite . . . selling things online. I
sell some of my original art through a website and I dabble in some online auction sites. Thank you, to those who have supported these efforts through your purchases.
Most of the things I sell are smaller items that I've found at tag sales, resale shops, or things that I purchased during a moment, or period, of impulsivity. None of the things I sell are family heirlooms to me, but they could have been to someone. They are things that I felt had good energy (undefinable, I know) or that seemed potentially precious.
Like with many of my relationships that started off with a lusty connection, the bloom fades and annoyance replaces passion as I walk past items claiming precious real estate in my life. It doesn't matter if said items are out for all to see or lurking in the dark of some closet or drawer - either way, they need to be dealt with. This is the merchandise I hawk online - flashy and seductive things, but mostly useless or downright burdens.
Like all relationships, preparing for the end requires energy and positivity to bring the best possible outcome for all parties. The work of separation can be time consuming. I want to get out of an item what I put into it, so I expend strong energy to present my cast offs in the best possible way. If I can get someone else to desire my cast off, I will be physically free . . . of that one thing. I purchased a photo box to take professional looking pictures. Pictures where I am not refleced in the flash on the item being photographed. Do no underestimate the power professional props, or of shadow and light, when casting off what you no longer want or need.
Even with good photos, a narrative is required in most instances. My go to descriptions when selling items I knew I was purchasing to resell are easy and honest - "definitely needs a good cleaning, but I leave that up to the buyer"; or "has a crack that is hardly noticeable. however, use caution when handling"; or "can not speak to authenticity or realness of the piece"; or "see photos for accurate representation as to size and condition."
When I sell something I thought I'd have a lifelong connection with, it's hard for me to stay positive, to hide my disappointment in the relationship. I want to type - "when I saw this piece at the art fair in the winery vineyards, I was gobsmacked. I imagined bringing it home to transform my life, my home, and my reputation as an art collector. how disappointing that it could not, would not, maintain it's implied promise to fulfill my dreams. this piece relied on the the free wine and the potter's charming wife to lure me in, to believe it was something that is not. I hope that you will find a good and proper use for the unbalanced vase with clumsily etched trees on it."
On some sites you only get fifty characters to describe the piece. In lieu of the long emotional narrative, I say things that can not be proven as lies - "whimsical piece, can be used or displayed indoors or out." Oh, and, "there are no returns on this item."
After the item is listed, there is the constant trolling of the auction site to see how many people have viewed the item, how many are "watching" the item, and finally, how many bids have been made and for what amount. I feel indignant when no one immediately bids on the piece. How dare they use a responsible strategy to get a good deal, to discern whether or not to purchase at all?
I feel like a fool for falling for the vase so quickly and blindly two years ago in the vineyard. Now, whoever buys it doesn't even have to experience the piece in that setting. I bought that vase in less than five minutes, then tried to make it work in so many settings: with flowers in it, too busy; displayed on it's own shelf, all the imperfections of scale and balance are too evident; on a closet shelf or in a storage box, it's not worth the space it occupies anymore.
I endure the anxiety of not knowing if it will stay or go for next seven days after the auction begins. Finally, with five minutes left in the auction, there's a bid. It's a good bid. Then there are several more. The piece sells for about 50 percent more than I paid for it two years ago. Now the doubt floods in. Did I sell to low? Should I have kept it? What if I just didn't give it a chance? Is it too late to change my mind? No, no, I did, and yes.
As I move the vase to the "to be mailed" shelf, I am reminded that in all aspects of life, I evolve. As I have evolved, I have had the opportunity to hold many different things - an idea, someone, some thing. Like all other things in this world, I can not stop changing. Sometimes I change and what I hold changes in ways that that are in tune and complimentary to me evolving. It is known as good karma, mojo, or luck. Realistically, this does not happen often. From time to time I am compelled to let go of and separate from what I hold.
In my evolving, I know a have some effect on the evolution of others and theirs on me. Like the vase's evolution, for instance. It began as a deposit of phyllosilicate minerals containing variable amounts of water trapped in the mineral structure. That globby mixture was harvested, refined, and sold to a potter. The potter's hands shaped clay into a vessel and etched trees and birds onto it, then he sold it to me. In owning it, I hoped it would invoke peace and beauty in my home and life.
Tomorrow, the vase gets shipped to "spendmonky34" somewhere in California to be, as she puts it, "smashed into smitherenes" and grouted around the new hot tub. How are you evolving?
