Generosity and Pricing
No One Owes You Anything
The journey of figuring out pricing is a challenge. This post emphasizes the importance of generosity, storytelling, and creating work for people who care rather than chasing profits. The story recounts early experiences with making pottery, selling custom shave bowls, and evolving into a sustainable practice where pricing becomes a thoughtful act of connection with customers. The takeaway? Find the people who care and share your work with them—those are the ones who matter most.
It’s hard work figuring out pricing. Many would tally up everything they could think of—plus the kitchen sink—and, after paying themselves, settle on a price. Others might price based on style or even the type of event. Here at the pottery, the idea of abundance and generosity rather than scarcity is what drives things. So, there’s no need to race to the bottom. Making work that matters for people who care is a bit different from the usual mode of capitalism. No direct marketing here—just storytelling and permission-based marketing. Everyone who stops by my little pottery shed already enjoys pottery. They made the effort to drive way out on the back roads. Generosity doesn’t mean free, but those who make the trip will hopefully feel rewarded in some way.
The first show was about eight years ago. I put about four loads through the only kiln I had at the time—a little Amaco updraft kiln. There was only enough space to fire twelve pots at a time, and I was just learning the techniques of gas updraft. It had been ten years since I last threw pots because I didn’t have a studio space. When my wife and I bought the house, I pulled everything out of storage and started firing again. My family and friends became my first test subjects. I made a lot of terrible-looking pottery for my mom, aunts, and close friends. Some of the first pieces I gave to friends were wet shave bowls and beer cups. They mercifully sent me a few dollars for my efforts while I practiced blowing up pots and relearning the process.
Then, my brother-in-law showed off his sad-looking shave bowl gift at Christmas, and soon after, I started getting emails from people I didn’t know. Back then, I had no idea about Facebook groups, but I ended up selling more bowls through Facebook chat using PayPal. Rather than continue sending images of pots to those interested, I opened an Etsy shop to post and sell my work. My first customer was a handmaker who forged high-end straight razors using blacksmithing techniques. He asked me to make custom bowls for him. I said yes, and the orders came in quickly. I was getting $25.00 for bowls that sold for $65.00 to $75.00. That was our agreement, so I didn’t complain. We sold shave bowls worldwide until I eventually got tired of making the same thing wholesale. I decided to stop and start making and selling bowls for myself.
Since then, my pricing has evolved. I dropped prices by about 20% for my local shop to make the work more accessible for working families and folks with tighter budgets. It’s also my way of rewarding the kind people who make the effort to visit and see how the pots are made. I’m always experimenting, and sometimes people don’t find what they want at the shop, but they often check the website to see what new work I’ll fire out next.
Pricing is an act of generosity in both directions. It’s a way to thank those who visit by offering fair prices and a relaxed space to share stories and ideas. I never take customers for granted and don’t feel the need to justify my prices by explaining how much work goes into each piece. People can see the effort, and if they care, they won’t mind paying for the work. If not, that’s okay. It just wasn’t for them. “Thanks very much. I know another potter whose work you might enjoy more.” No one owes me anything. Not everyone will want your pots. Just the folks who care—and it’s your job to find them, show them what you made, and hope they care enough to buy a piece to enjoy.
This hit home for me. Thank you Al!