FOBOTS is a Registered Trademark

People sometimes ask me what was the most difficult bot I’ve ever created. I tell them that the bots are easy–coming up with the name “FOBOTS”, and then trademarking it–THAT was difficult.

If I had it to do over again, I’d probably have hired a lawyer. But when you’re on the US Patent and Trademark Office website, you have no idea how long it’s going to take. So you start filling out forms. And it’s complicated and might as well be written in Klingon, but you persevere and finally you get to the bottom of the page where there’s a button that says “next”, and you think you’re done. But you’re not. “Next” takes you to a whole different set of hoops to jump through. So you jump through THOSE hoops, researching everything along the way so you hope you’re making the right choices. More “Nexts”, more hoops. At some point, you think “Maybe I should just turn this over to an attorney”. But you don’t, because you think “I’ve just spent hours on this, and I MIGHT be just one click away from being finished, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to turn this over to a lawyer who will just push that final “Next” button. And, of course, you’re not even close, but you have no freakin’ way of knowing that.

So finally, I get it all done, and send it off (along with a sizable check) and wait to be able to add that precious little circle with an “r” inside to my business name. Months pass. Finally, a letter from the trademark office, stating that the description of my product as “robot sculptures made primarily from found objects” is not valid, as “found objects” is not a term they recognize, and–incredibly long story short–we’re now “robot sculptures made primarily from non-precious metals”.

I’m telling you this now for two reasons. One, I recently had to go through this all over again to renew my trademark. The guvmint doesn’t tell you it’s up for renewal, but you receive multiple letters from patent and trademark attorneys saying “Hey! You don’t want to go through all THAT again, do you?” But this time was easier, and I did it myself. Buh-bye $300, and we’re good for another six to ten years. I’m not sure. I’ll wait for the lawyer letters to appear again.

The other reason I’m sharing this is that the word I made up eight years ago has become a part of the English language. Which is kinda cool. I go to Pinterest, and there are hundreds of boards labeled “Fobots”–some of the work on them is mine, most is not. And that’s OK. But I’ve had to explain to a few artists lately that they simply can’t use my name for their business. Let me put it this way–you can start a soda company, but you can’t call your beverage “Coke” or “CocaCola”. You can sell facial tissues, but even if “Kleenex” is a standard part of the English language now, you’re gong to have to think of a different name. In conclusion, I encourage you all to go forth and make robots. But please don’t call them Fobots. That name is taken.

Trunk Show

When in the course of human events you’ve been rejected from one of your favorite shows for three years running, you can either (a) accept that it’s one of the hardest shows in the country to get into and try again next year, (b) curse the injustice and inhumanity of it all and wallow in self-pity, or (c) experiment with something completely different. It’s time for plan C.

We love the St. Louis Art Fair. It was the first fair we ever did, and it is consistently one of our best. Which is why it’s really annoying that, after participating in it for four consecutive years, now the jury won’t let us in. Especially annoying because my work is so much better now than when I started. I mean really, I look at the jury pictures I sent them the first year I applied and they must have been out of their MINDS to accept me. And after listening to the irate responses from our St. Louis mailing list after informing them yet AGAIN that we won’t be in attendance, I’m taking matters into my own hands. SO–on September 11 and 12, concurrent with the St. Louis Art Fair and one short block away, we’ll be having a trunk show at the Crowne Plaza Hotel in Clayton.

Sure, it’s a risk. It could be high school all over again, and nobody will show up for my party. But for the last two years, as we’ve been driving home from Sausalito, we’ve passed right through St. Louis as the show was going on. We’ve even spent the night there. So, since we’ll be in the area anyway, we’ve reserved a suite at the Clayton Crowne Plaza at Carondelet and Bemiston, one block from the show, Friday, September 11 from 5-10pm, and Saturday, September 12 from noon to 10pm. Here are the advantages:

Air conditioning! (Honestly, I can’t emphasize that enough).
Wine and cheese.
Zero percent chance of storms blowing the tent over.
Free parking–if you buy a bot, we’ll pay for a day of free parking at the hotel. And since parking is tough near the fair, you can leave your vehicle at the Crowne Plaza all day while you shop the rest of the show!
A quiet, friendly, relaxed atmosphere. No pressure–you don’t have to buy anything, just come and catch up and see the latest bots.

Obviously, we don’t know the room number yet. You can check back here September 11, or email me at amy@ifobot.com and I’ll put you on the special mailing list for the event. So, aside from an extra night in a nice hotel, what have we got to lose? NUTHIN, that’s what!

Fobots on Ice!

“Tragedy + Time = Comedy”
—Somebody smarter than me

When all this went down, I was devastated. I thought, “Never in a million years am I going to find this humorous”. I was wrong.

Funny thing happened on the way to our first show of the year–Coconut Grove in Miami. I’d been working my fingers to the bone–literally–all winter long, and I was itching to get to a show. Any show. The fact that the first one was in Miami, during a Raleigh winter that had been long, icy, and cold, and that Miami had been posting the same BORING forecast for weeks (74 and sunny, every frikkin’ day), made it a matter of LIFE AND DEATH that we get the hell outta town soon or something was gonna blow. So when yet another ice storm was scheduled to arrive on the day before we were supposed to leave for Florida, I was having none of it. Ice storms in Raleigh tend to bring traffic on most of the streets to a standstill. People abandon their cars, packs of wolves roam the deserted roads, there’s cannibalism…OK, just the first one. Anyway, I told Phil “Hop in the van, Sweetie, and let’s get out of here before the Storm of the Century of the Week hits”.

Coincidentally, this was Phil’s last day of work before retirement. The going away party had already been cancelled due to impending Snowmageddon, so he figured he’d just work on his laptop while I drove. We calculated that if we made it to the highway before the storm hit, we’d be golden. The highways in North Carolina are pretty well-maintained during ice storms, even if the side streets become Winter Olympic events.

At first, the plan seemed a good one. It was Wednesday. We’d get to warmer climates, maybe stop in Savannah for a mini-vacation, and get to Miami on Friday. We headed south, and missed the ice in North Carolina entirely.

Trouble is, we caught up with it in South Carolina. As the snow got heavier, we went slower and slower. Visibility was poor. And eventually, I ended up behind a huge semi, that was spitting even more slush up onto our windshield. Cautiously, I attempted to pass the rig on it’s left, and that’s when all hell broke loose. I must have caught a draft from the truck, and the van started fishtailing wildly. I hit the truck with the right rear end of the van, which spun it around so that I’d have the opportunity to hit it with the front end as well, sending us spinning like a top on the ice. After pirouetting gracefully around a mercifully empty highway a few times, we came to a halt in the fast lane, facing the wrong way. Fortunately, the van had enough spirit left to restart and drag its sorry carcass over to the median, where it breathed its last. Phil stopped working on his computer. Happy last day of work, honey!

(BTW, these photos were taken days later, after the storm blew over and the sun came out).

The police came quickly, and called a tow truck. The driver of the semi stopped his rig hundreds of yards away and came over to see if we were OK. As I sobbed “I’m so SORRY” to him, over and over, he just smiled and said, “Well, I THOUGHT I heard a thump!” Evidently, the truck had little or no damage. Not so our van–the passenger side was inoperable, chunks of the front end had been pulled off, and some red fluid was leaking from the engine. It looked like blood on the snow. But we were fine, as was everything in the van. No Fobots were harmed in the making of this adventure.

Enter Tommy Jr., our rescue angel and tow truck driver. Phil could not exit the demolished passenger door, and his double knee replacement in September had him even less mobile than usual. Tommy Jr.–all 5”4” and maybe 120 pounds of him–commenced to pull Phil backwards towards the driver side door and probably would have pulled him all the way out if Phil hadn’t stopped him in time. As we waited in the warm tow truck, Tommy Jr. finished things up with the Highway Patrol, and we called our insurance agent, who instructed us to bring the van to a collision center in Florence, SC.  Tommy Jr. cut off some of the dangling bits from the van and we were on our way. 

Trouble is, the storm had knocked out the power to most of Florence SC, and the collision center was closed. I started crying again, since all my work was in the van, which couldn’t be locked as the passenger side window was gone. And the collision center–as collision centers are wont to be–was not exactly in the ritzy part of town. No problem, says Tommy Jr.–I’ll bring it to my house, lock it in the yard, put a tarp over it, and my dog won’t let anyone near it. Good dog. Good dog.

Our luck continued to improve. We got one of the last two hotel rooms in Florence, in one of the only parts of town that had power. Tommy Jr. helped us bring as much as we could into the hotel, and after settling up with him, he asked us if there was ANYTHING else he could do for us. Anything at all. Phil, observing that I was still shaking like a leaf, jokingly asked if he knew where we could get a bottle of tequila. “I’m on it!”, says Tommy Jr. But even our resourceful tow truck driver could not find an open liquor store in a town that was almost completely closed. But that’s OK. The front desk informed us that the only two options for food were a convenience store across the highway from the hotel, or either Papa John’s or Domino’s could deliver. We called up Domino’s (I mean, we’re desperate, but we’re not monsters, right?) and they took our order, but apologized that there would be a 2 1/2 hour delay. Seemed reasonable.

And so we settled in for a day of pizza and Winter Olympics. Around 10pm, my cell phone rang. It was Tommy Jr. “You still want that bottle of tequila?” I’d stopped shaking by then, but I believe the response was still “OH HELL YEAH”. This dear man drove it to our hotel and met Phil downstairs. Phil asked him in wonderment, how he’d managed to find an open liquor store under these conditions. “Well, it’s like this”, replied Tommy.  “I’d just given a guy a tow, and when we went inside to settle up, I noticed all these big bottles of liquor on his counter. I asked him how much he wanted for the Cuervo, and when he said forty bucks, I said, let me call someone…”

Thursday brought another day of pizza, tequila, Winter Olympics (I am now an expert on luge and curling, though the luge was difficult to watch after our incident) and hourly calls to the still unopened collision center and car rental places. The Miami weather reports continued to taunt us. Finally, around 6pm, the power came back on at Enterprise, long enough for them to leave a message on their answering machine that they would reopen Friday at 8am. I immediately booked a cargo van online, and arranged for Tommy Jr. to meet us there to transfer all our stuff from the wreck to the rental. Things are looking up. We may have to set up in Miami in the middle of the night, but we just might make it…

Not so fast. We arrived at Enterprise just before they opened, and were first in line to collect our reserved cargo van. The guy behind the counter looked stricken. “I’m sorry”, he said, “but there isn’t a cargo van to be had anywhere in the state”. HOW CAN THIS BE????!! Note to future self–do not attempt to rent a van on Valentine’s Day. Those greedy florists have booked every last one for extra deliveries. At this point, I uttered a sentence that has never before left my lips.

”OK. I’ll take two minivans”.

The collision center had also reopened that morning, and Tommy Jr. met us there with his son, who we will always think of as Tommy Jr. Jr.. They helped us transfer our cargo, and it miraculously all fit in one van. The Dodge Caravan with the Stow and Go seats is like Hermione’s handbag (Harry Potter reference, for all you geeks out there). We were able to return the spare van, and were finally on our way south by noon.

We weren’t the only ones setting up at midnight in Miami–others had been caught by the storm as well, though not as spectacularly as we’d been. The only other problem we encountered was trying to get everything out of the minivan, whose back door was too low to slide the display cases straight out. I don’t know how the Tommies did it, but when I attempted to do it in reverse, I tore the meniscus in my right knee trying to heave a seventy pound case sideways out the back. When the show opened the next morning, we were ready to go, and all the other artists, having heard of our adventure, thought I’d messed it up in the crash. Nope, just not as agile as the Tommies. I turned out to be a really good show for us (can you imagine how soul-crushing it would be to have a bad show after going through all that?) and we even won an award.

So there you have it. On the way back home, we got confirmation from the collision center that the van was, indeed, totaled (duh), so I got on the phone with some Ford dealers and informed them that whoever calls me with the best price on a 2013 Ford Transit Connect in the next few hours gets a cashier’s check the next morning and the easiest sale they’ve ever made. Sure enough, we pick up our new van, “The Botmobile”, the next morning, and are off to our next show in Baltimore that day.

PS–If you ever crash your car in Florence SC, call O’Dad’s Towing.  Ask for Tommy Jr. Oh–and I made him a Fobot with angel wings, out of a tin that held sealant for cracked radiators.  Seemed appropriate.

Field Trip!

Remember last summer when some of the bots got picked for exhibit at a museum in Florida?  Well, it’s happened again. These guys–Rocky, Look Homeward Angel, Big Honeymaker, Glitch, and Tom Foolery–have been selected to appear at the Arizona Museum for Youth (soon to be re-christened the “i.d.e.a. Museum”) in Mesa, AZ. The exhibit of robot art runs February 6 through May 25, 2014. I’m sorry I won’t be chaperoning this particular field trip, but if you go, tell the bots to please misbehave whenever the teachers’ backs are turned.

Deck the Halls With Bots of Folly, 2013 Edition

In keeping with my ONLY Christmas decorating tradition, I present the third annual Fobot Holiday Mantelpiece. Warmest wishes to all the Fobot fans out there, and Phil and I hope to see you in person at an art fair next year.

Welcome to Rejection Season

It never fails to amaze me how many people think that the artists they see at art festivals simply decide which shows they would like to do, and then arrive the day of the festival and start selling.  In tents provided by the festival, no less. Wish it were true, but it ain’t. No, we’re just now starting what the artists I know call “Rejection Season”.

“Rejection Season” is when all of the shows we’ve submitted applications to months and months ago (along with a hefty jury fee) start letting us know who’s in and who’s out. Imagine, if you will, thousands of artists obsessively pressing the refresh button on their email inbox like chickens trying to get a pellet of corn to dispense. At least I do. Don’t you judge me.

And the stakes are high. Get into enough shows–or even just a few of the “right” ones–and your year is made. Get enough rejections, and you start wondering how you’ll look in a Walmart vest. And since you can’t count on any show coming through for you–even ones you’ve done for years–you apply to multiple shows on the same weekend and hope for the best. It’s expensive. It’s stressful. It’s why my parents wanted me to study accounting.

But before you feel sorry for me, I have a confession to make. I don’t want to tell this to my artist friends, many of whom are struggling now, but so far this year we’ve gotten into every show we’ve applied to, and even had to turn one down (sorry Dogwood, but when you’re on the same weekend as Main St. Ft. Worth, our best show ever, you’re going down). This is an embarrassment of riches, and I consider myself the luckiest artist on the planet. If you’ll look to the right of this page, you’ll see a list of where the Fobots will be in 2014.* And if you don’t see your town on the list, don’t panic. We’re still waiting to hear on plenty of shows. Rejection season ain’t over yet…

*Old Town Chicago–we’re in, but may not be able to make it this year, so you’re not on the list yet.

UPDATE–we’ve been accepted to Lakefront Festival of Art in Milwaukee, so we’re going to put Old Town back on the list, since they’re on consecutive weekends.  I was hoping to audition for a play that would conflict with both of those shows, but the idiocy of canceling not one, but TWO art fairs, in favor of an unpaid community theatre gig, has finally sunk in. Dates and other schedule details are in the column on the right.

Yeah, But Is It Art?

For years I’ve been joking, “Not only can’t I jury in to any art festival sponsored by an art museum, I can’t jury in to any show within five MILES of an art museum”. It’s kind of true, though–jurors at museum sponsored shows tend to be thoughtful academics, selecting art that they may like but which has the average person scratching their head and going “What the hell is it?” And did I tell you we just won the first annual People’s Choice Award at the Cherry Creek Arts Festival in Denver? What people like and what critics like are two entirely different animals. And that’s totally OK with me.

Which is why I think it’s hysterical that five Fobots are currently on display at the Appleton Museum of Art in Ocala FL. Yup, the guys pictured above (from left, Rocco Rolls, Prima, Buzzbee Berkeley, Tom Foolery, and Speed Bump) are at this very moment making people laugh at the “Art of the Robot” exhibit until September 22, 2013. And they’re surrounded by some really cool robot paintings and sculpture from artists across the country. If you want to know more, visit www.appletonmuseum.org/exhibits/current/ or see the show catalog at www.appletonmuseum.org/pdf/ArtRobot%20Brochure%20final.pdf . Or go visit, if you’re in the area. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure this is not the kind of exhibit where you’ll be kicked out for laughing or having a too good a time.

I Like Big Bus

It’s official–I have (a) become world famous in Raleigh, and (b) bored all my friends to death on the Fobot Facebook page talking about this.  So now I’m going to bore YOU for a while.

Several months ago, by purest coincidence, I saw an article in the paper calling for artists to submit designs to be wrapped around Raleigh city buses. I thought “What the heck–could be fun seeing five foot tall Fobots rolling around the city”, so I entered the competition. I didn’t tell ANYONE–not even Phil–because I didn’t want anyone but myself to be disappointed if I didn’t get picked.  But as you can see from the snapshot above (photo credit Kim Curry-Evans) the powers that be had a sense of humor, and my design was one of twelve selected for the project. My plan was to take Phil and some friends to the big unveiling next weekend at Artsplosure and just casually say “Will you look at that bus!  Giant Fobots on both sides–how did that happen?”, but they started rolling them out last week and I didn’t think the surprise would keep. Or maybe it would have–I still haven’t seen it yet. But when I do, I’ll post more pictures. I’m so proud of my little guys. Little did I know that when I sent them out to conquer the world, they’d be taking the bus.

Update–finally got to see the “Fobus” in person this weekend, so here are the pictures I promised:

Results of the Second Annual Shame-A-Thon

…and here we are, 24 hours later, with a studio that, if not exactly clinical in its cleanliness and order, at least won’t get me on an episode of “Hoarders”. And to all the people yesterday who said it didn’t look THAT bad, and I should just revel in the chaos, let me say that  disorder can be a good thing, but when it gets in the way of productivity and moves into the realm of health hazard, it’s time to clean.

Now–time to mess it up…

The Second Annual Shame-A-Thon

Hey kids!  iIt’s time for the second annual Studio Shame-A-Thon! Here’s how it works: I’m posting pictures of the current state of disaster in the Fobotorium, and in 24 hours, I will have to post pictures of it all cleaned up and organized or be FOREVER SHAMED.

A few tips if you want to conduct your own Shame-A-Thon:

1. Do it on a dreary, rainy, cold day, so you won’t have all of Mother nature distracting you. CHECK.

2. Get a good recorded book to listen to to make the time past more quickly. “The Paris Wife” by Paula McLain, about Hemingway and his first wife during the Paris years. CHECK.

3. Have an even worse task in mind that you really should be doing, so that this will seem like fun in comparison. Deciphering all the mailing list names and email addresses from the last two shows and entering them into the database. CHECK.

If you don’t hear from me by noon tomorrow, send out a search party, ’cause I’m buried under an avalanche of junk. Oh, and don’t let the patches of bare wood floor fool you–the wide angle lens makes them seem bigger than they are.