Alternate Route

Either you're unlucky in not getting a Philosophy of Pen pen when it goes up for purchase, or you're like, "geez, that's x-amount of dollars.  That's a lot all at once." And you'd be totally right.  

There should be another way.

Philosophy of Pen now offers a traditional patron-artist option.

This is a supportive connection between an individual (the patron) and an artist or creative professional.  Historically, the patron provides financial support, materials, resources, or opportunities that enable the artist to create and showcase their work.  In return, the artist may dedicate their creations to the patron or provide them with intellectual and cultural prestige.  It's why the Medicis were such a powerful family in Florence - they were significant patrons of the arts.  Botticelli was one such artist who benefited and gave us "The Birth of Venus" and "La Primavera".

Having a community of patrons invest in my work helps me buy high-quality shop and consumable supplies, and dedicate just a little more of my attention to creating pens.  Because in the end, I want to have made more pens so they can go where they're supposed to go, and make a difference for the world in a small but positive way by doing that.

You reap the reward of this style of relationship by being recognized (or not, if you wish to remain anonymous) as a figure who supports psychedelic-assisted therapies and preserving skilled handiwork like pen-turning among your peer patrons and others.  You will also be able to connect with your other peer patrons, should they opt-in and ALWAYS at their personal discretion.  Finally, as this site is social media dark, patrons have a large amount of influence as stewards in where Philosophy of Pen goes in the future. 

This well-used pen was a 140-year-old walnut felled by lightning, and is an example of the kind of custom order my patrons have access to.

It works like this.

I will keep track of the inflection point of when your incremental, monthly patronage becomes worth the price of a market-rate Philosophy of Pen pen.  

Say the going rate is $500. You become my patron for $100 a year which - from my eyes - came out of nowhere.  At that point, I'd be curious about you.  It's difficult to tell the future, but odds are good that I will want to gift you a pen if you and I have taken the time to collaborate, talk/chat, do business and just generally get to know each other, especially by year five (your inflection point).  

It's a peculiar thing after all, the concept of a patron.  Just receiving money from the void from another being as complex and leading a varied, rich life as I am.  All that makes one wonder, "who exactly are you?"  I can't be the only person who feels that way, right?  Over time trying to find the answer to that question together would likely lead to a friendship.  And it's that friendship that forms the basis and inspiration for these pens.

We'll put this in a different way.

This is all the wood I have left of this batch of ayahuasca for pen-making.

Let's be honest, no matter how wildly successful Philosophy of Pen may get, as a turner there are always going to be some blanks I keep for myself, my family/friends, and my friends who began as patrons.  To make this whole endeavor work and generate money for the charities that need it, I need to carefully think about how much wood I have, how much I can feasibly get in the future, and where that tipping point is between reaching far and keeping it close/intimate.

Therefore, patron slots are limited to nine total.  It's not many, true, but I also like the dynamic that creates, and it's a fine pace for making pens that I'd like to engage in.  Not to mention - as an introvert - a "just enough" pace for making friends.

Once all twelve slots are filled at once an invitation is sent out to what I'm affectionately referring to as Philosophy of Pen's "council of nine".  A group of eight others, including yourself, which cycles through members only as often as the person who holds that seat chooses to remain a patron.  

A patron-only gift inside.

Here's the catch.

You might not get a pen in a timely manner.

It's frustratingly impossible to know.  The aya pens I have given away to the three others came together when other demands on my time/energy were gently removed from the path, like a soft hand brushing lint off a mantle, to let it happen.  As if by magic.  And that's not to mention the other factors, like right blend of inspiration, sufficient good body feeling to lathe, and meditativeness.  Those days are rare indeed, but I do speculate if enough people I cared about want to see me do this, the path will be cleared for us.

So that's it, I think.  I'm requesting kindly to be honest with yourself here: if you're the sort who might be resentful about the catch above, please reconsider becoming my patronMy trying to prevent future heartache and guilt I guess.  I'm attempting to be earnest and put myself out there to find the others, who hopefully see what we're doing here and find it intriguing enough to steer the ship with me.  

All nine patron slots full means $74 a month, which isn't much for the sake of a hobby like this, but is just enough to make pen-turning more than a passing thought.  The biggest draw is that there are others who felt called to this and are building something intimate and with potential together, giving what they can when they can.

Let me know if there are questions and I will update this.

Our current vector for patronage is through Buy Me A Coffee, and you will find more benefits listed under the tiers there.

How else can I help?

At the same link is a wishlist for items I currently need to replenish in my shop, or for replacing equipment, or gaining new/adjacent pen-turning skills.  Purchasing something there doesn't confer patron status but is deeply appreciated as a meaningful investment for my craft.  And you get a sticker!  If you get the whole item (and it's non-consumable) I'll likely come up with some creative way to label it as coming from you. :)

*or may not

One day, when you've forgotten all about it, you may* receive a box at your doorstep from someone you've recently gotten to know.  Someone in that sweet spot of friendship when you've known someone for long enough for there to be an indelible bond, maybe having weathered a rough or absent patch along the way, but the connection remains strong.  You've put the effort into it the best you can or want to, and so has she.  She's kind of an odd one, if a little naive, but you sense she's sincere, passionate, and wants to share in her successes with you.  Sharing failures, well, we're all working on that, right?

Ah, yes, back to the box.

It starts to dawn on you what this might be.  Has it really been two years already?  Four?  

You look closely at the outside.  

She took the extra effort to tape the cardboard seams nicely, as not to interfere with your unboxing.  She's that kind of person. 

Inside, you find a beautifully cohesive package made just for you.  A trinket here, a "I found this randomly and thought of you" there.  Little gifts curated to the monolith of your relationship: of what began as a patron for their artist, which then grew into something intellectually interesting, nuanced, and tender.

The concept of patronage sometimes offends the sensibilities.  Here, it says that artists make it based on their connections - and those connection's resources - rather than merit. But money, bless its heart, gets a bad rap nowadays.  It's, like, Psychedelic 101 that everything is or leads to love.  So if money leads to something warm like this, isn't that just fine?

Like concentric rings on a tree, you reach the middle.  At the heart of the gift lies your pen.  Yeah, it's you.  There's exclusivity because you had immediate funds and good fortune, and there's exclusivity because you paid with openness and vulnerability, unyoked from the investment you would've given if you had it years back.  The wood it's made from is the same vine that's being held by a community of others, hearing the same song and lingered, who have the means to talk directly to each other.  A rare occurrence.  

The pen writes nicely, and has a pleasing weight in your hand.  You like it.

Then you remember something, a thought so simple it doesn't deserve to be as startling as it sometimes is.

You didn't begin the day thinking today would be the day.

Gosh, what was this feeling?  The surprise of seeing the bloom of a chance seed sown so long ago.  It lifts the whole present, like a supportive hug from across the miles.

I want a force around who gives me more of that.