I started my new enterprise, JANE POLLAK, in late 2020, when the pandemic and quarantine completely shifted my focus. I’d been coaching creative women and leading retreats for nearly 20 years. But! THE WEEKEND BEFORE EVERYTHING SHUT DOWN, I attended a textile design workshop — Penny Rug Pillows — given by a former client and colleague. I left that class with enough material to complete the project I’d started, plus a bit extra to make a second pillow top.
As I Zoomed with loved ones over the following months, the overwhelming response to my work — which, of course, I held up to display on every video call — was: “You should sell these!”
Having had an art business, An Egg by Jane, for 30 years (1973-2003), I was not inclined to start a new one at this stage of my life. However, friends started commissioning designs, and I found myself pulling out my Sales and Use license.
I was simply looking to pass the weeks, then months, during isolation and add some color to my living room. As the pandemic endured, I had the luxury of time to set up an Etsy shop, find places to purchase materials and begin to create a new website.
Magically, resources flowed towards me from Facebook followers, an antiques store owner, recommended experts and a friend who is a professional organizer. They all encouraged and supported my efforts. Social media friends shipped me their button collections. The proprietor of an Upper West Side antiques shop gave me sage advice about invisible zippers and “tick-proofing” (how to avoid sharp feather ends migrating out of the pillow’s insert). A pillow professional explained about “puppy ears” (floppy corners that are easily avoided). On a FaceTime call, an organized friend viewed my current setup and directed me on how to rearrange my office to accommodate my new passion.
“Do what you can, with what you’ve got, where you are.”
— attributed to Teddy Roosevelt and Bill Widener
I can thank my NYC-born parents for helping me become the artist that I am. I grew up in a suburb of New York City — White Plains. My mother labeled us early on: the “writer” (my older sister who became a literary agent), the “funny one” (my brother who wrote comedy for years), the “pretty one” (my younger sister who modeled briefly) and me: the “artist” — the luckiest of all.
Early advice from my dad around the dinner table was, “Whatever you choose to do, become the best at it you can be.”
I was shy. But I noticed that when I drew a picture or created a piece of art, people paid attention. My mother had a painting I made in fourth grade professionally framed. It hung in the upstairs hallway for decades.
My parents believed in giving us the best education possible, but taking art classes in high school, where it was an elective, was discouraged. When I got to Mount Holyoke College, not only could I study art — classes in the arts were required to fulfill general education requirements — I could also major in it, which I did.
This was the era when women were encouraged to have a career to “fall back on,” so I got my master’s in art education. I answered a classified ad in the New York Times for an art teacher and got the job, where I learned the art form that would become my career for 30 years.
Although I was hired to teach art, no syllabus was given to me. Instead, I leaned on other teachers in the department to get an idea of what they taught the students. One colleague said, “I teach how to make Ukrainian Easter eggs.” As soon as she opened a dozen of her designs, I was captivated.
Courtesy Jane Pollak
One afternoon, she gave me a demonstration and handed me the unique tool required to make them. I picked up the other materials on my way home and made my first one that night. It was bliss. I sat writing with melted wax on the white eggshell canvas. There was the scent of beeswax, the light of a candle flame and jars of dyes on my dining room table. Time evaporated. It was simply me, color and flow.
I exhibited my work at a craft fair that summer, which was a great success. I sold several of my eggs and was also invited to conduct a workshop at Bloomingdale’s. The biggest obstacle I faced as an early maker (this was 1973) was being taken seriously. Imagine telling someone that you wanted to make a career out of decorating eggs. It was not easy. Until I learned to show images of my museum-quality work, the response was often a condescending “that’s nice,” as they pictured little chicks in cut-out eggs.
However, I gradually educated a significant part of the population about my work. My eggs started at $8 each in 1973 and soared to nearly $500 apiece by 2000.
“That the moment one commits oneself, then Providence moves, too.”
adapted from Goethe
Courtesy Jane Pollak
I had once regarded being an artist as a freelance gig but soon realized that when you sell your work to the public, you’re in business. I took classes to educate myself in all aspects of entrepreneurship. I listened to motivational tapes to clear out the saboteurs in my head that repeatedly nagged at me: “Who do you think you are?”
Starting JANE POLLAK in 2020 came easily after having had a successful art career previously. Not only had I run a profitable and sustainable business for 30 years, but I had also been coaching other women in entrepreneurship since 2002.
I got to walk my talk all over again.
I knew that I wanted to touch every piece of the work — not outsource it — and make each pillow or wall hanging one of a kind. I now form relationships with my customers and work collaboratively to provide exquisite attention to every detail. That means that my work has limited availability and is accordingly more precious and scarce — i.e., expensive.
Courtesy Jane Pollak
I often start my new creation with an inspirational artwork, like Monet’s Water Lilies. I then design the pieces on PowerPoint, use scanned fabric pieces to lay out the color arrangements and cut, position and stitch every piece by hand. I’ve learned how to acid-dye wool so I can have more artistic control over the details of the color. I do hire a seamstress to turn the tops into pillowcases. I no longer own a sewing machine!
What I brought to my egg decorating and what I bring to the art of wool appliqué is the desire and tenacity to become the expert at it, as my father advised all those years ago. I’m also known for breaking the rules of the medium, working outside the grid with my palettes and compositions. Additionally, I’m committed to valuing myself and my work.
Starting a new business in one’s 70s is not for the faint of heart. Everything has changed since I closed my first art business. The biggest challenge for me is becoming friends with social media. I was accomplished at putting together a promotional kit to mail to prospects, but figuring out hashtags and handles has been a growth experience.
As a Boomer, I learned well in a lecture-hall environment. YouTube is today’s primary classroom, and I struggle with having to figure it out on my own. If I want to succeed, I must be the opportunistic learner. I would venture to say that this is the most challenging part of my story. The art piece comes easily. Keeping up with technology and self-promotion, which are essential, can be strenuous. What I have come to appreciate is that no one is concerned with my difficulties.
I’m not ready to retire. In many ways, I feel like I’m the best I’ve ever been artistically and professionally. This is a message to EVERYONE that you’re never too old, and it’s never too late. That’s a story we tell ourselves with no evidence.
My current vision is to see my work featured on the covers of major home decor magazines and to work with a handful of top interior designers creating three to five original pieces each month.
What I find remarkable about this stage of my business journey is how magical it becomes when you’re on the right path. This in no way implies that it is easy. I have the feeling that Divine Timing is out there nodding and grinning at my progress.
One example happened this summer. A friend from 30 years ago got in touch after seeing my new work on Facebook. We had a catch-up Zoom conversation in the spring, and she invited me to her home on Whidbey Island, off the coast of Seattle, for a visit. “By the way,” she mentioned, “my across-the-street neighbor is an expert in dyeing fabric.” In addition to renewing this friendship, I spent a day and a half in her neighbor’s studio learning a skill that would expand my palette and enthusiasm.
When you’re aligned with your right work, this happens a lot.
“God is seldom early but never late.”
— Unknown (multiple sources)
I started my new enterprise, JANE POLLAK, in late 2020, when the pandemic and quarantine completely shifted my focus. I’d been coaching creative women and leading retreats for nearly 20 years. But! THE WEEKEND BEFORE EVERYTHING SHUT DOWN, I attended a textile design workshop — Penny Rug Pillows — given by a former client and colleague. I left that class with enough material to complete the project I’d started, plus a bit extra to make a second pillow top.
As I Zoomed with loved ones over the following months, the overwhelming response to my work — which, of course, I held up to display on every video call — was: “You should sell these!”
Having had an art business, An Egg by Jane, for 30 years (1973-2003), I was not inclined to start a new one at this stage of my life. However, friends started commissioning designs, and I found myself pulling out my Sales and Use license.
I was simply looking to pass the weeks, then months, during isolation and add some color to my living room. As the pandemic endured, I had the luxury of time to set up an Etsy shop, find places to purchase materials and begin to create a new website.
Magically, resources flowed towards me from Facebook followers, an antiques store owner, recommended experts and a friend who is a professional organizer. They all encouraged and supported my efforts. Social media friends shipped me their button collections. The proprietor of an Upper West Side antiques shop gave me sage advice about invisible zippers and “tick-proofing” (how to avoid sharp feather ends migrating out of the pillow’s insert). A pillow professional explained about “puppy ears” (floppy corners that are easily avoided). On a FaceTime call, an organized friend viewed my current setup and directed me on how to rearrange my office to accommodate my new passion.
“Do what you can, with what you’ve got, where you are.”
— attributed to Teddy Roosevelt and Bill Widener
I can thank my NYC-born parents for helping me become the artist that I am. I grew up in a suburb of New York City — White Plains. My mother labeled us early on: the “writer” (my older sister who became a literary agent), the “funny one” (my brother who wrote comedy for years), the “pretty one” (my younger sister who modeled briefly) and me: the “artist” — the luckiest of all.
Early advice from my dad around the dinner table was, “Whatever you choose to do, become the best at it you can be.”
I was shy. But I noticed that when I drew a picture or created a piece of art, people paid attention. My mother had a painting I made in fourth grade professionally framed. It hung in the upstairs hallway for decades.
My parents believed in giving us the best education possible, but taking art classes in high school, where it was an elective, was discouraged. When I got to Mount Holyoke College, not only could I study art — classes in the arts were required to fulfill general education requirements — I could also major in it, which I did.
This was the era when women were encouraged to have a career to “fall back on,” so I got my master’s in art education. I answered a classified ad in the New York Times for an art teacher and got the job, where I learned the art form that would become my career for 30 years.
Although I was hired to teach art, no syllabus was given to me. Instead, I leaned on other teachers in the department to get an idea of what they taught the students. One colleague said, “I teach how to make Ukrainian Easter eggs.” As soon as she opened a dozen of her designs, I was captivated.
Courtesy Jane Pollak
One afternoon, she gave me a demonstration and handed me the unique tool required to make them. I picked up the other materials on my way home and made my first one that night. It was bliss. I sat writing with melted wax on the white eggshell canvas. There was the scent of beeswax, the light of a candle flame and jars of dyes on my dining room table. Time evaporated. It was simply me, color and flow.
I exhibited my work at a craft fair that summer, which was a great success. I sold several of my eggs and was also invited to conduct a workshop at Bloomingdale’s. The biggest obstacle I faced as an early maker (this was 1973) was being taken seriously. Imagine telling someone that you wanted to make a career out of decorating eggs. It was not easy. Until I learned to show images of my museum-quality work, the response was often a condescending “that’s nice,” as they pictured little chicks in cut-out eggs.
However, I gradually educated a significant part of the population about my work. My eggs started at $8 each in 1973 and soared to nearly $500 apiece by 2000.
“That the moment one commits oneself, then Providence moves, too.”
adapted from Goethe
Courtesy Jane Pollak
I had once regarded being an artist as a freelance gig but soon realized that when you sell your work to the public, you’re in business. I took classes to educate myself in all aspects of entrepreneurship. I listened to motivational tapes to clear out the saboteurs in my head that repeatedly nagged at me: “Who do you think you are?”
Starting JANE POLLAK in 2020 came easily after having had a successful art career previously. Not only had I run a profitable and sustainable business for 30 years, but I had also been coaching other women in entrepreneurship since 2002.
I got to walk my talk all over again.
I knew that I wanted to touch every piece of the work — not outsource it — and make each pillow or wall hanging one of a kind. I now form relationships with my customers and work collaboratively to provide exquisite attention to every detail. That means that my work has limited availability and is accordingly more precious and scarce — i.e., expensive.
Courtesy Jane Pollak
I often start my new creation with an inspirational artwork, like Monet’s Water Lilies. I then design the pieces on PowerPoint, use scanned fabric pieces to lay out the color arrangements and cut, position and stitch every piece by hand. I’ve learned how to acid-dye wool so I can have more artistic control over the details of the color. I do hire a seamstress to turn the tops into pillowcases. I no longer own a sewing machine!
What I brought to my egg decorating and what I bring to the art of wool appliqué is the desire and tenacity to become the expert at it, as my father advised all those years ago. I’m also known for breaking the rules of the medium, working outside the grid with my palettes and compositions. Additionally, I’m committed to valuing myself and my work.
Starting a new business in one’s 70s is not for the faint of heart. Everything has changed since I closed my first art business. The biggest challenge for me is becoming friends with social media. I was accomplished at putting together a promotional kit to mail to prospects, but figuring out hashtags and handles has been a growth experience.
As a Boomer, I learned well in a lecture-hall environment. YouTube is today’s primary classroom, and I struggle with having to figure it out on my own. If I want to succeed, I must be the opportunistic learner. I would venture to say that this is the most challenging part of my story. The art piece comes easily. Keeping up with technology and self-promotion, which are essential, can be strenuous. What I have come to appreciate is that no one is concerned with my difficulties.
I’m not ready to retire. In many ways, I feel like I’m the best I’ve ever been artistically and professionally. This is a message to EVERYONE that you’re never too old, and it’s never too late. That’s a story we tell ourselves with no evidence.
My current vision is to see my work featured on the covers of major home decor magazines and to work with a handful of top interior designers creating three to five original pieces each month.
What I find remarkable about this stage of my business journey is how magical it becomes when you’re on the right path. This in no way implies that it is easy. I have the feeling that Divine Timing is out there nodding and grinning at my progress.
One example happened this summer. A friend from 30 years ago got in touch after seeing my new work on Facebook. We had a catch-up Zoom conversation in the spring, and she invited me to her home on Whidbey Island, off the coast of Seattle, for a visit. “By the way,” she mentioned, “my across-the-street neighbor is an expert in dyeing fabric.” In addition to renewing this friendship, I spent a day and a half in her neighbor’s studio learning a skill that would expand my palette and enthusiasm.
When you’re aligned with your right work, this happens a lot.
“God is seldom early but never late.”
— Unknown (multiple sources)
Related Stories
I started my new enterprise, JANE POLLAK, in late 2020, when the pandemic and quarantine completely shifted my focus. I’d been coaching creative women and leading retreats for nearly 20 years. But! THE WEEKEND BEFORE EVERYTHING SHUT DOWN, I attended a textile design workshop — Penny Rug Pillows — given by a former client and colleague. I left that class with enough material to complete the project I’d started, plus a bit extra to make a second pillow top.
As I Zoomed with loved ones over the following months, the overwhelming response to my work — which, of course, I held up to display on every video call — was: “You should sell these!”
Having had an art business, An Egg by Jane, for 30 years (1973-2003), I was not inclined to start a new one at this stage of my life. However, friends started commissioning designs, and I found myself pulling out my Sales and Use license.
I was simply looking to pass the weeks, then months, during isolation and add some color to my living room. As the pandemic endured, I had the luxury of time to set up an Etsy shop, find places to purchase materials and begin to create a new website.
Magically, resources flowed towards me from Facebook followers, an antiques store owner, recommended experts and a friend who is a professional organizer. They all encouraged and supported my efforts. Social media friends shipped me their button collections. The proprietor of an Upper West Side antiques shop gave me sage advice about invisible zippers and “tick-proofing” (how to avoid sharp feather ends migrating out of the pillow’s insert). A pillow professional explained about “puppy ears” (floppy corners that are easily avoided). On a FaceTime call, an organized friend viewed my current setup and directed me on how to rearrange my office to accommodate my new passion.
“Do what you can, with what you’ve got, where you are.”
— attributed to Teddy Roosevelt and Bill Widener
I can thank my NYC-born parents for helping me become the artist that I am. I grew up in a suburb of New York City — White Plains. My mother labeled us early on: the “writer” (my older sister who became a literary agent), the “funny one” (my brother who wrote comedy for years), the “pretty one” (my younger sister who modeled briefly) and me: the “artist” — the luckiest of all.
Early advice from my dad around the dinner table was, “Whatever you choose to do, become the best at it you can be.”
I was shy. But I noticed that when I drew a picture or created a piece of art, people paid attention. My mother had a painting I made in fourth grade professionally framed. It hung in the upstairs hallway for decades.
My parents believed in giving us the best education possible, but taking art classes in high school, where it was an elective, was discouraged. When I got to Mount Holyoke College, not only could I study art — classes in the arts were required to fulfill general education requirements — I could also major in it, which I did.
This was the era when women were encouraged to have a career to “fall back on,” so I got my master’s in art education. I answered a classified ad in the New York Times for an art teacher and got the job, where I learned the art form that would become my career for 30 years.
Although I was hired to teach art, no syllabus was given to me. Instead, I leaned on other teachers in the department to get an idea of what they taught the students. One colleague said, “I teach how to make Ukrainian Easter eggs.” As soon as she opened a dozen of her designs, I was captivated.
Courtesy Jane Pollak
One afternoon, she gave me a demonstration and handed me the unique tool required to make them. I picked up the other materials on my way home and made my first one that night. It was bliss. I sat writing with melted wax on the white eggshell canvas. There was the scent of beeswax, the light of a candle flame and jars of dyes on my dining room table. Time evaporated. It was simply me, color and flow.
I exhibited my work at a craft fair that summer, which was a great success. I sold several of my eggs and was also invited to conduct a workshop at Bloomingdale’s. The biggest obstacle I faced as an early maker (this was 1973) was being taken seriously. Imagine telling someone that you wanted to make a career out of decorating eggs. It was not easy. Until I learned to show images of my museum-quality work, the response was often a condescending “that’s nice,” as they pictured little chicks in cut-out eggs.
However, I gradually educated a significant part of the population about my work. My eggs started at $8 each in 1973 and soared to nearly $500 apiece by 2000.
“That the moment one commits oneself, then Providence moves, too.”
adapted from Goethe
Courtesy Jane Pollak
I had once regarded being an artist as a freelance gig but soon realized that when you sell your work to the public, you’re in business. I took classes to educate myself in all aspects of entrepreneurship. I listened to motivational tapes to clear out the saboteurs in my head that repeatedly nagged at me: “Who do you think you are?”
Starting JANE POLLAK in 2020 came easily after having had a successful art career previously. Not only had I run a profitable and sustainable business for 30 years, but I had also been coaching other women in entrepreneurship since 2002.
I got to walk my talk all over again.
I knew that I wanted to touch every piece of the work — not outsource it — and make each pillow or wall hanging one of a kind. I now form relationships with my customers and work collaboratively to provide exquisite attention to every detail. That means that my work has limited availability and is accordingly more precious and scarce — i.e., expensive.
Courtesy Jane Pollak
I often start my new creation with an inspirational artwork, like Monet’s Water Lilies. I then design the pieces on PowerPoint, use scanned fabric pieces to lay out the color arrangements and cut, position and stitch every piece by hand. I’ve learned how to acid-dye wool so I can have more artistic control over the details of the color. I do hire a seamstress to turn the tops into pillowcases. I no longer own a sewing machine!
What I brought to my egg decorating and what I bring to the art of wool appliqué is the desire and tenacity to become the expert at it, as my father advised all those years ago. I’m also known for breaking the rules of the medium, working outside the grid with my palettes and compositions. Additionally, I’m committed to valuing myself and my work.
Starting a new business in one’s 70s is not for the faint of heart. Everything has changed since I closed my first art business. The biggest challenge for me is becoming friends with social media. I was accomplished at putting together a promotional kit to mail to prospects, but figuring out hashtags and handles has been a growth experience.
As a Boomer, I learned well in a lecture-hall environment. YouTube is today’s primary classroom, and I struggle with having to figure it out on my own. If I want to succeed, I must be the opportunistic learner. I would venture to say that this is the most challenging part of my story. The art piece comes easily. Keeping up with technology and self-promotion, which are essential, can be strenuous. What I have come to appreciate is that no one is concerned with my difficulties.
I’m not ready to retire. In many ways, I feel like I’m the best I’ve ever been artistically and professionally. This is a message to EVERYONE that you’re never too old, and it’s never too late. That’s a story we tell ourselves with no evidence.
My current vision is to see my work featured on the covers of major home decor magazines and to work with a handful of top interior designers creating three to five original pieces each month.
What I find remarkable about this stage of my business journey is how magical it becomes when you’re on the right path. This in no way implies that it is easy. I have the feeling that Divine Timing is out there nodding and grinning at my progress.
One example happened this summer. A friend from 30 years ago got in touch after seeing my new work on Facebook. We had a catch-up Zoom conversation in the spring, and she invited me to her home on Whidbey Island, off the coast of Seattle, for a visit. “By the way,” she mentioned, “my across-the-street neighbor is an expert in dyeing fabric.” In addition to renewing this friendship, I spent a day and a half in her neighbor’s studio learning a skill that would expand my palette and enthusiasm.
When you’re aligned with your right work, this happens a lot.
The Women Create Foundation is a catalyst for small but significant strides to empower women creators through grants that help bring projects to life and foster innovation.
