I know how to frame pictures. With some time and money, I can do a pretty bang-up job choosing materials and putting it all together. The reason I know how to do this is because I worked at Michael’s for two years as a framer. My typical Saturday went like this:

Person A comes in with print (most likely of turkeys or some hunting wildlife) and will eventually choose an oak frame with unimaginative matting. While he’s palavering over the aforementioned, Person B comes in with print (most likely Monet’s Waterlilies or something else that makes her think she’s got good taste) and she will choose a spectacularly ornate frame that would make any impressionist roll over in his grave or she will listen to my advice and go with my suggestions–until she hears what it will cost and then it’s back to the drawing board.

Meanwhile, Person A has chosen one of five nondescript oak mouldings and one (possibly two if he’s adventurous) mat that will be either dark dusky pink or dark dusky blue. Or both. Person B will have nearly finished and I will ring them both up, take their money, and put their art back in the back to be sleeved and slotted for the production line.

Now, if Person C who came in happened to be a needleworker, she was much more receptive to ideas and more willing to spend money, but much more of a control freak than either Person A or Person B about what went on her work–and with good reason. We spent the most time with needleworkers because the work was unique. It wasn’t turkeys and it wasn’t Monet.

In this entire process, for 2 years, I have. Never. Ever. Seen anyone. Say, “Hey, just go ahead and do something fabulous–I trust you!” Not that they would’ve gotten something crappy if they had, because they wouldn’t have. My boss, Cassie, had an extraordinary eye for the extraordinary and my coworker and majority mat cutter, Lori, had an extraordinary way of thinking out of the box. Michelle and I were part-timers and we were no slouches ourselves.

But it just didn’t happen. Especially with needleworkers.

So I’ve begun to pay attention to something I’m seeing more and more of, and I’m seriously impressed. I’ll just chalk my amazement to my inexperience with marketing.

There’s this picture framer in Ogden, Utah (Jill Rensel). She doesn’t have a web presence (per se). I can’t even find her name and address by Googling (although I will admit I stopped after page 2 and I didn’t look in the phone book). As far as I can tell, she does ready-made frames and mats (and frame-and-mat sets) for Shepherd’s Bush needlework store in Ogden specific to the designs they put out. You can also buy her ready mades in other shops.

What I’m impressed with is her reputation, spread by word of mouth alone, that will entice needleworkers, from novice to master, to roll up their hard work in a tube with a slip of paper bearing their contact information and the sentiment, “Make it wonderful!” And she does.

For about the same price as a Michael’s or Hobby Lobby frame job (or so I’ve gathered from forum posts hither and yon), she will do something completely fabulous (even down to hand painting mats) with your work that is, to my eye, a work of art in itself–and the needleworkers send their beloved stitcheries to her on blind faith that she will make it wonderful.

On a framing level, I’m a little envious because in all that time at Michael’s, only one person ever took my off-the-wall advice about framing, and he felt that the money he paid was worth what I created. (But that’s another story.)

On a marketing level, I’m fascinated and I have so many questions I would ask her if I were to call her.

Word of mouth. You just can’t pay for that kind of publicity.