Jelly Cup Collective: A space and place to create

Published 9:00 am Wednesday, April 24, 2024

Jenna Pham sometimes forgets she’s an entrepreneur, small business owner and co-founder of Jelly Cup Collective, a fast-growing Portland collective for Asian artists.

“I can get bogged down by the mundane things that need to be done,” Pham told Opportunity Magazine. When I’m peeling off labels, looking for the right pen, or if we need something restocked, I get caught up in what seems to be the tiny things.”

Luckily for Pham, when she forgets that those seemingly small tasks are necessary to reach bigger long-term goals, she has fellow entrepreneur and small business owner Connie Mansfield to remind her.

Mansfield isn’t just Pham’s best friend. She also helped her co-found Jelly Cup Collective. Located in a busy commercial section of North Williams Avenue, the collective provides a unique shopping experience. Visitors are treated to the work of Pham, Mansfield and 24 other Asian artists and makers: pottery, resin and acrylic items ranging from jewelry to knick-knacks, paintings, crocheted and knitted items, posters, bath and beauty items, and more. The collective also shares space with a second business, Always Here Bookstore, a queer-owned store offering “queer books for all ages.”

While creating a retail space to promote Asian makers and artists and their work was an intentional effort, Pham and Mansfield have realized the collective also offers its members another benefit — a community where they can come together to share culture and common experiences.

“We didn’t start (the collective) with the thought of, let’s make a huge Asian community,” Pham said. “It just happened. “

“It’s about shared lived experience,” Mansfield added. “It’s about having a place to go and share where you won’t feel judged.”

Building a business

Pham’s professional career has focused on administrative roles in the healthcare field. However, she also developed the tools to become a successful entrepreneur by working in retail at Nordstrom for five years. Still, she never thought about starting a small business until she found herself looking for ways to fill her time during the pandemic.

“I was working from home,” Pham said. “I wasn’t getting out very much. I couldn’t hang out with friends. I decided to see what hobbies were out there.”

She came across videos about creating with resin. Thinking it looked accessible and relatively easy, she purchased the materials and tools needed and went to work.

“I tried it, and it didn’t go well at first,” she said. “But I decided to keep learning.”

She did some research and began testing different types of resins. She eventually discovered that resins used for floors and tables gave her the style she sought. With her materials in place, she began making charms.

As she grew her skills, she began gifting the items she made to friends. The idea of selling hadn’t crossed her mind until a friend doing a market suggested Pham participate to sell her resin items. Pham thought it might be fun, so she jumped in. She bought a small table and tapped her experience from her days in retail.

“I started thinking about pricing,” Pham said. “I had all this back-stock of things I had made for fun. So, I didn’t have to work too hard to get things made for the market.”

The two-day market offered more than just a way for Pham to earn money as a maker. It made her realize that people other than herself and her friends found value in her handmade items. She also built connections with other makers participating in the show.

“There were other people who, it was also their first time (vending). So, we were commiserating about how this was so scary, and we were giving each other really friendly critiques of our work,” Pham said. “I just fell in love with the whole community aspect of these small markets.”

Because the market was vacant, there wasn’t a place for vendors to dispose of trash at the show’s end. So, Pham went around and collected it. When the woman who had organized the show noticed the extra effort, she asked Pham if she wanted to help run future markets.

“From there, it started with me being the onsite coordinator,” Pham said. “I did that for close to two years. My last market was the Christmas Market. It was the biggest market I’ve ever done … 66 or 67 presenters. In the moment, I didn’t think about, ‘Wow, there’s so many people.’ But looking back on it, there was a lot of coordination, all this back-of-office stuff you don’t think about.”

The experience with those markets made Pham a natural fit when a friend established a three-month pop-up market in the fall and early winter in a vacant building space near her plant shop on North Wiliams Street. Pham came on board as the pop-up market coordinator.

Finding a friend

But when the pop-up market opened in September of last year, its handful of vendors included Pham, who was selling her resin items through her small business, Baby Pok, and the Always Here Book Store.

In October, the market added a new vendor when Mansfield joined her small business, PDX Fresh Start, which offers handmade bath bombs, lotions and other self-care items.

Mansfield is a professional engineer but has always been an avid crafter and maker.

“I was mostly a dabbler,” she told Opportunity magazine.

Making homemade bath bombs started as a hobby when one of her children became a fan of taking baths.

“That was really fun,” Mansfield said. I got really obsessed with bombs, but I didn’t sell them. I just gave them away to friends. Eventually, I was like, ‘I think I can make other things, too.’ So I just started dabbling.’

Her first opportunity to sell her self-care items came at a craft fair at work. Her items proved popular, and colleagues told her she should seriously consider starting a small business. “I was in shock that people would want my stuff. That this physical thing that I do, people appreciate it as much as I do, appreciate the effort I put into it.”

Another nudge toward selling her items came during COVID-19. While holding a garage sale, Mansfield put out some bath salts she had made. A woman who stopped by happened to run self-care workshops and invited Mansfield to participate as a vendor in an International Women’s Day festival. Mansfield agreed. But despite finding success selling her handmade items, she still considered the things she made to be “just a dabble.”

Then, last year, when her mother passed away, something shifted for Mansfield.

“I think it was just that moment of grief, anger, and all those wrapped-up emotions. You suddenly wonder what life is about,” Mansfield said. “I decided I’m either going to dabble or I’m going all in. I was like, ‘Okay, I’m going all in. I have enough funds to spend on this, so I’m going to choose to do that with my money and be more precise about how I spend my time.’ I dove in. Not full-time, but I dove in.”

She enjoyed her work as an engineer and kept her full-time day job. But in the evenings, after her kids went to bed, she stayed up late making products. She spent weekends selling PDX Fresh Start products at markets.

Through a network of other makers she met at the markets, she heard about the pop-up market that Pham was involved in. The two women had previously met — albeit briefly — when they were both vending at the Legendary Makers Market. This popular event brings together Asian makers, food vendors and similar small businesses.

Mansfield contacted Pham, who invited her to visit the pop-up market. Mansfield showed up with her handmade items in tow. By the end of the meeting, Mansfield had set up a PDX Fresh Start station and had become a pop-up market vendor.

As Pham got to know the market’s newest vendor, she learned they had much in common. For example, like Pham, Mansfield had worked at Nordstrom for several years. The two women soon built a friendship as makers and small business owners of Asian heritage.

“I thought the vibe really changed,” Pham said. “It went from being a pop-up to being more of a platform for small businesses that we could focus on what we wanted to bring as a community.”

Creating a collective and a community

The pop-up market was only supposed to stay in the space until December. As the end of the year neared, most of the vendors decided to move on to other opportunities. Pham and Mansfield began to talk about taking the market in a new direction.

While doing markets and fairs, Pham and Mansfield noticed a lack of representation of Asian makers as vendors. However, they also noticed that many of the Asian makers who attended the markets had Asian makers as social media followers. They began to discuss creating a collective that would allow more Asian makers and artists to get their work and their businesses in front of customers.

They reached out to their network. As they found potential collaborative members, they would have the same conversation.

“(Last year) was a hard market year. Very slow, very up and down,” Pham said. “I would ask them, ‘How was your last market?’ The people who were really honest, like ‘It’s been really tough, but I’ve taken these steps to (address) that,’ the people who were very honest about their struggles, I leaned into asking those people (to join the collective) more than the people who were all, ‘It’s been great; I’ve been making hundreds of dollars.’

“I really wanted the people who understand it isn’t always going to be a (big” dollar) day and the people who learn from the problems. That’s how we gathered everyone in here. We have 26 vendors right now — and we have a waitlist.”

Making connections

Among the vendors who have snagged a spot as a Jelly Collective member is Sheila Wong, whose station features prints, notebooks, and accessories featuring her signature-style illustrations.

Before joining Jelly Cup Collective, Wong sold her work at “artist alleys,” a section where artists feature their work at events such as comics and anime conventions. Still, she didn’t really feel a connection to artists like herself. Then, she met Jenna and Connie.

“I began talking with them about members of the Asian community who do amazing art,” Wong said. Jenna told her about the idea for Jelly Cup Collective, and Wong was immediately interested. Due to the pandemic, she has been mainly working alone or with her husband, a photographer. She was eager to connect with the community and other artists, especially Pan-Asian artists.

Since joining the collective, she has formed new friendships and been inspired to challenge herself creatively.

In addition to a regular supper club where members gather to share a meal at Asian restaurants throughout the Portland area, the collective uses a platform called Discourse to help members stay connected. As part of the platform, members participate in monthly project challenges. March’s challenge, for example, focuses on creating cherry blossom-themed art, which has graced a section of wall near the station where customers pay for purchases.

“It gives you a little push to do something you might not have thought of normally,” Wong said.

A self-professed homebody, Wong appreciates the community at the collective and the fact that everyone is allowed — and encouraged — to be themselves.

“It’s only been a few months, but I really do appreciate it,” Wind said. “I’ve become friends with a lot of the members here, and I really do appreciate that they get me as a hermit,” she said, laughing.

According to Mansfield, allowing members to be who they are lies at the heart of the Jelly Cup Community.

“Within our Asian community, people who are Asian-American-queer, people who are half-Asian, they come to us and say, ‘Thank you so much for not making me feel any less Asian.’ alf Your Ssian-ness isn’t how much of your make-up is Asian,” Mansfield said. “To us, it’s more important that you’re a friend.”

Facing forward

Even as they have worked to establish Jelly Cup Collective, Mansfield and Pham remain cautious about making plans for the space. The space had been vacant for a while when the pop-up market was established. However, the going market-rate price to lease the space long-term is more than they can afford. Pham and Mansfield were able to negotiate a month-to-month lease. However, Jelly Cup operates with a “For Lease” sign in its window, and the building owner is actively looking for a long-term tenant. When that comes to pass, Pham and Mansfield will have 60 days to move Jelly Cup out of the space.

With that in mind, the business partners have devised a possible contingency plan.

“Connie and I are thinking about possibly focusing online for a while,” Pham said. “If we’re online, we don’t have to have a storefront. We can have an online marketplace. That way, we can be open all the time. Then we could ship to other places in the U.S.”

The biggest concern about not having a physical space for Mansfield and Pham is how they would continue to support and grow the sense of community they’ve managed to build with a storefront location.

“I think since having the space, we’re realizing the power of infrastructure, realizing it is such a privilege to have a place where people can always come when they need something,” Mansfield said. That part is concerning, but we’re hopeful we’ll still be able to keep the community going.”

They’ve already taken steps to keep going, including supporting their community if they lose their current physical space. Market season is coming, and Pham and Mansfield are already holding and scheduling group pop-up events for Jelly Cup members. Top Burmese restaurant recently invited them to do a pop-up market. In May, for Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) Heritage Month AAPI), they’re scheduled to do a group pop-up at Portland State University at the invitation of the business school diversity, equity and inclusion program and an Asian student group. Also, in May, for AAPI month, Daimler Turk North America asked them to do a group pop-up market for the company’s employees. They’re open to doing more of those.

“We’re really adaptable. If we have to be a nomadic collective, we will,” Pham laughed.

The fact that the collective members have built strong relationships based on their commonalities bodes well that the community Pham and Mansfield have helped raise at Jelly Cup Collective is a stronger bond than any physical space the collective may or may not occupy.

As proof, Pham recalls a time when the collective members were enjoying a meal together, and she shared a story her father told her about how he learned to swim as a boy in Vietnam.

“His dad would throw him in the river — the size always changed — toss him a log or something to buoy him up and tell him to swim. Five (other collective members) said, ‘Are you serious? That’s how my dad learned to swim.’

“We’re all different. We come from different parts of Asia in our heritage and from different parts of the country. But I feel like our (experiences are very similar). I didn’t grow up with a lot of Asian friends; I just had my cousins. I’m thankful now that I’m finding a community that really understands how life has been, is and will be as an Asian American.”

Founders: Jenna Pham and Connie Mansfield

Address: 3808 N. Williams Ave., Portland

Hours: noon — 6 p.m. Wednesday through Thursday and Sunday; 11 a.m. — 7 p.m. Friday and Saturday. Closed Sunday and Monday.

Instagram: @jellycupcollective

In settling on a name for their collective, Pham and Mansfield spent an afternoon considering one name and then another. Nothing felt right.

It was then that Pham’s mind wandered back to her childhood, to the simple joys she had cherished. The image that surfaced? Jelly cups. These single-serve, individually wrapped mini cups of jello-like jelly, with flavors like mango and lychee, were a part of her Asian heritage, a popular snack in the 1990s that had made a comeback. Mansfield, too, had fond memories of jelly cups from her own childhood.

Realizing they had stumbled across a possible — and unique — name for the collective, they ran it by members. The resounding support sealed the deal — and gave the collective its memorable name.

When Winona Hwang and Lily Wilson joined Jelly Cup Collective, the business partners behind Lil’ Bug Studios figured they would sell the acrylic earrings they designed and made. Along the way, though, they found a new revenue path for Lil’ Bug, making unique resign signs for other small businesses.

Like their earrings, the signs the partners make are hands-on, “start-to-finish.” They work with each customer to design the sign, conduct intensive research to match logo and brand colors as closely as possible, cut out the individual acrylic components, and manually assemble each sign.

Everything passes through our hands when we’re doing this,” Hwang said.

Before they became business partners, Wilson and Hang built a friendship at the Oregon College of Art and Craft (OCAC) during metals classes, during hours in studios, and through both doing work-study stints at the school’s digital fabrication lab.

During that time, they talked about starting a business together. But it took a couple of years after graduating from OCAC and working in other industries (Wilson worked in retail, and Hwang worked in stop-motion animation and as an instructor teaching metal smithing classes at Ninety Twenty Workshop and Studios in North Portland) before they finally decided to get serious about starting a business together last year.

They began designing earrings and debuted their business and earring line during a Welcome Market at the Lloyd Center in October last year. As part of their setup, they created their own acrylic “Lil’ Bug Studios” sign. From that market, they received invitations to other markets and festivals. At one of those markets, they met Jenna Pham, who invited them to join the Jelly Cup Collective at the end of December 2024.

At their first market, people asked if Hwang and Wilson could make them a sign for their business.

“Those conversations really didn’t go anywhere,” Hwang said.

That changed after they joined Jelly Cup. They made a sign for the collective and another for the Always Here Bookstore. Those went up on the wall and caught the attention of other Jelly Cup members, who needed signs for their spaces on the floor of the collective.

Requests for signs ramped up noticeably after Jelly Cup Collective member Sheila Wong posted a picture of her sign on social media, attracting the attention of other artists who vend as exhibitors at “Artist Alleys” at comics and anime conventions. Those artists began reaching out, and Hwang and Wilson soon expanded their business. Because most signs are for local clients, they can hand-deliver the finished product. However, they recently made a sign for an out-of-state client, which opened up a new opportunity to ship items.

They pride themselves on providing clients with exactly what they want for their brands, right down to Wilson tapping into a background in color theory, from studying painting to providing a perfect color match.

They’re also expanding their repertoire for signs. For example, they recently built a light-up main sign for Jelly Cup Collective.

While the signs made to this point have been acrylic, Hwang and Wilson said they have the potential to make custom commission signs out of wood and other materials. They can also work on other types of projects. For a group self-assigned project to create a piece of cherry-blossom art, for example, Wilson and Hwang created a Sakura wand decorative wall piece hanging in the customer payment area shared by Jelly Cup and Almost Here Book Store.

To see more of Hwang and Wilson’s work or to find out about ordering a custom sign, visit the Lil Bug Studios website.

Although Always Here Bookstore and Jelly Cup Collective may be two separate businesses, they share more than just commercial space. They both offer a sense of community that has previously been lacking or underserved in Portland.

The bookstore was part of the original pop-up market that occupied the space for several months at the end of last year. When Jenna Pham and Connie Mansfield decided to spin off Jelly Cup Collective, they talked with the bookstore owners. The two businesses agreed to share the space. The bookstore occupies the area that visitors first encounter when they enter the space, with Jelly Cup’s members’ stations on the second floor. Jelly Cup and the bookstore take turns handling the cash register in a check-out area.

“I think (our sharing the space) has been really good in elevating business in general,” Pham said. “People really appreciate our mission statements. They appreciate the energy we’re both putting into the community.”