When rejection comes to town

I’ve written a number of blog entries about the subject of rejection, an issue that artists confront all the time.

Maybe it’s because I’m getting older, but I am coming to view rejection in a more circumspect way than ever before. True, it can hurt your feelings when you’re rejected. It’s only human to look at the folks who were accepted for an opportunity and think, “What have they got that I ain’t got?” (Other typical reactions include beating the table with your fist or digging a spoon deep into a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.)

Last week I was rejected from an exhibition opportunity. Or rather, I experienced the newest version of rejection: “We only contact those who are accepted.” So on notification day, I clicked on my email inbox and heard the crickets chirp. I admit, in my fantasies, I was hoping the juror would take one look at the artwork I had entered, gasp with awe, clutch his throat, and instantly assign me the most visible wall in the gallery. But that didn’t happen.

Surprisingly, though, a realization presented itself to me as I stared at the “Your inbox is empty” message. It occurred to me that REJECTION IS AN OPPORTUNITY. It isn’t meant to hurt you. It is meant to serve as a roadmap for you to follow.

You see, I truly believe that every artist who is sincere about creating work that is an honest reflection of her experience, and who works with reasonable diligence to get this work out into the world, WILL find the right opportunities. The key is to find the RIGHT venues, based on your individual goals as an artist, and where your work fits in naturally and best.

So if you are making human-sized catnip mice out of felt as a statement about animal abuse, there is no sense in applying to show at the gallery inside the frame shop down the street. The frame shop owner might be a devoted cat-lover, and a sincere admirer of your work, but it doesn’t fit into his shop, literally or conceptually, and your application will be “rejected.”

If you are painting watercolors of the roses in your summer garden, there is no sense in applying to the stadium-sized avant-garde exhibition space in town. Not that your work isn’t wonderful -- there are many viewers who would be charmed by it – but your small studies would be lost in that giant space, and would not fit in with that particular gallery’s aesthetic.

I am starting to be truly honest with myself about where my work fits and where it doesn’t fit. And that doesn’t mean it’s bad or wrong for not fitting in to certain venues, it just means that it doesn’t fit, and it’s time to devote my energy to figuring out where it DOES fit. Because when it does fit, there is a beautiful synergy. The work complements the space; the space complements the work; and the administration, the audience, and the artist have a satisfying experience.

My job is to look at my work honestly, do my research thoroughly, and not get hung up on victim-oriented thoughts along the lines of, “He got in, why didn’t I? She shows there, why don’t I?” With these practical actions, and a little faith and luck thrown in, the key in your hand WILL open the right door.

ETA: A friend who also entered the juried show I referred to in this post told me that there were 1,200 entrants!

Psych Out

Much ink is spilled (or whatever the online equivalent is these days) on the subject of the rejection letter. I’ve addressed it on this blog and countless other artist bloggers have too. (One of my favorite discussions of the subject is this post by Providence artist Kathy Hodge, and here's another good one on Deanna Wood's blog). Somehow, sharing our experiences can help take the sting out of opening that envelope or clicking on that email and reading the dreaded words, “Dear Artist, We regret to inform you that your work was not chosen …”

These communiqués might as well include a P.S. that says, “Please take a hammer and bash yourself over the head with it. And thank you for your interest in our gallery.”

An even weirder experience is when you realize your work has been rejected, but the rejecter hasn’t even had the common courtesy to let you know. Yesterday I noticed that the notification deadline for a show I’d applied for had passed, so I contacted the gallery. They emailed back and said my rejection notice must have been “caught up in a spam filter.” (It was NOT caught up in a spam filter. They messed up. But apparently their ineptitude didn’t extend to their ability to deposit my $30 application fee.)

So today, I decided to try and turn the pain inside out, so to speak. While I have certainly received my share of rejection letters over the years, I have been fortunate to receive many acceptance letters. (A selection of these glorious documents appears at the beginning of this post.) In order to psych myself up for allowing new acceptances into my experience, I have decided to gather my “Congratulations” and “We are pleased to inform you” letters into a binder in sheet protectors. If I read these acceptances over to myself for a few minutes every day, it will remind me that good fortune has come into my career in the past, and give me faith to believe that it will come again.

I’m not one of those strong individuals who can save their rejection letters, joke about them, or even make art out of them, as many others have. (My preferred method of dealing is a prompt visit to the circular file and then pretending that the whole unpleasant experience never happened. As Mark Twain said, “Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.”) But maybe I can blot out the bad memories by recalling the warm fuzzies that come from acceptance letters!

The positive power of negativity

I grew up with parents who were extremely kind and encouraging to me. So it came as somewhat of a shock when I left home at 18 and realized that the rest of the world wasn’t quite so warm and fuzzy. As a young woman living in the city (Boston), some of the verbal zingers I was hit with – at school, at work, or just out in public in general – stunned me. Sometimes a hurtful remark, either directed toward me personally or simply at me because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, would take me days to get over.

Yet as I look back on my younger years, certain negative remarks or experiences actually produced a positive change, providing me with an insight that provoked a productive action in response. (Besides my learning to give a Bronx cheer or flip the bird.)

There was the co-worker who told me she didn’t want to hang around with me any more because I was so negative (which caused me to re-examine and finally cease what was then my constant gossiping, and that made me a far more contented person and sought-after companion). There was the professor who told me I would never get into graduate school (who steeled my resolve, and ultimately I earned an M.F.A. with a 3.88 G.P.A.). There was the boss who was so critical and rude that I decided to leave what was otherwise a wonderful job (which caused me to discover an entirely new and ultimately far more satisfying career in teaching).

Being criticized has even helped me with my self-confidence, if you can believe that. I have always been uncomfortable about my appearance. Even though I love clothes, I’ve often felt shy about standing out, and so I’ve tended to wear muted or dark colors and simple, body-covering styles.

All that changed when I got up the nerve to buy a hot-pink skirt about a year ago. The color just called to me, and I couldn’t resist. I was so excited to wear it! But when I did, one of my co-workers made a negative remark about how the color was too bright.

At first I thought, “She’s right, maybe it’s a little too garish.” And I contemplated taking the skirt to the Goodwill bin.

But over the course of several days, it dawned on me. The person who said this to me had no sense of style. She was NOT someone I want to look like. Why would I want to take her fashion advice? And furthermore, why would I want to assign her any credibility at all?

Since then, I’ve made it my business to find as many bright colors and mix as many prints and patterns as I can. And I’m loving it! Every day is an adventure, as I open my closet door and try to figure out what new and unexpected combinations I can come up with.

Case in point, I found this wonderful blouse (below) at a thrift store yesterday. I tried it on, and I felt like a wild bird. The brilliant colors and snazzy trimmed hem brought a smile to my face. I would never have had the nerve to wear something like this before my shrew co-worker made that ignorant remark. Now, I can’t wait to wear it! Not only because I think it’s beautiful and I want to bring beauty into the world, but also because it’s like an “f--- you” to that co-worker and any other critical, joyless people lurking out there.



I wish every lesson I learned could be like my childhood, the good old days, when my parents would tell me how well I was doing and only if absolutely necessary make gentle corrections to my behavior. But even if the world doesn’t always work like that, it’s instructive to me to realize that there are lessons even in adverse situations.

Not rejected, just not selected

Today I received a rejection letter from a college gallery I had applied to for a show, in response to a classified ad in Art New England. I have to admit, rejection letters don’t make my day. In fact, even at this stage in my career, sometimes they bum me out and/or make me angry and frustrated.

But this one was so pleasantly worded that I didn’t even feel rejected, just “not picked.” The director said she appreciated my applying, explained that there had been 45 applicants for 4 openings, and thanked me for “sharing your wonderful calligraphic paintings.” Now that’s a classy way to say “thank you but no thank you” to an artist’s application.

A colleague of mine told me recently that she saves all of her rejection letters and uses them as reference for deadlines for particular annual juried shows or grants. My friend Bob told me that he keeps all his rejection letters in a file so that one day, when he’s rich and famous, he can remind the galleries and jurors of their grave mistake in overlooking him and savor his revenge. (He’s got a “Count of Monte Cristo” vibe going on there.)

I think saving one’s rejection letters shows a strength of character and a focused professionalism. And in Bob’s case, a sense of humor. Me, I toss out rejection letters as quickly as I can rush over to the trash barrel. I admit, I have a tendency to live in a world of unicorns and lollipops, and I don’t want a file of rejection letters raining on my parade.

But if they were all carefully and considerately worded like the one I received today, they wouldn’t be such a burden to save.

The image at the top of this entry is "White Grid," a fairly new painting (January) that I've just entered in a juried show. I hope it's accepted (naturally), but even if it's rejected, I really love it! It's 20 inches square, and made of collaged squares, alternating, of cut paper and acrylic on fabric, collaged onto stretched canvas.