This past week I experienced one of the main parts of being a working artist. Rejection. With a capital R. Now this is really nothing new to me, in fact often rejections don't phase me or slow me down. But three short polite letters in two weeks is a bit of a blow. Or so it felt like Friday night when I consoled myself with peanut butter cups and beer. I think it's a little difficult to accept that a cd of images and a resume doesn't really convey to the rest of the world just how hard you've been working or how much you feel that this time you really deserve it or have earned it. It being an international show, fully funded residency, scholarship, or grant. Luckily for me I had an awesome teacher who I haven't seen since my freshman year of college. I remember him saying that a critique should get you so spitting mad, that it should make you want to run to your studio and show them how good you really are. Which is what I am reminding myself to do after allowing an indulgence here and there and a little self pity. After all I still have two applications out, and five in process. Good thing the organic peanut butter cups I like are significantly smaller than a Reese's.
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