The reaction has to be exactly that; you have to skip like a stone on a calm lake. Whenever the artist in you has the potential to be rattled, you have to land, pivot and skip in a new direction.
The "season" has begun and the little stack of paintings to be submitted to galleries gets smaller as each fee is paid.
As I write this, I've received my first DECLINED of the year. It's early. It's...UGH.
The rules for submitting to adjudicated shows varies with each gallery, but the usual rules mean that the painting has to be relatively recent and has not been in other shows. Some galleries are so strict that I literally keep the painting in bubble wrap on the cabinet behind me with a sticky note explaining to my future self when to begin the process.
Receiving a Declined, (it's always in bold lettering on the notification!), is hard, especially as there is no reason given as to WHY. It's just a "no", which is a sentence in itself.
Every artist dealing with a rejection has questions swirling, from whether or not the composition was "off" to the colours used. The Thesaurus is rifled through to determine if the wrong word was used in the descriptive sentence accompanying the painting submission.
Although artists may seem to be tough skinned, any rejection feels personal, even though it's not. The gallery may have hundreds of applications for any one show; they may not have room; the style may not be what they're looking for and a zillion other reasons come to mind.
It takes a minute to skip and pivot because rejection hurts, but the bottom line is that an artist can't be dragged down by random critiques. It's all part of the game; of putting one's work out into the world. It takes more courage than people realize.
One thing that helps me bounce back is a statement that I tell myself on days like this: "Without me, my hands and heart, this art wouldn't exist in the first place."
Then, I grab my sketchbook and get to work again.
Thank you for spending this time with me,
Lori xx
P.S. Years ago, someone took a photo of a Lemon Meringue pie I had just taken out of the oven. Later, I received an email of the photo with the caption, "Now THIS is a piece of art." Although it was a compliment, it made me sigh. If you look back in time to the 1950s, when people were proud of their homemaking skills and roadside diners advertised HOMEMADE PIE as a reason to pause a trip, a pie was a treat made by skilled hands for an appreciative audience. But it wasn't art.
On a misty Spring morning, when I'm in the forest, crouched over a crocus, I'm trying to capture the flower, the dew, the magic. I head back to my desk and attempt to recapture the crocus in watercolour, charcoal or pen & ink, as practice. To improve my skills. Not for show, or a congratulatory pat on the head if it works. Hours of sketching simply to learn.
That my friends, is art. xx