I just got word that all five of the pieces I submitted to the Arsenal Arts Center Member’s Show here in Boston have been rejected. Yikes. I’m shocked! I love the stuff I do. Both my writing and my art. But the single juror does not.
I’m experimenting as an artist. My main focus is writing but at the end of the day I sit down to explore art. It’s a fabulous puzzle—what we can communicate and how. The two creative ventures feed each other. It’s caviar and champagne. Daily.
The Impressionist’s rejection in the Paris salons of 1895 did waft through my mind for an instant. It can be useful to know your art history! My paintings were acts of visual play, authentic explorations, not art changing like the Impressionists. But then—this isn’t Paris. Well, bloody hell—there you have it. One person said no. And I love these paintings!
Does it mean anything at all? Perhaps The Grand Poobah is having a word with me—
Stick to your true desire. Stay with your passion. You have something else on the go. Don’t get distracted.
Or maybe he’s saying—Never submit your sense of things to the judgment of another.
Or perhaps he’s occupied with other things. I am too.
My friend Sally just called—also rejected. Hers was the perfect response—’Oh, well. We’ll carry on and we’ll have our own show.’
That took the stinger out. Who knows what the bigger picture is? Only The Grand Poobah knows and he isn’t saying—just giving hints. They’re subtle but rather affirming—as they always are. I’m listening. And carrying on—with everything. Spirit and determination intact. So there!
