Name of the Game

As I mentioned in my last post, ‘tis the season for juried art exhibits. Those of us who have entered these events have a variety of tales to tell, like ghost stories whispered around a campfire.

 

My original intent for this post was to share a few of those stories, to reveal what actually happens when artists are ushered out of the gallery and the judge is left alone to pick the artwork they believe deserves notice. I was going to share the honest to goodness truth: the judge who evaluated over 200 pieces of artwork in the span of just a few minutes; committees who create such convoluted rules and guidelines that there can be no such thing as “Best Of”; artists who chose their winners based on favorite colors.

Oh, I’ve got stories! And in all fairness I was also going to share positive observations of judges who agonized over their choices, and responded with intelligence and compassion. 

However, what occurs to me after spending entirely too much time on memory lane howling with indignation, delight and laughter at these anecdotes is this: it is not whether you win a ribbon or not, or even whether you get in the show.  

The issue is not what happens – or doesn’t happen. The issue is how we react to what happens. 

My own personal stack of rejection letters - ouch!

When you enter the world of competitive exhibiting of any nature, you accept another person’s opinion of the value of your work.  

Let me say that again: you agree to accept another person’s opinion of the value of your work. Not of you yourself personally, your work; your sculpture or your car or your dance step.  That’s part of the bargain.

If you don’t fare well you can choose to focus on the weakness or the lack of talent or the obvious favoritism of the judge – or you can learn from the situation. I’m not thinking of the How-To-Get-Into-Art-Shows kind of solution. I’m thinking more along the lines of personal inquiry:  why does it bother me so much? What do I hope to get out of this?  How much weight do I give this win/loss? How important is this really?

Painful as it is, losing can be more instructional than winning. Evaluating yourself and your art will lead to more growth than will polishing a trophy – or blaming someone’s poor taste.

So what’s the conclusion of all this?

 Elevating your game is important, and part of that is finding a way to challenge your belief in yourself and your self-imposed limits. Exhibiting your creative work in an environment in which you open yourself to criticism is tough but educational, if you can take it. Accepting the realities of each particular scenario is another piece. Selection committees and judges are people complete with all their quirks and oddities. That is a fact.

It’s up to each of us to decide how important that game is. You get to decide how often, or even whether, you play.

So, what’s your game?

You're In - or Not

Lately my mailbox is full of invitations. With a little bit of effort, they promise,  I can hang out with the cool crowd.

Or rather, with a small fee and a few slides of my work, I have the opportunity to have my artwork judged into - or out of - a very fine art exhibit. Not just anyone gets in. You pays yer money and you takes yer chances.

Having just entered yet another competitive art exhibit I will admit that I have really mixed feelings about these things.  Let me wade through my thoughts and perhaps come to a conclusion…

Most experienced artists, consultants, teachers and coaches encourage artists to enter juried (competitive) exhibits. It’s a resume builder. If you can list on your CV acceptance into several competitive exhibits then your stock as an artist goes up.  And if you can claim an award at these prestigious exhibits, well then, aren’t you something!

I’ve done my share of competitive exhibits. I have been honored with awards, and been denied entry into exhibits - even with the same painting.

Each time I sign my name on an exhibit prospectus  I wonder if I’m not undermining something precious. 

We as creative people reach deeply into our hearts and psyches to solve problems or to search for answers. We use words like resonance, memory, and perception.  A mark is made, then a pause for a response. We create our own vocabulary and hope the nuances and subtleties come through in a language that can be shared.  We are alone in a timeless place with no thoughts of how our creative energies measure up. Until the mail comes.

How does one grade something like that? How does one judge the validity of what comes from that place?

Okay, you say. A good jurist will evaluate technique, that is, whether or not the artist knows how to manipulate their medium of choice. 

That statement alone takes the creative act and dumps it squarely into the realm of…what? Cake decorating? Gymnastics?  Does the artist get 10 points for adequate brushwork and docked 2 points if the canvas shows through?    Add to that the fact that in a multi-media show, the judge may not be familiar with all types of processes. Can a watercolorist accurately judge ceramics?

Then there is the final caveat:  It is just one person’s opinion.  Virtually every jurist starts out their remarks saying just that. In fact, I just spent time surfing through several “how to” blogs on judging art shows. Regardless of what tricks and tips are shared, they all wrap it up the same way:   bottom line, it is just one person’s opinion. That statement is the balm of those who go unnoticed and the admission of the judge who knows there are no right answers to be had.

And yet we artists keep sending in slides and applications, tossing in $30 or $40 bucks per piece, begging to be approved by that one person who, admittedly, is an idiot if they don’t choose us.

I’ve been on both sides; I’ve been the judge awarding the ribbons and I’ve been the participant. It’s a joyful, painful experience either way. 

So why do it?

I’m not sure there’s an answer. We humans have a need to know our place in the crowd, to know that we’re better than X, or not quite as good as Z. 

There’s an underside to the lofty art world for sure.  Being juried into and out of exhibits surely takes the blush off the rose. If you can stick with it you grow some thicker skin and learn about yourself. You test your mettle, so to speak. Maybe that’s reason enough.

Chapter 2 comes next week. Does the emperor wear a paint smock? I've been pondering this subject for awhile and there are several facets to consider. Chime in please. 

Let’s open a conversation about this. Whaddya think? No, really, I'm interested.

Balancing Act

We, you and I, are encouraged, possibly from the day we stagger our first steps across a room, to compare our abilities against another. We get an A in elementary school when others get a B. We get a blue ribbon when others receive purple. A check is presented, and others get either a larger check or none at all. The more “other-oriented” comparisons we get the more we – and others - understand ourselves as Good-Better-Best. This happens in very nearly every facet of our lives, from running laps to creating art.


At the same time, as creative individuals, we are encouraged to find ourselves, to delve deeper and deeper into truth; our truth, someone’s truth, the Truth of the Ages. It is suggested we ignore the opinions of others and do what our hearts tell us to do: to scribble unconsciously, to throw, scoop, or fling as our inner explorer demands. We search for our way; not a mentor’s way, not a teacher’s way nor the way of any other human that came before us (as if all other creative acts are passe somehow). We head into the jungle dreaming of finding Atlantis, Mr. Livingstone, or at least some small evidence of sasquatch.

©2011  Patricia Scarborough  Last Glance  12x16 Pastel

These two facets, the creating and the comparison, cause an oxymoronic situation that we as artists must deal with every time we step to the easel, the potter’s wheel, the writing table, loom or sewing machine. Those of us who have a desire to make a living from our creative work (or at least pay our own expenses now and then) are given the task of balancing this wobbly scenario: Be yourself, but not so much that the rest of us can’t like you.

This is on my mind now because I’m preparing for a solo exhibit, and also because it’s the season for juried exhibitions. Both require equal amounts of Intrepid Explorer vs a Please Like Me! attitude.

And that’s the paradox, isn’t it?

So far I’ve been lucky in that what I love to paint, and how I paint it, have been fairly acceptable to the public and the jurist. This means I can continue to do what I do in the way I do it and not feel like a lone voice in the wilderness. Having said that, I also know that there are avenues for me to explore which may not meet with the same acceptance.

©2011 Patricia Scarborough  Holding Time  12x16 Pastel

To remain in the circulation of the viewing public is the desire of most of us, certainly. Very few of us would bother if we’re ignored, or if the reaction to our work is so bland it doesn’t register. Exclusivity works best when we’re on the inside looking out.

But while there is comfort in acceptance, there is also – for me - need for discomfort, for challenge and growth. I'm not after the source of the Nile, but I do wonder about it.

I’ll figure it out. It won’t happen tomorrow, or even soon.

How do you make it work – or do you?