You guys, sometimes I hate being an artist. It tough on the ego. This week in particular was harsh. I had submitted my Pear painting to a juried show, and even though it was the only realist piece entered, it did not get juried in. Honestly, given the other pieces I saw, I felt fairly confident that it would get in, though there had been no criteria other than size limitations given to anyone deciding what to submit. We were simply given the show’s title of FRESH.

Pear 6″ x 8″ oil on board

Perhaps the juror only likes conceptual art, or…? What sucks about these kind of shows is that you have to pay to have someone judge you your work regardless of whether or not they accept your piece. So basically I’ve paid to have a bruised ego.

I also had someone who had commissioned a piece decide not to purchase the work I created for her. Because I knew her, I did not require the deposit I usually require (half up front, half upon acceptance of the work). Lesson learned. She has kindly offered to compensate me for my time, but honestly, how does one truly calculate that? Basically, I’ve proposed that she cover the cost of my materials plus a very small amount on top for my time. But again, it’s banged my ego up a little bit, particularly on the heels of the juried show rejection.

Currently Untitled 21″ x 32″ oil on canvas

People are always saying they wish they were artists or singers or actors or writers, but really, they shouldn’t. As anyone in the arts knows, it’s a pretty brutal business. There’s constant rejection, and we tend to be pretty porous people, so having a thick enough skin to survive isn’t easy.

That being said, I have a couple more pieces on the easel, so for now I’ll nurse my wounds, maybe have a blushie, and move on to creating something new and building up the courage again to put it out there for the world to accept or reject.