Here I sit, broken and rejected.

Ok...repaired and rejected. My torn menicus (go ahead, ask me about knee anatomy) has been neatened up and my knee should be unwrapped and crutches tossed aside soon, but I'm still not going to Juneau Alaska this year to climb glaciers and hang out with the rangers as artist in residence. I know, I've already got the AIR in Petrified National Forest this September, but now I'm getting greedy and want TWO residencies a year. And the Tongass National Forest residency sounded really awesome.

But there's always next year to try again, and my rejection letter was one of the more thoughtful ones I've received. It actually referred specifically to my application, which feels better than the generic rejections that tell "Dear  artist " how tough the decision was and how many wonderful artists applied. So I will try again, even though I already have an application in for 2012 at Grand Canyon National Park. But I can do two a year, can't I?


So, I can concentrate on looking forward to the incredible color and cool rock formations of the Painted Desert even though September seems so far away. As any New Englander knows though, our precious summer goes by in a flash, and while I wait to go to Arizona I'm gearing up for a more local exploration at the Rhode Island Natural History Survey's Bioblitz. We've got a great response from artists of all media, and are teaming up with RISD's nature lab to offer things like microscopes and flower presses just for the artists, as well as expertise in specimen gathering. We also have some members of RISDs natural science illustration program, so it should be very interesting to meet this year's team. And next year we have an exhibit scheduled at the Warwick Art Museum to showcase the work of the 2011 Bioblitz artists. 

Once I can stand at my easel again I'm close to finishing some paintings I've been working on in the studio as part of my next series which I hope to post soon. Until then, I may just hobble into my backyard to take advantage of the first dry spring day we've had in about 2 weeks and do a little "plane ear" painting.

Accepting rejection

It's somehow reassuringly old fashioned to receive a rejection letter by mail instead of eletronically. Still sucks, but in a retro kind of way. For about the 16th time my application for the RI State Council on the Arts didn't get awarded a grant, or even runner up status. Oh well. The money ($5,000) would have been nice, but what I was kind of hoping for was the little uptick in status that grant recipients get. Not that I should care about status, but it also seems to get you invited to show.

A few days later the Maccoll Johnson Fellowship saw fit to reject my application. That money would have been more than nice, $25,000 is nothing to sneeze at. Not that I had a chance to decide to sneeze or not. That was one of those cutting-edge email rejections...damn.

Oh well, I bitched and moaned already about rejection in a previous post so will wipe the dust from my feet and think about spiders.

How would you like your rejection?

I can't decide what kind of rejection I like the best; an email message or the kind that comes back in the S.A.S.E dutifully included in the application.

I suspect the email version will become the new standard, as everything moves online. I do like how much easier it is on the application side, but after waiting forever to get a response, it's somehow more satisfying to open an envelope, see the nice thick paper with the rejector's letterhead, throw it aside, then retrieve it to add to the file of rejection letters. So what do I do now — print my rejection emails to add to my file? 

That would be silly. I think I will.

Anyway, I've been thinking about this because I got two email rejections in two days. The first was...sniff...the Denali artist residency (I don't really cry on my emails—it's not good for the keyboard).  In previous postal rejections I've had little notes slipped inside telling me how close I came, and to try again. This email began with "Thank you for applying..." Always a very bad sign. Then came the standard Don't-Feel-Too-Bad tag line... "We had many strong applications from all over the U.S. and abroad, making this year’s selection especially difficult." So after thinking I was ALMOST heading north for the last few application cycles, I'm now feeling Denali is further away than ever.

The second rejection was from a local group show, no big deal really, but it's a place I always feel a bit surprised to be rejected from.

But I still have my show at Bert coming up next month, and yesterday I was contacted out of the blue about another exhibit opportunity. More on both of those later...

The art of rejection

As much of a bummer it is to get a rejection letter, I actually missed the formality of it when my rejection for the State Council grant was lost in the mail. I have gotten at least 15 rejections from this particular grant in the past. I know this because I take a perverse pleasure in saving all my letters in a file that is over an inch thick now.


I'm coming to realize that documenting rejection letters is a fairly common obsession among artists, for example...

• Although she hasn't posted in a while, Suzanne Melbourne has an entire blog devoted to it at http://myrejectionletters.blogspot.com/.
• Dan Senn created an art installation using them.
  
• I still remember Providence artist Jessica Rosner's piece she exhibited at List Gallery of collaged lines cut from rejection letters. She said every artist who came in felt the shock of recognition when they saw it.
  
• Catherine Wald is the President and Chief Rejecutive Officer of rejectioncollection.com
• Note that this writer's few acceptance letters were not mounted but "tossed in" to her 1930's scrapbook of rejection letters, almost as an afterthought. When I think about it, I haven't even saved my acceptance letters!
  

So rejection letters have been sent out for a very long time, but the urge to save them and the language that they use hasn't changed. Most all have these elements...

Although some believe in laying it right out there with an immediate "We regret..." or "We are sorry to inform you...", most try to soften the blow by beginning with "Thank you for...".
You know though, don't you, what that means.

Then they may try to make you feel not quite so much of a loser. They...

"would like you to know that the entries were of a consistently high caliber and the selection process was a difficult one... The sheer volume of entries was enormous...the quality of submissions was indeed very high... We have be overwhelmed with the high number and quality of submissions this year... There were may high-quality submissions, making selection extremely difficult... The jurying process proved to be quite difficult due to the overall quality of the work...this was an usually competitive year... Given the high quality of submissions, the decisions were difficult, at times wrenching."

Although not so wrenching as this one, I'm sure..

"Not only was competition intense, but jurying was delayed when lead Juror B--- V--- gave birth to a child on the very day she was scheduled to sit down in front of hundreds of slides."

OK, just breathe...

Then they try to give you a glimmer of hope..

"...strongly urges you to submit your work for future programs... encourage you to resubmit your work... we encourage you to continue to submit slides... certainly do reapply next year"

And for a moment you think that they noticed that your work rose above the "sheer volume of entries", until you realize that the letter is addressed to "Dear applicant".

Then they close with a cordial invitation to the opening that you are only going to attend to see who they thought was better than you.

"Please accept our invitation to the opening reception... We hope that you will be able to join us at the special members preview... You are cordially invited to attend the opening..."

Some throw a nice gesture or genuinely helpful advice...

"As a gesture of appreciation for your participation...we are awarding you a family membership in the Museum." "Submit your entry early...but if you are delayed, don't waste money on FedEx. Our deadlines are not so hard and fast that missing a day or two would disqualify your entry."

Or really offer sincere encouragement...

"The jury was very interested in your work and was considering it in the final round of the selection process." "Your work stood out as exemplary and would have been chosen if not for the limited ..."

and the business card clipped to one that told me I made the short list 2 years in a row.

But you can also get the little zingers...

"None were so interested as to be future clients. The work, while vivid and strong, did not have sales appeal... Perhaps your work might be better represented elsewhere... I have no use for this artwork at this time... I do not see an arrangement that would be mutually beneficial to either of us."

This one speaks not only for the gallery, but the entire art market, extinguishing all hope...

"A show would not be beneficial to either party...should the market become more receptive to your mode of work we can contact you."

The only one I ever received that was inexcusably rude was from a gallery in the Berkshires that advertised for submissions. Like I usually do, I meticulously labeled my slides, put them in a slidesheet, in a 9x12 envelope with cardboard backing, with a folded self addressed, postage paid return envelope. I received the slides back with only a note on a torn piece of paper. "Next time use a smaller envelope". I wish I had saved that particular rejection, but I was so incensed I sent it to the director with a piece of my mind. Of course I never heard back.

Other than that I have developed quite a thick skin about rejection, rudeness is after all very rare, and I appreciate the efforts of the galleries and art venues to reject nicely. I would probably write very similar letters were I in their place.

As one gallery says...
"Please interpret this exclusion in the most positive of terms. Keep the faith.
Keep working."

Ok. Thanks. I will.