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"You Don't Have the Bona Fides"

 If someone, anyone, leaves you gob-smacked and empty handed after peering at your work through their lorgnette, their intent was to diminish you; to steal a bit of your hard-won self esteem.

In a nutshell, if you haven’t given up by now, StarBaby, you ain’t gonna. So let’s get to work.

Not too long ago I signed up for a marketing workshop led by a well-respected art marketing expert. I entered into this experience with my usual girlish (read unrealistic) enthusiasm, thinking this might just be the fuel that would rocket a plodding art career into something sparkly and stellar (visualize a 70-year old white-haired woman strapped to a jet engine, dying happily of stardust abrasion).

While the seminar had much helpful content (A+ for that!), the critique process just about did me in. It was brought to my attention that painting wildlife was not my strong suit (well shitthebedfred, that’s my favorite thing to paint). I also love painting, illustration-style, the iconic animals of Native American folklore. Apparently, when an old whitey born and raised in Illinois does that, it’s called cultural appropriation. The top slice of the critique sandwich was finding out that, if you’re not a rancher or horseman; i.e., a real westerner, you ain’t got the bona fides to be taken seriously as a painter of said western themes. Even if your references are legit and you love the American West like a poet loves a tragic love story, your art career isn’t looking real good.

Like some other artists, I live in a deluge of visual images. Some knock at the door of my enthusiastic imagination with such persistence that I HAVE to paint them. The landscape and animals of the American West is one of the most persistent themes.

 

Well, let me tell you, lone reader, I was left a bit bereft. After clutching my pearls, rolling my eyes like a mad cow, and falling into a deep (yet treatable!) funk, it was time to get back on the horse (get it?). I wrote myself a list of facts that would, once again, root me firmly into the rocky soil of the creative life. May I share my list with you, StarBaby?

1. Recognize that insults are cumulative and attempt to perform the emotional surgery necessary to differentiate between the most recent one and the shit-ton of past slights, criticisms, patronizing comments, and generally hurtful BS that is your creative legacy. It’s sort of like when, the first few times your loving partner implies you’re an idiot, you quickly heal and move on. After 3 decades, however, any comment of that nature has you decorating the imaginary apartment of your dreams and wondering how to order cyanide on Amazon. 

2. Criticism can be a form of theft. Intent is everything when it comes to negative feedback about your work. If someone, anyone, leaves you gob-smacked and empty handed after peering at your work through their lorgnette, their intent was to diminish you; to steal a bit of your hard-won self esteem. It has very little to do with what’s hanging on the gallery wall. That knowledge alone can give you the strength of righteous anger instead of crestfallen hurt. While not ideal, anger is a better starting place from which to rebuild than utter desolation.

3. People can be turds. I know… this one’s a no-brainer and may seem like a mere repeat of item 2 but additionally, to make us all feel ever so much better, people can also be strong, funny, supportive, entertaining, and constant soul brothers and sisters in your journey through “I’m-an-artist-dammit” land. Find those people because they can take the sting out of the worst hurt. They can drink, smoke, laugh, pray, wrassle, or commiserate with you while you sort your life out. And then you can be the same solace to them when someone tells them they’re not worth jack. Just remember, when you’re buddy has taken an ego beating to merely lean in and whisper, “Well, fuck him!!!” Lemme tell you, it’s the balm of Gilead.

4. Others' opinions of you are their business, not yours. As I grow closer to my expiration date, I know damn well I’ll regret internalizing anyone’s unwarranted shite opinion of me. I already do. When I was in the fourth grade one of my classmates started calling me “Stinky.” I actually got tendonitis in my neck and shoulder from repeatedly trying to smell my own armpits. I’m tellin’ ya, I regret that! You owe it to yourself and whom/whatever is the god of your understanding, to write, sculpt, compose, sing or play the content that fills you up and begs for expression. It IS a calling, and you’d better believe the shit out of that. When you create something that is an homage to your relationship with Beauty and the kaleidoscopically complex world around you, you DO have a right and obligation to do so. So get to it. Don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t have the bona fides and don’t waste a minute of your one wild and precious life!