Art Flop?

I did it. My first art venue. My artwork was featured in an art event where I had my very own venue to fill with anything I wanted. Second Saturday Art Night is put on by the Shasta Arts Council in Redding and every second Saturday of the month from 5-8pm local artists are featured at participating businesses around town. It is free and anyone can drive around town and look at art and enjoy the appetizers. I enjoyed being an observer at these events and was encouraged to be one of the artists of the month. 

So tonight I did it. I had my artwork up at a local real estate company which was located in a prime spot for the Art Hop. From 5-8pm I talked to guests and did my best to schmooze (so that's how you spell it), which is not one of my best qualities. Luckily, the wine helped bring down a few walls. Most people who came in gave me positive responses and encouragement. Everything went without a hitch. People came, ate, drank, saw, and then it was over. It went smoothly. So why am I fighting back tears? Why do I feel so discouraged? Why do I feel like I've just been intimate with someone who doesn't even remember my name? It's not like I had a bad experience. It's like I'm laying in bed naked while a stranger tells me, "hey you're pretty good kid. I'll see ya around." and then walks out the door. I didn't fail. I satisfied. Didn't I? But it was a one night stand not love at first sight. As I left the venue and headed over to meet my boyfriends family at a near by bar to listen to some live music the feeling started to sink in. Am I loveable? Am I good enough to love? I sat down at our table and I felt like I was drifting. Somber waves were coming over me. At first I didn't know what was happening. I had fun tonight. Right? Why do I instantly feel alone? Why do I feel so small? I just accomplished something. I had an art show. I am getting my name out there. I'm networking. I told myself it's not about about selling anything even though I desperately hoped I would. Wait... I did sell something, but my boyfriend's mom doesn't count. That's like a sympathy sale. I want to be loved. As my party leaves the bar I'm left alone at a big table listening to the soothing yet sad voice of a touring Swedish folk singer. I try fight the tears that are attempting to stain my face. This singer performing is trying to be loved just like I attempted. I love her. I think it would be harder to sing my way into love than just hang it on the walls. Even though there are die hard fans for singers rather than artists; The Beatles, Elvis, Katy Perry. No one buys 300 dollar tickets and waits all day crammed with 100,000 people to see a photo shoot with Annie Lebovitz... who's that? My point exactly. But singing is never ending. You don't get to hang it on the wall and be finished.

I hate the feeling that my surroundings are the only thing holding back the well that is close to overflowing. I know that once I leave the table and walk outside my body will release what small restraint it had left. This knowledge makes me stay. A small part of me wants to get the crying over with. I just want to purge myself of this emotion. I notice a tip jar on the stage. I want to encourage this artist. I decide I'll tip her before I leave. I don't know what is keeping me at this bar all alone listening to music from this folk singer who is keeping my emotions raw. Then the singer says she's had bad days. She tells us and by us I think she is speaking only to me, that her dad once told her that being a successful artist isn't how many cds you sell or how many states you tour in that it is about never giving up. Nothing could have been more perfect and horrifying to hear in that moment. I don't know why that when you are upset that those perfect words that you needed to hear make you more emotional instead of cheer you up. Now I really wanted out of there to let the flood invade my face. I waited till she was done to give her a 10 dollar tip. I didn't want to tip her that much, but I felt that I should. I knew it would be a little encouragement and that any amount of encouragement as an artist can make a difference between pressing on and giving up. I made it to my car before I broke down. It's just so hard and vulnerable pursuing art. As I drove I tried to suck it up, as if tears make you more sad so if you fight the tears the emotion will be defeated. When that didn't work I thought maybe if I just sob and heave then it will get out of my system sooner. I decided to purge, but I refrained from compounding my pain with pity using examples of how hard my life is right now; I have no money, I'm not good enough, I'm still battling an injury, I live at home, woe is I. I refused to take pity on myself. I don't want to wallow. I want to get whatever this emotion is far away from me. I'm hoping that I will run out of tears and exhaust myself into indifference. I make it home just at the peak of my despair. As I turn my car off and put my head on the steering wheel my dog, Vive, jumps onto my window. She is so excited to see me. Doesn't she realize I'm having a breakdown. As she jumps frantically around my car searching for a way to reach me my mind shifts. It feels great to have a friendly face who doesn't care about how my day went. She is just so happy I'm home. Laughter starts to permeate through my sobs before it over takes them. Now I'm just laughing. This stupid dog has robbed me of my despair. It's over. I pick myself up and walk inside. It's not about how many pieces I sell or who likes my art, it's that I never give up. I won't give up.

Pooping Rainbows

I had my first art show. I've put my art up in Starbucks and been in a church bazaar, but nothing where I was with other artists at a venue centered around art. The show was at a local bar called Maxwells which promotes local musicians and artists from time to time. The way this came about was that a friend was talking to my sister about an art show she was trying to get together and was looking for some new artists to feature. Well my lovely sister mentioned she should include me. Fortunately, I was standing near by and agreed to it immediately.

I've always done photography and tried some art classes here and there, but never imagined myself as an artist. Artists can draw for one. My handwriting isn't even legible and if you can't draw letters what hope is left for everything else. Some people assume I can draw because I'm creative in other ways until they are on my team in pictionary and they quickly learn when you assume you make a loser out of you and me.

Anywho. Another reason I never considered an art path was because I figured if you were good fame and recognition would naturally follow. Since I'm clearly not famous (except when I'm mistaken for Megan Rapinoe) that must mean I'm not good enough. I wanted to know what would make me good enough. So as I spent some time getting to know my art professors. I realized that there is much more to art than just being naturally awesome. No one will ever know how good you are if you keep all your work in the studio. This shouldn't have come as a shock. I guess I figured I'd just be dead when my grandchildren stumbled upon my great works and they made millions with my instant popularity. So what if I want fame before I die? Well... promotion. Art is about promotion. Just like in any industry it's all about who you know. This was disheartening. I think I like the glamor when I'm dead thing more. Promoting myself requires interaction with others. Interaction with others. It's not that I don't play nice with others. It's just that I don't play nice with others. I have a low tolerance for small talk so I avoid it. This means I avoid most basic human interactions. Now you can try to analyze why I'm like this. Oh she is insecure, homeschool didn't develop her social skills, she's an elitist, just too cool for everyone, ect. I think some people just aren't social. Not antisocial. I'm not a recluse. I just don't bullshit very well. Now I'm learning that if I want to become successful I have to bullshit all the time. Now some of you wouldn't call promoting yourself or networking bullshitting, but then maybe it comes natural to you so it doesn't feel like you are trying to poop rainbows. For me networking feels like I'm working. Work where I try to convince you I'm a valuable asset to you and if we work together it will benefit you some way. For me it feels fake. I can't narrow down my interactions with people I enjoy conversing with. Now need to include everyone because you never know what or who someone knows. How does this not feel forced, fake, bullshit? How do you know if people even enjoy talking to each other or if they are just trying to sell themselves? This just doesn't seem fair. Why do some people get the naturally ability to network while others get anxiety over the thought of it?

OK. Back on topic. So promoting myself is a challenge. I'm trying to stay humble while convince you I'm awesome... because I am awesome (shameless promotion through blog). Over the past few months I've tried to "promote" myself, which has lead me to this art show. Well technically my sister promoted me, but thats what networking is about... right? After I got secured as an artist to the art show I've been preparing all my work. Picking out new pictures to get printed. Buying new frames. Learning how to build my own frames, cut out mattes (ruined 3 before I just went out and bought the right size), and how to hang a piece. Then a week before the show I get a DJ gig. It's always like that. Every weekend is free then two events on the same night. Now it was art show or DJ gig? Both! I had a feeling I wouldn't make it to the art show and I was secretly relieved. First there's no feeling like no one is buying your art. Second socializing. It was my two greatest stressors together and I wasn't going to be too upset if the DJ gig went too long. So the morning of I set up my art. There was 3 of us and it still took 2 hours. Now off to the DJ gig where I attempted to promote myself... "ummm can I give you some business cards?" Ya real confident. Now for this wedding the couple had a strict play by playlist going between their Ipad and dvd player. Most people don't realize that what you want to hear in your house or jamming in your car isn't always what you want to hear on the dance flour. During the 30 minutes of live Bruce Springsteen playing on the dvd player people started to complain. Now I had a feeling this would happen, but I always want to respect my clients wishes. Well they threw out their wishes and gave me a please fix it plea. Unfortunately, all I had was their iPad and my iPhone to work with. Luckily I'm a damn good DJ and I was able to hurry and put together all the dance music. You say you don't like Michael Jackson, but then you hear it on the dance floor and notice everyone else dancing and then you just happen to know all the words to "Beat It". The party at first looked like it was winding down and I get out early and make the art show. Thank you Springsteen. Then my awesomeness intervened and I went past our scheduled time. It's a pride thing. If you are dancing then I'm doing my job and let's be honest, how sad was I really going to be for missing the awkward art show. Even though I did want to see my art up on the wall again. It looked pretty darn good. Oh bummer I didn't make it. Nothing sold, but at least I didn't have to be there hoping some big art connoisseur was going to join the party during the last 30 minutes. Also, none of the other artists sold anything either. Well hello misery so glad you could join us. I have a couple more things lined up, but I'm afraid discouragement is going to kick in soon. Tell then I'll just keep trying to poop rainbows.