"Your spirit seems to be clipped..."

Carolyn S., from the series Other People's Clothes, 2005

I got another rejection letter today, this time from the Alpert Awards (and man, I was hoping), so I did my usual—read the word "sorry," tore it up and recycled it, cried, acted stoic, took to bed, then vowed once again to give up this whole art thing. This is the cycle. But then Deirdre starts seriously talking about giving up art and "working for the man," too; I start deliriously musing about how I can go about selling drugs; and she points out that my feelings toward the art world must be really bad that I would rather sell drugs than sell art (for the record, I've never sold drugs).

But since I was already out of bed I dragged myself to the computer, where I received a really moving E-mail from a struggling young artist, r s, asking me what happened? A year ago I was complaining about this samo, samo, on my blog, and why a year later haven't I yet gotten my groove back? Why, instead, am I blogging about celebrities (I really intended the Angelina Jolie post to be about politics in Haiti)? Where is the hope?

How to answer? I started blogging when I was in Taos last spring as a way to keep myself from feeling crazy about being so rejected by the art world structure (jobs, grants—you name it) and yet trying to maintain this veneer of connection to a so-called career in art. How many times had I run into people I hadn't seen in a while and made it sound like I was just doing the damn thing here and there when I couldn't even pay my rent? I had to admit to myself that I didn't have one, and in doing so I had to say it out loud. So today, fresh off another disappointment, how do I hit reply and tell this young sister or brother that art is worth it, it's valuable even when folks around you don't think it is because your work doesn't = paycheck. How do I say that I still fight to hold onto my hopes and dreams regarding making art even as I'm systematically, almost comically at this point, rejected by it? How do I say, from the heart, don't give up? Do I point to the image above, or the ones in previous posts like this or this, to say hey, I'm working on new bodies of work, my ideas are still important to me no matter what, but I don't have the time or money to scan them to even put them on my site and beyond that, what do I do with them without further peddling myself for rejection? Do I point to Zoe, who's done her own thing making and selling her work at $5 per print and is having a terrific year of recognition without changing her thing? (She remains my inspiration right now.) I want to shake myself and r s and the various other young artists out there who E-mail me or respond on this blog and say, you know, the only way is to create our own structures and to support one another. You want to make a book and can't afford a print run? Use print-on-demand. You want visibility? Create a website. Let's not talk ourselves out of our ideas. Let's not be silenced. It's too important.

Deirdre says it's almost uncanny that every time I'm about to throw in the towel I get a message like the one I received today basically saying I need you, I need your voice out there, don't tell me that you've given up, too. The thing is, I can't really tell anyone that. I give up on an almost daily basis. I'm bitterly disillusioned. But I'm still trying.

Indian Mary Park, Oregon, from the series Race and the Landscape (with Deirdre Visser), 2004 - present