I have this worrisome problem. Even, when I know, that I should keep my mouth closed, and keep my exciting news to myself, I don’t!
I applied online this month, to a local gallery, that is opening in February. They posted an ad on Craigslist asking for submissions from artists. I sent in a handful of images, and got a rather prompt response.
Boy, was I excited. Over the next week, the gallery owner and myself communicated via email, several times. He said that he wanted one of my pieces for the opening in February, and that he wanted me to come into the gallery, to speak with him.
I just about passed out, my heart-rate increased so much, after I read that line. While the sensible voice inside of myself said, “Wait. Hold on here. Don’t tell people about this, because it could fall through…”
My over enthusiasm won out.
I blabbed and blabbed, and blabbed some more, about how this new gallery in Ashland was interested in my work, and how I would be meeting with the gallery owner soon.
I could practically see my name in lights, “Wendy Bloom, Artist Extraordinaire!” Posters lining the main street in Ashland, interviews by art critics and myself pasted across the art and culture pages of the newspaper. Ah. It all felt so good. I could taste the flavor of success in my mouth!
Now, that I’ve shared this info with other people, and allowed myself to shoot through the roof with anticipation of acknowledgement in the field, I’m getting the sense from the owner of the gallery that he’s changed his mind.
He could be very busy, and it could be totally unrelated to me. My first inclination is, of course, to doubt myself, and think that he no longer wants to meet with me, let alone represent me!
Way to much overanalyzing, way too much time blowing everything out of proportion, way too many expectations.
I’ve sent several emails recently to this man, and have not heard back. I am kicking myself. I know there is something I can learn from this experience.
No one likes desperation, even if they understand that you are a starving artist.
How do I keep my mouth from telling stories of events that are yet to happen? How do I keep myself balanced, instead of feeling like it’s life or death, whether or not my art is accepted by a gallery?
I don’t really know the answers to these questions. I do, however, know, that this is a continual issue for me. One that I have to ponder seriously. Masking tape doesn’t stick that well to one’s lips, and it’s unsightly, and uncomfortable. I will have to keep thinking about this.