Musing October 2011

 The Thin Envelope

 We have all gotten them, the long awaited reply that comes in the thin envelope. Replies from committees that arrive in thin envelopes are not, usually, the news we are hoping to hear. The rejection letters are always in thin envelopes, probably because it doesn’t take much space to say “Thanks but no thanks.” Good news comes in thick envelopes, envelopes filled with further instructions and forms needing to be filled with information. A thin envelope means you have been rejected. You’re done. The dream, for the moment, is gone and your efforts deemed unworthy. And boy, does that hurt.

This year I applied for both an artist grant and an artist-in-residency program.  The thin envelope for the grant came just the other day. I hope to hear about the residency in a few weeks.

The real question is: How do we deal with the thin envelope? It immediately has us listening to our internal demons, giving in to our doubts, asking ourselves why we continue to do this work we call art when no one seems to care. It is easy to quit if the only things we get for our effort are the thin envelopes of rejection.

We can get angry and spend our time railing against the injustices of a world that fails to recognize our genius or efforts. We can dismiss the work of those who got  “our “ grants. We can mock the committee’s choice, we can tell our friends how unjust it is. In total, we can waste our time being angry and hurt.

My graduate school mentor, John Weiss, has a great way of looking at the thin envelopes. He says that all competitions are a matter of selection and NOT rejection. The judge, jury, panel or whomever, is looking at the work for something specific.  They are selecting for their needs and desires, not rejecting everyone else. The secret is to keep applying until you find a group of jurors who agree with you.

So, my work didn’t happen to fit what the group of selectors desired for the artist grant this year. Intellectually, I talk to myself about selection rather than rejection, but the sting of rejection still hurts – for the moment. It makes it a little harder to keep making applications for other grants, fellowships, and residencies – for the moment. But only for a moment. The truth is I make my photographs because I have to. It is who I am and what I do. When the thin envelope comes, I will, for the moment, be angry at not being selected. I’ll be hurt for a short time that my work wasn’t what the jurors were looking for. But I won’t quit making my work because one day it will be exactly what a group of jurors is looking for.

Don’t quit. Keep on working.

Tillman