Hurtful Criticism

Being able to do my art brings me such joy. When I am creative, I am one huge feeling of contented joy. No matter what goes on in my life, as long as I am able to be at an easel with charcoal, pastels or paint or have notebook and pens or be out with my camera, I can cope. However, a couple months ago I received some very hurtful criticism on some of my favorite pieces; comments that cut me to the core.

I've had disappointments in the past. I work in a medium that isn't always appreciated. I struggle to find a market for the work that makes me feel so wonderful doing. However, this time, the words stripped me bare. I spent the first few days totally in tears and since then, I found it very difficult to even look at my drawings. All I see are the flaws. I feel shattered. What brought me such joy is gone. Even the joy at taking photographs has diminished. I haven't wanted to talk to anybody or go anywhere.

Yes, I have been told many times that an artist needs the hide of an armadillo. Yes, I knew going into that venture was taking a big risk. Still, do judges ever think what their comments might do to a fragile ego? Do they feel so high and mighty that they can't bother to offer something positive? With so many artists out there right now, do they even care what they actually say?

Okay, I know this is my "lesson to be learned." I understand that, and yes, I'll admit that I am looking at my work with the intent to improve (when I can look at my work.) I know I am not a great artist and there is always room for improvement. However, two months later and I am still... crushed. I cry once a day or at least get teary eyed. I look at my drawings and quickly look away.

Did I deserve such unfeeling, cold, negative comments? No. Does anybody? No.

This morning I was able to stop being quite so devastated and actually have been looking at what I currently feel. Empty. Numb. It's like the vessel that is me has been punctured and all the joy that was carried within has gushed out. The holes have not healed and this has affected all my work... and my life. I have not had joy for anything since and when I do go out, I feel I am wearing a mask and putting on an act.

The recovery is slow. Yet, this morning I did stand in front of the easels. (I have three with unfinished drawings and two with paintings.) I picked up a piece of charcoal and worked on each of the drawings until the charcoal was just a tiny spec. I've made a tiny step back.

Has the joy returned? No. I still feel full of holes. I still feel empty. Numb is good sometimes. But I can feel a little bit satisfied that I've accomplished something today. I know I have not given up. I can't. I'm an artist!