Are You "In" or are You "Out"?

Today hundreds of artists are turning on their computers and checking email with a mix of anticipation and dread. The jury results for the Leigh Yawkey Museum's "Birds in Art" are in and the email notifications have been sent out.

Rejection is one of the most difficult things artists face. 

What we create is deeply personal...it comes from our hearts, our minds and our souls…the true artist creates work as unique as they are.

Beyond the ability to draw/paint/sculpt...artists
must have the willingness to expose themselves to criticism, mockery, judgement, rejection and a public that sometimes simply might not "get" what it is we do.

Being an artist is not so simple as having "talent".  It means having fortitude, grace, determination, compassion, an open mind and a very thick skin.

The rest of the world views our work from their own perspective.  They look at it through eyes that see things differently than we do…maybe a little differently, maybe a lot.

Still, we strive to create something that describes what we want to say about our world...because that is who we ARE.

It is important for artists to remember that art is subjective...
everyone sees something different in a piece based on their own set of life experiences.

Try not to let a jury decision (bad OR good) carry too much weight...

Though it is tempting to try to fit into the niche you want to be a part of….being an artist means being true to that uniqueness within your own soul.

Sometimes it is brutally difficult to "own" your individuality…ask any high school kid!

Regardless of the endless work, the pain, the hard knocks, the string of rejections…nothing matters more than pouring your heart completely into what you do and being true to your own perfectly unique vision.

It is worth it...and soulful intent will shine through in the work you do.

The technical end is relatively easy…most anyone can learn the craftsmanship of making art.  Most anyone can copy a style or a photo and create something that someone somewhere would be happy to have in their home.

The hard part, what separates the wheat from the chaff, is being willing to step outside the box, out of your safety zone…and choosing to leap boldly off the edge without looking for a net.

As Agnes DeMille said:
"The artist never entirely knows.  We guess.  We may be wrong, but we take leap after leap in the dark."

THAT is what makes the truest of artists:  no matter what style they embrace, from abstract to impressionist to representational...
they honor their unique way of expressing themselves through their art.

And no matter how many times they fall...they keep leaping!

Living your creativity in such a way means finding a delicate balance between being true to your vision and learning to find the positive in criticism and rejection.  This is how we become better artists.

One of the things I love most about art is that you never get "there"...
there is always something new to try and there is always room for improvement.

In hindsight, I wish I'd saved the plethora of rejections that have landed in my mailbox (it would be an impressive stack of "no"!)…but it would also be a reminder of the sheer determination that is a big part of my foundation as an artist.

Over the years I have won over 90 awards for my art and my work hangs in museums and collections all over the world...

Along the way, I have also been rejected from more shows than I can count.

If I miss out on an award or get a rejection...I work harder to push that envelope next time.

If I win an award or get "in"...I work harder to push the envelope next time.

Ribbons or rejections...either way, it changes nothing.  I am an artist...and no jury decision can change that.

No matter how many rejections come my way...I will continue to try to break free of my comfort zone and make art straight from the heart.

This is a journey, my friends.  The true artist's path is no yellow brick road…it is fraught with washouts, thorny patches, ruts and blind curves.

Choose your steps carefully, trust your heart, listen to your muse and find joy in the fact that there could be something wonderful to learn just around the next bend.  

"In" or "out", I am grateful for shows like Birds in Art that give us reason to raise the bar and take flight as artists.

Heartfelt thanks go out to the fabulous staff of the Leigh Yawkey Woodson Art Museum for, to paraphrase Pooh, giving us something that is so hard to not get into!

Congratulations to ALL of the artists who spread their wings to even TRY for this show...

as far as I am concerned...every one of you is "in"!

By the way...
ALL of the paintings that illustrate this post represent just SOME of my Birds in Art "rejects" over the 20 years I have applied...(and, yes, there were some others that DID get in!)  :-)

Saying Goodbye...

Antelope Valley, CA  April 2003  age 17

Today is the birthday of one of the best little souls I have ever known.   He's been gone nine years and as I wander through memories of his life, I find myself thinking about his death.  He left in a way that was, to me, as remarkable as he lived.

If you have loved a long-lived animal, you have probably faced what we all dread…the "end of life" decision.  Gig was seventeen and had followed my every footstep throughout his long life.  He seemed bullet proof, he'd survived the van wreck against all odds (as told in a previous post)… and a couple of times during his last year he seemed close to death and then he would suddenly rally.  

On a visit to my Mom's, when he was almost 17, the family vet gave him his shots then said "at his age, he probably doesn't need shots anymore".  "Why didn't you say that BEFORE you gave him the shot?", I wondered.  That evening, Gig collapsed…the shoulder where he got the shot wouldn't work.  He couldn't stand, much less walk…and it kept getting worse.  Another visit to the vet, who said:  "It's neurological, there is nothing I can do, you're gonna lose him."  He seemed to be going down so fast that my family said their goodbyes and I tried to make him as comfortable as I could for his "last" days.  Then one morning I took him outside, set him down…and watched in disbelief as he stood and took a couple of unsteady steps.  By the end of the day he was tottering around again like his old self, unphased by his "near death" experience.  For the rest of his life, though…that shoulder would "go out" now and then.

With Dad on the ranch, Del Norte, CO   May 2003

In June, during a visit to my Dad's ranch in Colorado, I looked up to see Gig (who was nearly blind and mostly deaf) following Dad up the log staircase.  I launched myself toward him while calling out to Dad, who was just getting to the top.  We were both too late…near the top of the stairs, Gig toppled over backwards and tumbled down the staircase to the floor.  It looked like something out of a movie…I remember it in slow motion.  When he hit bottom, he writhed as if his back was broken, his neck twisted around and obviously in pain.  Sure that he had broken something, I immobilized him as Dad called the vet who lived down the road.  When we arrived at the vet's house and I set him carefully on the floor, he was still not moving.  The vet asked…"what did he do when he tried to walk?"  me:  "he hasn't yet, we brought him straight here".  About that time, the vet's Corgi walked by…Gig got up and tottered after the Corgi as if nothing had happened.  

Giggy the Poodle   October 2003

Over the next months, Gig was his old self, just old…and he traveled with me back and forth across the country, as always.  In Tennessee for Halloween at Mom's, I made "poodle" costumes for Gig and I…and together we won three costume contests.  In December, Gig was in the room with all of us as Dad died.  

Two Poodles   October 2003

In January, back in Idaho, I came home after walking to the Post Office and found Gig had fallen over the rocker of my chair and had not been able to get up.  I'd only been gone for about 20 minutes…but what if I'd been gone longer?  So we visited the vet to discuss what would be in Gig's best interest.  The kind country vet said:  "He is not in any pain…he is living because he wants to be with you".  

So, over the next few months, I tried to help my old friend be "old" as I processed my recent losses and faced losing him.  As we began this last phase of our long journey together, I told him:  "When you quit trying to eat and trying to walk…we'll go to the vet…you just tell me when".

In February, he traveled with me to San Diego for the opening of my "48 x 48" show…he always loved beaches, so I made sure he got to go to some.

On the road somewhere   November 2003

One day it happened…he had been eating less and less, walking less and less…then he didn't do either.  Snuggling him to my chest as I lay on the futon, I called my Mom to tell her I was putting him down.  She shared a good cry with me…but the moment I hung up the phone Gig got up, tottered across the room to his dish and started eating.  So, I postponed the vet visit.

The circumstances of my Dad's last hours had given me reason to believe that, as much as we have a right to live as we choose, we also have a right to die the way we choose when possible and humane.  It would seem that Gig was not ready or willing to have the "dying" part of his life decided for him…and who was I to deny him that if he was not in pain?

For the next few weeks, it was back to our routine.


My step-mother, step-brother and several friends were going to the C.M. Russell show at the end of March and I was going to visit them there.  A couple of days before the show, Gig stopped eating and walking again.  I didn't want to subject him to the stress of another art show (he had been to soooo many over the years), so I called Linda to say that I was still coming to the show, but I would be putting him down before.  Another call ended with everyone in tears…and, once again, as soon as I put down the phone, Gig got up and walked straight to his food bowl.

March 2004

So…Gig went to Great Falls with me.  He stayed in the car when I was in the show and I would check on him often…so worried that I would come back to find he'd died alone.  Then, one morning as we arrived at the show, he looked at me and something solemn passed between us.  Instead of going to the show, Gig and I went back to the room…I called a vet and made an appointment for the next morning.  With Gig snuggled in my lap, I spent the day reliving countless moments of our eighteen years together.  Linda and Kevin returned in the evening…they said their goodbyes and Kevin took the last pic of me and my old friend.  

I fell asleep with Gig in my arms, snuggled on my chest and his head under my chin.  Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, he pushed me awake with a paw…then he lifted his head, looked me in the eyes…and was gone.

There were so many times over the years when I thought I had lost him, when I worried something would happen and I wouldn't be there for him.  As it was, I can not think of a better way to say goodbye to this remarkable little soul who had been such an amazing part of my life…and I know he wanted it exactly that way.

Giggy the "Litebulbhead"   April 1, 1986 - March 21, 2004

Giggy... November 11. 1999

For all the, literally, hundreds (maybe even thousands) of dog portraits I did during my dog art days...the paintings/drawings of my own dog were rare. Of the wonderfully unique "Giggster" there is only a small collection of my sketches (though I have a couple of pieces by other artists).

This is one of my favorites...a sketch I did from life as he slept on my knees, done in ball point pen on a napkin.

A Christmas Story

When I was about 11, I asked my parents for a horse. Just any old horse wouldn't do, I was specific. I wanted a dappled grey gelding, about 14 hands, 7-8 years old, who would jump and run barrels. My folks knew they'd never find THAT...but, since I'd outgrown the Shetlands and none of the horses were "mine", they began the search for a solid horse.

Two days before Christmas they found HIM. A dappled grey Connemara gelding, 14 hands, 8 years old, who'd raced gymkhana and the steeplechase pony races (often winning). They bought him on the spot for the 'outrageous' price of $250, and went home to get the trailer. When they returned, another trailer was pulling out of the dealer's place. Years later we'd find out that it was the horse's original owners. They'd had a change of heart and came back for him...but it was too late.  Fortunately for me, the dealer kept to his bargain with Mom and Dad. Serendipitously, the little horse they called "Chigger" had been at the dealer's less than a day.

I will never forget finding a carrot in my stocking and looking out the picture window to see my dream horse tied to the split rail fence. (To this day I get misty just thinking about it.) "Chigger" was changed to "Clyde" and he became one of the extraordinary animals that have shared my life.

There is a good reason that I have a soft spot for grey horses...

Happy Holidays, everyone...may all your dreams come true!

Soul Dog

After the death of the remarkable little Italian Greyhound that followed my EVERY footstep for 18 years...I was thinking I would not have another dog for a LONG time (if ever).

When I faced cancer, though...I knew I needed a dog.

Ever since seeing "Down and Out in Beverly Hills", I have wanted a mostly white border collie with black spots...and, in particular, a black patch over one eye like "Matisse".

With the wonders of modern technology at my fingertips, I dove into the internet and started searching shelters in the region. I looked at photos and profiles of every "used" dog in Montana and the surrounding states. Nowhere could I find "the" dog that matched what I wanted.

Over and again though, I kept coming back to a little nondescript black border collie cross named "Newt".

Still stubbornly looking for my "dream dog", I visited the shelter here in town, then called a breeder ad in the paper...and finally went over to Bozeman to see Newt.

I cannot say what it was about him...he didn't do anything bad...but he didn't do anything particularly good either. He did not bound up to me like a long lost friend and lick my face as fireworks went off. He came over, quietly said "hi" and then explored the room like any old dog. Somehow I knew, though.

Before taking the plunge, I wanted Ray to meet him and he would be working until Friday...so I asked the shelter if they would hold Newt until then (it was Wednesday). They agreed.

Shortly after I arrived home in Livingston, the phone rang...it was the shelter and someone wanted to adopt Newt. They told me that they were not supposed to hold Newt without a deposit. I explained that no one mentioned deposit to me and I would have happily paid one if they did.  They said "sorry".   I argued...making the point that I was trying to do the right thing and have the other household member meet him first. It took a couple of desperate phone calls and pleading with different staff members before they finally (albeit grudgingly) agreed to hold him until fifteen minutes after they opened on Friday ("NO later than that"). We showed up fifteen minutes before they opened...

Curious to see what Newt did when left on his own, I insisted we sneak in and "spy" on him. I did not want a barker...or a dog who neurotically paced nonstop when left alone. As we came around the corner, there was Newt...quietly sitting in the far end of his kennel with his back to us.

When I called him he limped over (he'd hurt his foot running outside), snuggled against the wire and started whimpering.

Ray said "NOPE, I will NOT have a whiny dog".
Ray never had a chance...he lost that battle before it even began.

A few minutes later, we were headed to Petsmart with Newt in the back seat. Little did we know that the whimpering was just a hint of the singsong vocalization that would be Newt's signature...

Many of you know Newt...so you know that there is no possible way to describe this special little soul in a reasonable number of words.

Newt makes everyone smile. He seems to worm his way into the hearts of every person, every creature, he meets.

He isn't just "my" dog.

In my opinion,
Newt belongs to the whole world.

He needs to be shared so he can touch and heal the hearts of as many people as possible.

Maybe this story about him says it best:
A couple of years ago at the Natureworks Show in Tulsa, Newt was sleeping in my booth while I sat in a director's chair on the opposite side of the aisle. Two kids, a boy about six and a slightly older girl, came into the booth.  The girl instantly flopped down by Newt and, to his delight, started cooing over him. The boy carefully petted him then came over to lean on the arm of my chair...he looked very serious. So I asked: "Do you have something to say to me?"
The boy replied "Yes. I do."

He gestured toward Newt and continued: "THAT dog is not a REAL dog...that dog is a SOUL dog". His Mother and I asked simultaneously "What do you mean by that?" He rolled his eyes at our apparent lack of common sense and said "WELL...a real dog is JUST a dog on the outside...but a soul dog is special on the INSIDE". That about sums up Newt:  Soul Dog.

Finding Newt was another lesson in listening to my heart and looking beyond the surface. Newt was nothing like the "dream dog" I was determinedly looking for. There was no spark of recognition (on either part) when we met, no "Oh my God, he's perfect", nothing notable at all about our first meeting...there was just a quiet voice that whispered "this is the one". Thank goodness I listened...

Newt might not have been the dog I thought I wanted on the outside...but he was the soul dog I needed on the inside.