And what amazes me, what never changes, is that the learning curve is always ahead of me. I used to think there was a catch-up point, and I’d race for it. Took a while for me to notice that each time I got close, the curve simply… reinvented itself.

And no matter how much I learn, there are these places where I am stumbling in the dark.

1. Blog Posts – my Achilles heel. I know the rules: post at least 3 to 4 times a week. Some weeks I’m running hot and writing a post or two flows. Other weeks, I just plain put it off – nothing’s bubbling up to the surface and I hate writing boilerplate material just to cover my tail.

I’ve tried guest posts. I’ve tried creating a schedule. I’ve tried tip style posts. Personal posts…you name it. Alyson Stanfield and Joan Stewart are my blog heros and I swear there’s no way I can live up to their productivity and it makes me crazy with self criticism.

2. Data – Ouch…numbers. So Google analytics (which is great, btw) comes into my inbox every week. Do I go even look at the darn thing? (So you’re wondering how I know it’s great.)  Okay, I’ll go look – be back in a sec….

I’m back, here’s what I learned: I’m getting 1 referral from email.fatcow.com. Huh? Now I’m going to have to go check out that site. And, what do I know that is the slightest bit helpful? Thank goodness I have the world’s best marketing coach and she’s slowly getting my head around numbers and how critical they are to running this show.

3. Focus – Even as I write this I’m being exquisitely distracted by Lizz Wright’s stunning “Walk With Me” video. Which I discovered in a tweet while I was being distracted from my priority to-do list for today…and so it goes. It was suggested that I don’t actually have enough on that to-do list, that adding a really BIG project, or two, would compress the urgency to get the smaller stuff done. We’ll see. I’m ever so skeptical, but game to try.

What I have learned, thank goodness, is to be gentle with myself when things go boo in the night because I’m stumbling around. And to be grateful for what I do well, like the telesummit.

What are your stumbling blocks? What have you learned from them? I’d love to know.

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One place I know you quake just a little is finding the perfect audience for your art.

I’m hosting Molly Gordon TONIGHT (Tues, July 20) – 7pm ET – on a free 90-min, teleclass: “5 Proven Steps to Getting More Collectors and Art buyers Even if You’re Allergic to Biz.”

Register even if you can’t make it, and we’ll send you the recording.

Now, let me be clear. I don’t flaunt orange hair and nose piercings. I don’t even wear flamboyant, artsy clothes. (Pretty, yes. Sometimes beautiful, yes. Just not what I would call “artsy,” which conjures up, in my mind, gorgeous handmade yummies.) And I certainly don’t turn up in torn jeans with paint all over them.

Nevertheless, that question – Are you an artist? – seems to travel everywhere I do. And it always makes me…pause. “Not really…” I start out. Then follow-up with an awkward list of what I do – none of which falls into traditional artist categories: fine art, craft, music, dance, etc – but does included working with  you – the real artist.

A shorter, more honest answer would be: “Yes, but I’m knee deep in denial.”

Let there be light

Before I can fully step onto the path that will give me the greatest chance to unfold my true self, I have to name it. Naming has the remarkable effect of causing that which has been named to be seen. One of the most famous naming phrases of all time is: Let there be light. (And artists have been turned toward that light ever since!)

If what I’ve just written is true, then what keeps us, keeps me, from owning the name that most accurately describes my calling? For as long as I hold back from what is pretty obvious to everyone else, I have no chance of being the artist that I am.

Am I afraid, once I own it, that now I have to live up to it? And what would the “it” be that I’m imagining I have to live up to? The torn jeans and orange hair? The collective mandate to starve, go mad, and join a cult?

Or am I hiding my light so I’m less visible, because visibility is dangerous? (This is especially true in our culture for women, where we are an ongoing target for all levels of violence in our daily lives.)

Maybe I’m treading on the posted territory of my parents (painter/writer), where the fine print at the bottom of their love contract with me stated that I would be loved as long as I didn’t go after their creative power.

Or perhaps I have a limited identity of what it means to be an artist. I’m looking at product (paintings, sculpture, compositions…) instead of process (creating, inventing, designing…).

Could be I’m just chicken, as claiming my artistic mantle carries a responsibility I’m afraid I can’t live up to.

The first step is owning your calling

Before you, the artist, can move forward into the world with your art, some part of you must be willing to stand tall and hold out your “artist” name for the rest of us to clearly see.

It’s not enough to produce your art, because at some point you are going to want that art to live in the world with the rest of us. And we are going to see you at an opening, meet you at a New Year’s Eve party, double on a date with you, and we are going to ask, “Are you an artist?”

And it will be the clarity of your voice, the sparkle in your eye, and the confident delight of your response that will cause us to turn and view your work with a renewed interest, ask you for more information (like your website!), and count our blessings that we discovered you.

Hear, I’ll go first

So in the spirit of my new personal business persona, I stand before all of you – my merry band of artists – and say to you: Yes, I am an artist.

(And the next time you see me, my nose will be pierced,  I’ll have flame orange hair, and a prescription for lithium!)

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P.S. Because it seems I’ve caused a bit of confusion, let me restate what I put in a comment reply: I am not a visual artist, as in sculptor, potter, or painter. I am an artist as in passionate creator of what will help you, the visual artist I serve, put your art in the world and sell it. The Interweb is my canvass, words are my medium, info-products & events are the creative result, i.e., the smARTist Telesummit, Sell Your Art Bundle, Writing The Artist Statement, and one-on-one art career coaching (to request a free consultation, email: ariane (at) smartist.com).

Your Turn: If you had to take a stab at it, tell me why you do or do not call yourself an artist. What does it mean when you answer to the name of artist?

It also took a rather lengthy session with my coach (yup, I have a coach!) for me to walk around the rational, smart victim story I so cleverly painted in that last post, to the other side where I could see, with blinding clarity, a deeper truth patiently waiting for me. And, in the spirit of integral theory, this more recent truth does not cancel out my earlier truth; it enfolds it, and I get to move on.

I offer this next layer of truth to you, my merry band of artists, because I know that rejection is a key dynamic in many of your lives. And that some of you even bend your lives out of shape to avoid what seems, at first glance, to be a low blow, a terrible thing, a strike to your vulnerable artist heart.

But what if filling up your tank of rejection was the best thing that could happen to you?

A quick recap: my authentic movement group of 18 months, lovingly & kindly, told me to take a hike. My initial response – hurt, sadness, that kick-in-the-stomach of rejection ouch. As my coach pointed out, I moved through that stage a bit fast and into stage 2: rational analysis. Stage 2 quickly took over and I crafted a sensible, even truthful, story of how I didn’t fit into their stage of development, since I’d been doing this work so much longer.

Time, now, for Stage 3: reflecting on reflections – and what the heck this has to do with you.

No one enjoys feeling hurt, and our auto response is to make the hurt go away fast. That’s what I did, and because I had a credible rationale, it was easy to get away with it. (Except I have this coach, you see,  who makes it her business to catch my bs.)

Rejection Rule #1: Feel it First. Hold yourself tenderly and accept the feelings – for they hold your vulnerable heart, without which, any artist would be truly lost.

My “credible” rationale was to paint a victim story: “they kicked me out”–because it’s always easier (and buries the hurt fastest) to focus on”them” instead of me. They bad. Me good. Which is a very young response trying to wear the long pants of a rational, if slightly blind, adult.

Rejection Rule #2: Go for it, then turn it around. Yes, “they did x to me!” Then, as unreasonable as it might feel (and believe me, the hurt part of ourselves, i.e., the victim, will turn this next question into treason!) ask yourself: Specifically, how was I giving them permission to do X?

Which brings us to my untold truth in the last blog post: I had already left the group.

Oh, I was still there in body, mind, and spirit, but another part of me was working out if and how I should leave. Not because the group wasn’t working for me, but because my life has recently taken a few dramatic turns and prioritizing time was high on the agenda. At one level, all the group did was beat me to the punch. At another, they cut the cord and saved me from an agonizing decision.

Rejection Rule #3: There is always a silver lining, even if you steadfastly refuse to turn around and see it. Maybe that rejected-by-the-jury piece needs something you aren’t acknowledging. Maybe another, or better, opportunity is around the corner, and without this rejection, that better opp will never show up on your radar, much less be noticed by you.

I admit Rule #3 is a stretch. It is never easy to believe in what we can’t see. And an unrevealed opportunity – that might take weeks or months (years?) to show up – is no exception.

Which is why we need…

Rejection Rule #4: Trust the process. Funny how easy this is when you are in your studio. But outside the studio, where your artwork is visible and vulnerable, trust is tricker to come by. I’m not suggesting that anyone cultivate naïveté; I am suggesting you transfer that trust in your art process to your art life outside the studio, especially when something as challenging as rejection shows up.

Maybe it’s time to reframe rejection as the high octane fuel that cleans out the sludge our daily routine leaves behind. You don’t need it all the time, but once it a while it’s not a bad idea to burn a little hotter, so we can burn a little brighter.

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P.S. I’d love to hear about a time when rejection was the best thing that happened to you.

Here are 5 simple characteristics:

1. The Sticky Factor: An effective statement creates a personal connection to the artwork and stimulates our human thirst for “story.” This, in turn, triggers… longer memory storage, and increases the sticky factor about your art, by immersing the viewer in two languages: visual and linguistic.

2. Not Just For Your Audience: Another secret is that the artist statement is not just for art patrons and gallery owners. It is also for you, the artist. The very effort of searching for words, which reflects your relationship to your art, increases your creative flow. This is true whenever we engage in a form of self-expression that pushes us out of our comfort zone. Like sweat from physical exertion, the struggle gets your juices flowing.

3. Defining An Artist Statement: Definition tells you if you’re headed in the right direction. It also saves a lot of angst and prevents you from unsightly fingernails. Here’s my definition: an artist statement is a personal reflection on what, how, and why you do what you do, from your perspective.

4. It’s About You: An artist statement is personal, as personal as your art. Your audience thinks you are magic and if they stand close enough, some of it will rub off. Let them stand close enough.

5. Details Matter: This is a writing exercise, so here’s a writer’s tip: always use specific detail in place of generalities.  “A tree” becomes “A gnarled oak with one branch blackened from lightening.”

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Have you written your artist statement? Or polished up an old one? Tell me, what was the hardest part?

Is Exhibiting “Labyrinths” at Art Prag 2010
The Prague International Contemporary Art Fair
May 10 – 16, 2010

Labyrinth II

Detail: Gold leaf, aluminum leaf, on metallic and silk organza, mounted on canvas.

Congratulations Christina!