I’ve been thinking about “obtainable goals.” In art, it’s natural to want goals like “a solo exhibition,” or “100 paintings sold.”
But, those goals aren’t obtainable. Or, rather, you have very indirect control over those outcomes. While you can do things to make those goals more likely to succeed (i.e. networking, art fairs, etc.), it doesn’t guarantee success.
And, then, your brain thinks you’ve failed.
… I started making different goals. “Submitting for rejection.” Now, this isn’t submitting work that I view as subpar. But, rather than hang my hopes on getting accepted, I shift my perspective to view my success on whether I submitted at all.
Submitting is hard. Social anxiety makes sharing my work, in general, as difficult. And, if that’s the hard part, shouldn’t that be seen as a success? I overcame the thoughts in my head telling me to give up.
I’ve been submitting more since reframing my goals this way. Submitting to exhibitions and publications, I’d previously talk myself out of. For example, a local photo book, Hand. Hands. No Hands. curated by Andie Lucia Bustillos for Golden Gate Co-Op.
And, I’ll admit, part of me was trying very hard to talk myself out of submitting.
Starting with, I didn’t have existing photos that would work, so I’d need to create new ones. So I started with that. I’ve been using a lot of prisms lately; using them to shoot my hands seemed like a good way to make sure the photos I submitted remained æsthetically mine.
The second hurdle was I have a habit of looking up the jurors for shows. This is more important for things that have a submission fee, just simply because of finite money.
From Hand. Hands. No Hands. Shoot
And Bustillos’s work is in a more street and documentary style. Wouldn’t these strange images clash with her own visual direction?
Which brings me back to obtainable goals. I can’t control what Bustillos likes. I can’t control what other images were submitted.
But I could control my own submission. I ended up sending my three favorites.
… I was accepted. Which I’m still surprised about.
And, I think, this might morph into a new body of work. Body parts distorted and overwhelming and dominating the view… It makes for an intriguing metaphor for body dysmorphia and gender dysphoria.