A Woman King, Sword in Hand

Swing at some evil and bleed.

There’s been a few times in my life when I’ve felt a pretty apparent distinction between knowing something, and deep down really knowing something. Now is definitely one of those times.

In my mind I know that I cannot, that I must not search for validation and purpose in the esteem of others. In the praise of people. Where this is true in all things, it is especially true in art, where half the world might adore a certain piece of work and another half might abhor it. One image, a million opinions. I know this. I know this so well, so why do I feel the way I do?

I just try so hard. I’m not the best, but I feel like what I lack in artistic talent I make up for in a willingness to do things for people. Tirelessly, for free. This on its own should make me happy, but it’s difficult sometimes when it seems like all I’m met with is negativity.

It isn’t true of course. It isn’t all negative. When I think about it, I’m stroked and encouraged quite a bit. So why is it that some negative feedback takes all that away?

I can’t please everyone. Even though I know this, part of me thinks I can. It’s the wiser and more worldly part of me that says, “You can’t please everyone, don’t try. This isn’t meant to be cold, it’s meant to be realistic and save you a lot of pain. It’s okay to say no sometimes.” Whereas my eager and naive side refuses to accept this.

When I worked at the zoo, I had a mastered perfection in separating my job from my identity. This was easy because I didn’t view myself as tossing salads and baking pizzas for the rest of my life. I was there for the money and fairly shrugged off the abuse of the customers because their complaints were almost never a reflection of me personally. “These hot dogs are disgusting! These chicken fingers are way too expensive!” I could calmly and objectively deal with them.

Things are so different now, working in graphics. For better or worse, I see all my work as an extension of myself. When people bash the art, they bash me – even though I doubt they ever mean to. And oh, this is such an old complaint of mine. I am working on shedding this tendency, it’s just taking a long time. It’s not so much the specific criticism anymore. That I get. It’s the blunt statements, “I hate it.” “It’s garbage.”

Doing work for other people is helping slowly, even if I doubt their true gratitude at times. One of the most helpful instances lately was helping a work associate make a poster for their trade show. She had an idea in mind, though vague, and it was clear that as I made suggestions and she said yes or no, that I was a medium in realizing this project. I was the conduit between her mind and the printed page. This may sound lame, but it wasn’t. A trade show poster shouldn’t be a projection of my soul. The image we ended up with wasn’t what I would have designed on my own, it was much different. But she loved it. In the end, I loved it too, and the whole endeavour was a huge success, because I really felt that her criticisms were of the colours and design at the moment, and not of me. And I need to get used to that feeling. It creates the necessary separation between work and identity.