Visual Artists’ News Sheet | May – June 2024
Columns
Art Work
Art Work
Artists Know Best
On Rejection
LIAN BELL REFLECTS ON THE BENEFITS OF COACHING TO COUNTERBALANCE POWERLESSNESS.
RACHEL MACMANUS CONSIDERS THE IMPACT ON ARTISTS OF REJECTED PROPOSALS.
BEFORE WE START, will we take a moment
THE FAMILIAR WORDS
to arrive? Phones off. Online notifications off. Anything that might ping and distract you. I like to turn off ‘self view’ on Zoom. Feet flat on the floor. Settle into your chair. Eyes closed. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. This is often how I begin a coaching session: A simple reminder to be present. A recognition of our bodies and how we hold ourselves. A calibration of energies, even while we’re in different spaces, experiencing different days, connected only by screens and our voices. I’m interested in the idea that coaching, and a coaching approach, might help redress an imbalance of power between artists and the structures they have to operate within. I’m also growing into understanding that being an artist who supports others can be a quiet way to influence and change the world around me for the better. My slower pace, my intentions, causing a mild friction. During lockdown, thanks to Arts Council funding, I did some coaching training with a UK company, Relational Dynamics 1st, thinking it might inform some of my work (relationaldynamics1st.co.uk). I hadn’t planned to be a coach but, by the end of the training, I had changed my mind and immediately began to offer coaching as part of the artist support programmes I was running. Coaching has recently seen a bit of a surge in Ireland, with more artists and arts workers undertaking training. We often need to clarify what coaching is – and what it’s not. Firstly, coaching is not mentoring; these two are easily confused. While mentorship can be very useful, there is within that dynamic an understanding that one person is more experienced and is there to support the less experienced person. The mentor can pass on their greater knowledge and insight, and the mentee can learn what may have otherwise taken them a long time to find out for themselves. Coaching, on the other hand, is more about me helping you to help yourself. I am there to help you tap into resources, insights, wisdom, and expertise that you have within you, and within your existing networks. I help you look towards the future, articulate what you would like, and put some steps in place to move towards that. In many ways, you do all the work. I ask questions aimed at unlocking your thinking, and I reflect back to you what you’re saying, so you can hear it afresh. I also sit in silence a lot, and listen. Having the opportunity to talk through something and feel truly listened to can be a powerful experience. And it can be especially helpful when trying to get ‘unstuck’. The main reason I think coaching benefits artists in particular, is that we start from the basic understanding that the person being coached is the expert. They know their situation best; the advice they can give themselves will be more pertinent than any-
thing I can offer from my point of view. This approach meshes with what underlies the artist supports I design: artists are not children. We are skilled and smart adults, with a vast amount of knowledge and curiosity, who have managed to keep going through uncertainty, loneliness, and competition for scarce resources. We think deeply and in profoundly interesting ways. We constantly shape and re-shape our practice, responding to our own abilities and desires, as well as to external pressures and opportunities. Artists have become habituated to measuring our worth by funding applications. This is incredibly demoralising and disenfranchising. There can be a lot of shame and silence connected with the feeling that we are ‘failing’ when we struggle to get our work made or exhibited, and a powerlessness that comes from that. In a recent round of Arts Council Theatre Project funding, 29 applications were funded out of 135. That’s not because there weren’t plenty of excellent projects in there; it was simply down to how much money was available. But as an artist receiving the ‘we regret’ email, it still hurts – a festival of rejection, as a friend calls it. I try to find ways to counter that sense of learned powerlessness, both in myself and others. Hearing so many artists talk about their practice shows me that we often struggle quietly with similar insecurities. I start to notice patterns, and can reassure people that they are not anomalies. I aspire to leave artists a bit more resilient and joyful than I found them. Outside of formal coaching, if there’s one practical thing I can offer to help strengthen your practice, it’s the value of making time for reflection. Take time to take stock. We so often move straight onto the next thing without looking back, and I’m a believer that every project needs a funeral. However a project has gone, I try to mark, celebrate, and mourn the end of it. I now always make the time to do a project review and build that into the budget if possible. Making notes on what happened, how it went, and what I would like to do differently next time, has helped me get better at what I do. For some tips on reflection, see the blog post, ‘Making Time for Reflection’ by coach, Claire Antrobus: (claireantrobus. com). Here are other (coaching-adjacent) resources I recommend: Making Your Life As An Artist by writer/choreographer Andrew Simonet (artistsu.org); Year Compass, a free whole-life reflection booklet (yearcompass.com); ‘A Guide To Saying No’ by coach Sarah Fox (sarahfox.co.uk); Liz Lerman’s ‘Critical Response Process’ (lizlerman.com). Lian Bell is an artist and arts manager based in Dublin. lianbell.com
onscreen: “We acknowledge the high quality of your submission; however, we regret that on this occasion you were not selected.” As an artist, I’ve been writing proposals for nearly ten years. I like to think I have a decent enough handle on the whole writing procedure; what to include, and what to leave out. I have attended workshops, requested feedback on unsuccessful proposals, hired others to review my efforts, and worked with other artists on draft proposals in a bid to constantly improve. Rejected proposals are a commonality that most artists share. What’s interesting to me is how open calls are actually managed and reported on. I often notice callouts for proposals, and months later, I may see reportage on the successful recipients. What I never see is reportage on the unsuccessful applicants – the many individuals whose submissions have been rejected. I’m interested in this silent, uncelebrated majority. It's important to recognise and validate the disappointment and disillusionment that artists feel when faced with rejection letters and emails. It’s entirely understandable that these rejections crush a little bit of an artist’s soul. How could they not, with so much time and effort having been invested? No matter how many extremely high-quality submissions there were, it signifies that our submission was not good enough. Not special enough. Not informative enough. Not track record-y enough. With so many people going for relatively few opportunities, the stakes are high. Therefore, investing the considerable time it takes to put together a proposal is a risk for any artist, with statistically slim chances of success. Nowadays, artists must be proficient in marketing, promotion, publicising, social media, accounting, taxation, and many other requirements that surround our chosen creative discipline. Writing proposals is a risk because it takes precious time away from our practice. However, it must be acknowledged that, regardless of outcome, there is some value to be derived from the submission process itself. Writing proposals and applications can often enhance a clarity of professional purpose – a simplifying and refining of one’s career goals. The effort of describing what drives me, why I make what I do, and what I hope to develop next, forces me to look at my work objectively, and helps to cultivate strategic vision and focus. Sharing the proposal-writing process helps significantly. I often communicate with an artist friend on proposal feedback. She sends me her drafts; I send her mine. Late at night, when you’re wrestling to fit your professional hopes and dreams into 300 words, an objective perspective from a supportive ally is invaluable. We read and reread each other’s efforts, send queries and
11
suggestions back and forth, before finally submitting. This artist friend is also the person I communicate with when the rejection comes back, because at that stage, whether they like it or not, they are invested in the outcome. My friend will commiserate and tell me not to be so hard on myself. They will remind me of other successful aspects of my work, state that the organisation in question is utterly mad not to want to work with me, and other kind utterances. My friend often has more perspective on the situation than I, the bruised and rejected applicant. Let it also be acknowledged that the task of the people at the other end – those whose job it is to sort, read, and assess these endless proposals – is not an easy one either. Nor is the job of actually deciding whose proposal is worthy of the limited funds or opportunities being offered. When faced with hundreds of applications for one opportunity, I don’t doubt that ruthless tactics must be employed, in order to reduce the numbers. Organisations offering open calls are invariably well intentioned and doing their best within often tight budgets. However, I have experienced a disconnect between the open-call process and the artist and would like to see more attention given to this. I would ask organisations to consider how they are constructing their opportunities and how they might best interact with all of the individuals who apply, as it can be very discouraging for artists trying to navigate these systems. In addition, organisations need to acknowledge that artists cannot improve their submission procedures without accessing feedback. Therefore, please don’t plan an open call without factoring in the necessary time for staff to send feedback to unsuccessful applicants who request it. Otherwise, you are sending a clear message that you do not value the artists who have applied and are not helping the majority of artists in any way. Please circulate the submission outcomes when you say you will or send communication if there will be a delay. Be clear and succinct in describing your evaluation process and what you are looking for in applications. That way, artists can make a more informed decision about whether to apply. After a rejection email, life does go on, and work must be done. A wise artist once advised me: “When you get a ‘no thank you’ response, allow yourself to be disappointed, but also make a decision that day about what your next plan is.” This is great and valuable advice. I have used it and returned to it many times. Rachel Macmanus is an artist based in County Clare. rachelmacmanus.art