Salty

Well, it happened. I submitted my artwork to a gallery showing at my school and was DENIED. Just flat-out "thanks but no thanks."

I spent hours—HOURS—on this piece. It has drama, it has flair, and it has depth. I crammed this thing full of modern day metaphors and symbolism. It was basically the love child of Artemisia and the women's rights movement. I knew better than to submit concept art... I KNEW BETTER! I'm being a salty lil' bitch about it - it's apart of the artist grieving process, or that's what I'm telling myself. IM NOT CRYING - YOURE CRYING! ~ Perimenopause is not HELPING THIS SITUATION ANY!

I'm having a hard time not chucking my "polished turd of artwork" in the trash.

I know, rejection happens, and art is subjective. I have no clue why I was so confident in the fact that I would get accepted. I was being cocky.

Well, on to the next project. Drawing. Growing. Plotting my glorious comeback. And yes, still salty. The pic below is the offending turd. LOOK AT IT, IN ALL ITS TURDNESS!