Eyes without a face

It's been a hard week -- and sometimes, when it rains, it pours, as the old cliche goes.  I had a tough time with my eyes, with this depression I can't seem to shake,  and when you are down, the Universe certainly likes to give you a few kicks just for good measure.

I was called to enter a local art show with a group I hadn't been active with in at least five years.  We drifted apart over political differences -- they had been spying my Facebook pages, and when they saw I was, what they termed, "A radical Christian Conservative" -- they decided I was no longer fit company, and basically stonewalled me.  I got the hint, and never one to linger where I'm not wanted, moved on. I also made it a point to not do local shows.

So, when I got an invitation to exhibit with them a few weeks back, I was puzzled, but didn't think much of it.  As the deadline approached, I came down with winter "ick" and then my furnace went down for the count during some of the coldest days on record. I was in a full on damage control mode, and by the time we got the furnace sorted, I was just so happy to be warm again, I got sloppy.  I accepted their invite as I was playing "catch up" with my correspondence.

Normally, I would have been much more thorough, such as delving in to who was now managing the group, and what inspired the invite, etc. but I just went along at the spur of the moment and decided to give them the benefit of the doubt.  

Needless to say, it ended badly.  When I had trucked myself and artwork down to the venue, the whispers started immediately.  My "spider senses" told me to leave right then and there, but I brushed off the impulse.  Saccharin smiles and overly kind platitudes confirmed that this was a mistake.  I left that night with a bad feeling.  The next day, I received a call from the head of the Committee -- they decided they didn't have enough room for all the invitees -- so they decided my work, since I wasn't "active" in their group, would not allowed to be exhibited.  I would need to drive back immediately and get it, or they could not guarantee it would be "safe".  

I was floored at the pettiness and mean-spirited tone of the exchange.  I got there, and the women were all sitting around smirking, and whispering.  They had used this occasion as an excuse, once again, to be exclusionary and to attempt to bully.  One woman came up to me and said, "I do hope you will consider showing with us again, and becoming active."  I looked at her dead in the face and smiled and said, "Not a chance in hell of that!"  She looked like she short-circuited for a minute, with the smile still stupidly glued to her face.  It was pretty satisfying.

When I got home, my son, who is 24, and assists me with all things art related when he can, came by and was both sympathetic, but hard nosed.  "Forget them. They are just local wanna be elitists -- you don't want any part of that."  And, I agree, but it just goes to show that the face of "tolerance" is quite an ugly one.  If you don't conform, you are voted off the island.

Later that night, I was laying on the couch with my dog, watching some old movies, and I checked my email.  I got a letter from an Editor I very highly respect.  She had nominated me for a prestigious writing award, back in December.  I had sent her over a story I wrote, for her opinion, and had not heard back from her in that time.  I assumed she absolutely hated it -- as it was very controversial, and just let it go.  She wrote to tell me how incredibly moved she was by it, and how much she loved the story, etc.  and we should proceed.

So, on the heels of the bad, came the good.  After the disconnect of persecution, comes the embrace of friendship.  What did it tell me?  Never give up, and never give in on what you know is true.  Always stay true to yourself, and everything else will sort itself out.