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Several years ago, I was selected as a juror in a state circuit court proceeding.  It was my first time in an actual courtroom, with a judge and gavel, a plaintiff and defendant accompanied by teams of attorneys and several set pieces that could have come straight from Perry Mason or Matlock.  It was a minor trial which lasted two days, at which time we, the jury, were duly instructed by the judge, and solemnly dismissed to deliberate the evidence and render our verdict.

The experience of sitting in the courtroom listening to testimony, cross examinations and the occasional “I object” from one of the attorneys was interesting and at times fascinating.  The subsequent experience of deliberating what had been presented in the courtroom and coming to a joint decision with eleven other jurors was very frustrating and, at times, baffling.  I discovered that each juror had heard the sworn testimony somewhat differently and seemed to filter the facts presented through their own life experience, and even through their own opinions and prejudices.  (Of course, I was perfectly impartial and objective.  I am speaking here of all the other jurors.)

After a day and a half of discussing, debating, seeking clarification on a few points from the judge and eventually compromising more than most of us wanted, we reached a decision to which all twelve jurors agreed.  It was not a deliberation which resulted in a prison sentence; the point of the trial had been to determine a monetary award to be paid by the defendant to the plaintiff.  When I think back on this experience, I still feel we, the jury, settled on an award which was too low.  Perhaps some of my fellow jurors feel that we erred by making the amount awarded too high.  But these tradeoffs were the result of the process itself.  It was frustrating and problematic for all the jurors, not to mention for the plaintiff and the defendant.  As a friend of mine, a former judge, once told me, “The law is a blunt instrument.”

For those of us who work as artists and who might go through several jurying experiences each year, the same statement could aptly apply to the process of jurying paintings into an exhibition or being juried as signature members of art society:  the rules and process governing such outcomes can be blunt instruments, sometimes unable to make fine distinctions between work that is judged “good enough” and work that is deemed “not good enough.”

Having a piece of artwork – work that you have poured heart and soul into – exposed to a jurying process can be daunting, devastating, deflating, divine, or baffling.  Sometimes, if you are lucky, it can also be instructive.

Most of us started in art at an early age.  We probably received our first drawing and painting reviews from a proud parent who judged our efforts as wonderful.  As we grew, our artistic efforts were exposed to the critiques of friends or teachers who may not have been so encouraging or laudatory.  Sadly (and I know this from personal experience), these initial revelations that our creative work might not be hanging on museum walls any time soon can be discouraging to the point that may conclude “I don’t have talent,” “art is not my thing,” “I can’t draw,” “I could never paint like that” or arrive at other self-belief patterns that stifle further endeavors with a drawing pencil or paint brush.  This kind of negative feedback can be hard on the creative ego.  At the same time, any process, including art processes, which lack transparent feedback, constructive critique, correction, adjustment and discipline is unlikely to ever improve.

I was one of those young artists who became discouraged at an early age and gave up drawing and painting for several decades.  (Big mistake.)  After returning to the pursuit of art when I already had grandchildren and now having persisted in learning, practicing, submitting and surviving many jurying experiences myself, I offer these six suggestions to others on the same path.

1.  Persist

My biggest take away after several decades of study in the school of hard knocks, is that to succeed, you (by “you,” I mean all of “us”) have to persist.  You can not let discouragement or negative feedback derail you.  If you have passion for creating art, then this is the right path for you.  Forget about trying to figure out if you have talent.  Talent, at least in the art field, is very difficult to identify and can never be discovered without doing all the hard work first.  So, persist in the work, and your work will improve.

2. Take All Jury Results With a Big Grain of Salt

So many times, the result of being juried into an exhibition or failing to make the cut, or winning or not winning an award comes down to one person’s point of view.  Never forget that a different juror might have come to a completely different result.  I have failed to make the cut on many occasions.  Sometimes, when looking at the paintings that were accepted, I can walk away knowing exactly what I need to work on and what I need to do elevate my art game.  Other times, honestly, I shake my head and know that my work was better than some of the paintings that got in (the word “better” being derived from my own set of jurying criteria.)

3.  Find the Lesson Learned

Each negative jurying outcome provides an opportunity to learn something.  Maybe you learn something about your own art, maybe you learn something about the particular exhibition, museum, gallery or juror that rejected you.  I like to ask myself, if I could change one thing about my rejected painting now, what would it be?  Would I change my mind about painting that cow bright pink, or was that the whole point of the composition?  It can also be helpful to seek input from others. Sometimes, you can speak directly with the juror to find out what she or he saw and thought.  Often, you will need to rely on the input from other artists, teachers and mentors.  (Note: usually asking Mom, Dad or your best friend might not get you the transparent and honest feedback you need.)  Whatever your process is for uncovering what you could learn from being rejected, remember point #2: take every piece of feedback with a grain of salt and weigh it in the context of other comments and your own gut instincts.

4.  Keep Submitting

There are also lessons to be learned from the times when our art is accepted into an exhibition, and from times when others around us have paintings accepted.  A painting I did was named a “winner” from thousands of entries in an art contest sponsored by a nationally recognized magazine a few years ago.  When I completed this work, I never dreamed that it would win this particular contest, but the famous Wayne Gretzky quote, “you don’t make 100% of the shots you don’t take” applies as much to the game of submitting to art contests as it does to the game of ice hockey.  I slapped the puck as hard as I could, and even though the odds were against me, the puck found its way into the net.  I’m glad I took the shot.

5. Don’t Make It Personal

There are many reasons why any particular painting might not be accepted into an exhibition.  These reasons range from issues of artistic merit to things as arbitrary as the juror having received too many landscape compositions, or too many pink cows.  After all, the point of hanging an exhibition is to create a body of work that will draw a crowd and work collectively as a unified presentation. It isn’t personal for the juror, so try not to make it personal for you.

6.  Become Your Own Trusted Critic

With more experience comes a greater trust in your own perspective and ability to critique your work.  This ability is refined by the life-long study of art, both historic and contemporary, and dogged refinement of craft and technique.  Many artists struggle, especially early in their careers, with “finding their artistic voice and authentic style.”  The dirty little secret is that no artist ever discovers that magical place with certainty and finality; the target moves.  The best you can hope for is to get close and keeping getting close more and more often as you wear out your brushes and turn over more pages on the calendar.