It's Not Safe

Last week I sat in on a couple of rehearsals over at The Irish Repertory Theater for their production of The Hairy Ape which opens tonight.

Whenever I'm sitting there in a rehearsal, with my sketch-pad out, someone always comes up to me and asks, "what is this for?" I usually shrug and say, "art," but this time I sort of felt like it was an audition for a job--not for the Irish Rep, which is as talented, nice and welcoming a group of people as I've ever worked with, but for a publication.

Now, the thing about rejection is that it doesn't always look like rejection. Sometimes it comes to you like neglect. Sometimes it's just a phone that isn't ringing or a blackberry that's only receiving e-mails from Eli Pariser and Travelocity. Sometimes it's just the dimming of the everyday wonders of life as they fall into the bleak relief thrown by what you don't have. And sometimes it just looks like rejection because acceptance can travel really slowly. I mean, how do you know?

That's the compromise that comes along with spending the days doodling and writing; like Aimee Mann says, it's not safe.