By Spike Marlowe

Today is brought to you by Bigfoot Brandywine Ale ( Bizarros can’t drink tea all the time).

As I’ve mentioned before, being an artist is hard.

It’s wonderful, too. It’s amazing — this is why we keep making it.

But it’s definitely hard.

We can spend years making art before someone who isn’t our mother or significant other or best friend acknowledges that they dug what we’ve done. It can take years to get paid anything at all for our art. Some amazing artists never make a dime.

And once we hit that publication/distribution/getting paid point, it doesn’t get easier. The next story, song or painting might be hard to create. Maybe we were published/distributed/paid for the last piece, but maybe there’s no one interested in the new work. People may criticize us, or there may be no feedback at all. Sometimes people ridicule our art, and sometimes the person doing the ridiculing isn’t just some unknown on Amazon or a street corner.

I’m going to get personal for a moment.

I’ve been writing for a while. Other than my family and friends, my art is the thing I love most in the world. It’s a huge part of my identity, and one huge reason for why I get up in the morning. I’ve made some pretty crazy sacrifices and life changes so I can be an artist. The takeaway from all this is not that I’m some amazing artistic saint or martyr or role model. The point is that I’m seriously invested in my art, in my own way. Not more or less than anyone else–just my own way.

In the past year, I’ve had some other professional artists who are much further along in their careers criticize and even ridicule my art, my professional choices and even me. This has been difficult to take because typically I respect their opinions, and because the stuff they’ve said are the same fears that creep into my own head, late at night, when the occasional artistic insecurities set in.

Though it’s hard to take, it’s been important for me to saddle up my proverbial horse, mount the art steed and ride hard, making the best art I can. Making the art I want to make. The art I believe in. Cheesy metaphor, yeah. But it’s true.

Because you know what? When people rip you apart for your art, they’re not talking about you. They’re talking about themselves. In that moment, you’re dealing with their own fears, insecurities and personality quirks.

Now, I’m not talking about constructive criticism here. A good critique or insight from a trusted source is invaluable. This is so helpful for any artist to grow, evolve and be the best artist they can be. I’m talking about destructive criticism.

I’m not promising this is going to happen to you. I hope it doesn’t. But I sure don’t know a lot of working artists who haven’t dealt with this. When you put yourself out there publicly, making your art, the chances are good it could happen to you.

And dealing with this, resolving to keep going and making your art, will make you stronger, as a person and as an artist. The criticisms may cut and leave scars, but scar tissue is one bad ass, strong tissue.

Remember back in the beginning, in the first Tea House post, when I asked you to write down why you’re making your art? When this stuff happens, it’s time to pull out that list to help you refocus and saddle up. That list you wrote for yourself when you were high on making amazing art is one of the best tools I know for keeping the artistic fires burning.

You know what else is a good tool? Your friends and family and the amazing colleagues you’ll find on your journey as an artist. There are a lot of people I personally count on who have been wonderful to me, who have believed in me, encouraged me, and helped me get my art into the world. People like my editor (for whom this Bigfoot Ale is dedicated to), my publisher and crew, my fellow 2011-2012 New Bizarro Authors, fellow workshop attendees, dear friends, and my partner, who is also an artist and also gets just how amazing making art is, and how difficult it can be.

Hold on to the people who love you and believe in you–they can tell you when you need to work harder and up your game. And they can tell you when someone is just being an asshole. Because sometimes it’s hard to see outside of ourselves, and having a clarifying, constructive external reality check can make a huge difference.

The truth is this: your art is valid. You making the art you want to make is valid. You have a right to make your art, the way you want to. You have a right to put it into the world, and now, more than ever before, we have the means to distribute our art in a way never seen before. Your art may not be for everyone. Not everyone will love it. And just like you have the right to make the art you want, people have the right not to dig it.

But you know what? There are people out there who probably will, who will totally dig the art you’ve made. And that’s an amazing relationship to have.

So, go out there and make your art. And when it gets hard, when you can make a painting work, or no one wants to buy your book or hear your song, just saddle up and keep going.

And have the audacity to rock the world with your art.
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Spike Marlowe has held a number of odd jobs, including working in a wild west show, as a detective, as a Bigfoot researcher, as a writer for an internet content farm and as a busker. Though sometimes she still busks or picks up the occasional odd job, these days she’s mostly a writer. Her first book, Placenta of Love, is now available at all the usual locations. You can stalk her online at her website, or on Twitter as @spikemarlowe.