My batting average when it comes to pots of gold.

In late 2008 I moved to Chicago. If you can remember that far back, it was when the mortgage crisis became an economic avalanche and a lot of people were caught in the fallout, including me. I was incredibly poor, working two part-time jobs and one volunteer job that I hoped would help my career, all while trying to paint and be a real artist.
 
One of my part-time jobs involved a 50-minute commute (layers on, walking, freezing, train, sweating, walking, Chicago winters, yuck) to sit for four hours and then commute back home. I filled those hours learning how to support my studio practice from a desk and computer - getting organized, making spreadsheets and calendars with all my unused admin skills.  I used the internet to trace the careers of every artist I came across through their website and CV to figure out how to mimic their trajectories.
 
One artist I had met recently made work that I didn't think was that strong; it was a bit amateur. I was perusing her website and CV and came across information smacked me across the cheek like a wet fish in a cartoon: she had received a grant.
 
All my hang-ups flashed before my eyes and I thought "No! She wasn't ready. She was too young, her work wasn't mature enough. How could she be deserving of a grant?"
 
But I wasn't the one dolling out the cash, and regardless of what I thought, she had been a chosen recipient.
 
So I decided to apply for the same grant. It was a grant from the Puffin Foundation, and while it didn't sound super prestigious, I wanted a grant if this other artist had one. I put together my first grant application and mailed it off.
 
Lo and behold, several months later I got a letter from the Puffin Foundation and a check for $600. I cannot express to you how much that first grant meant to me. Remember, this was not long after the economic meltdown and I was living on potatoes, so while $600 didn't sound like a lot of money (and in fact I was embarrassed to tell others about the amount) it did wonders for my sense of validation as an artist. Also, my superpower of extending a dollar helped me to stretch out that money. I found fresh boxes of oil paint and unused brushes on Craigslist after the holidays. I  bought huge amounts of white oil paint when Jerry's Artorama mispriced tubes for a laughable price and it lasted me almost a decade. I stretched that $600 so far even Gumby would be impressed.
 
I started to apply for more grants. I successfully received grants from the City of Chicago for the remaining two years I lived there. I learned that local city grants have small applicant pools and support a range of practices (ahem, amateurs to mature artists). 
 
I also started to get a lot of rejections. Those early successes seemed to peter out and I realized that the grant world is highly competitive, especially when you start to pursue the well-known and more competitive grants.
 
When I look back at my Puffin Foundation application (because yes, I keep everything) I see how succinct and straightforward it was. This stood out because as I wrote more grants I tried to up my game and sound sophisticated and complex and ended up spilling out wordy rubbish. I recognized this by comparing my applications and started to see how I could combine the clarity of that first application with my expanding ideas.

My lists of submissions throughout the ancient times when I still used paper. 

Recently I needed an emergency grant and applied for the Rauschenberg Medical Emergency Grant. I received a rejection letter after my first attempt so I looked at my application again and tried to see if there were any reasons they might not choose to fund me. I had asked for funding to cover medical expenses I had already paid for and for some future expenses that I was anticipating. The second time around I modified my ask and only requested funding to cover what I had already paid for. I got the grant on my second try.
 
Taking my ego out of the equation and learning how to tell grantors explicitly how I meet their criteria has been an ongoing learning process. Most things I apply for don't offer feedback so I have to guess. I've asked for feedback every time it was offered, which has been exactly twice in over a hundred applications. I learn from each application the best I can and - most importantly - I don't take it personally. 
 
Last week I got my rejection email from a grant that I really wanted. For me, it wasn't just the money but the affiliation with and support from a local organization that I greatly admire. With most applications, I know that there is an incredibly slim chance I will be selected so I expect a rejection. But this application feels a bit different; realizing the lack of interest in my project from an organization I feel an affinity for is kind of devastating. Sometimes our proposal babies are too precious to not take rejection personally.
 
In my career so far I have received eight grants. Perhaps you have not yet received a grant and eight sounds like a lot. I have applied to 111 since I began in 2009 and now that you know my batting average, the reality is a bit disheartening. It truly is like chasing the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow: always just out of reach. 
 
Grants are not a great method to fund your practice. But they can boost the work you are already doing...help you to dream bigger and then figure out how to make those big ideas come to fruition like a self-fulfilling prophecy. The practice of applying for opportunities has helped me grow a thick skin and get better at pitching my work. I have started telling everyone I meet about my future projects (with enthusiasm) and this is opening up doors I could not have predicted. 
 
Shortly after receiving that painful grant rejection email, a full double rainbow appeared outside my studio window. There was no pot of gold, but the fleeting magic of that awesome spectacle was a pretty nice consolation prize.  
 
Wishing you rainbows when you need them,
Virginia