Eight months. That's how long a gallery here kept telling me "we love the work, just waiting on the space to open up" before I finally stopped emailing them. Then last month I saw they'd hung three pieces by someone doing the same torn-paper thing I do, basically the versions I showed them. I know how this sounds. Bitter artist yells at cloud. But the thing that actually got me was the realization that I'd built my whole schedule around their maybe. I stopped pitching elsewhere. I put real work into preparing pieces for an opening that was never going to happen. The irony is I made the best thing I've made in a year the week I gave up on them and just started making for nobody. Should've told them to kick rocks in month two instead of eight. Learning the slow way that a maybe is not a yes.
