The post-show let-down.

Waking up the morning after an exhibition is always quite disorienting and depressing for me -  strangely regardless of how successful the show was.  I rise uncharacteristically sluggishly and inwardly bemoan The Artist's Predicament, temporarily deciding that "I just can't do this anymore!"  I am writing this post today, the day before a big show, because the post-show hangover has repeated itself enough times that I try to prepare for it in advance.

I'm sure that this experience is not exclusive to artists - that anyone who works months or years on a project that culminates in a short period of intense public exposure before being disassembled and dissolving into the ether can relate to the at-best anti-climatic, at-worst completely disheartening, day after. I think it has much to do with the act of exposing one's hard work and creative output to the public eye while under the complete exhaustion this output leaves in its wake. A few viewers will "get it," but most people's eyes will glaze over an artists' "babies" like they scan the boring parts of the newspaper. The excitement and forward momentum of the creative process can come to a devastating screeching halt the night of an exhibition - ironically even if sales are good. Plus, artists are usually introverted people, and having to talk to hundreds of people in one evening can be overwhelmingly draining. It's a feeling of vulnerability, misunderstanding, and exhaustion that creates the exhibition hangover the next morning.

I employ several strategies for dealing with the plummet. First, I  expect and give myself permission to experience the hangover by planning to do nothing productive that day - just spend some time outside and get some exercise or do something with a friend - things that make my body cared for, my spirits lifted, and my perspective regained.

Second, I have a shiny, new, unrelated project lined up to begin immediately. I order my materials ahead of time and start brainstorming some ideas so that if I start sulking around the house the day after a show, I can simply wipe the slate clean and start something new. Channel that self-destructive energy into new creative force as quickly as possible.

Thirdly, whether an exhibition is one night or 2 months long, I make it a rule not to have remaining work hanging around the studio afterwards. Using three storage racks I built for my shed, I hang those suckers up where I can't see them until a client requests to see them or they are needed for another show. I do this as soon after a show comes down as possible. This is a good way to get out to the studio the day after a body of work comes home - ceremonially stow those unsold works away - with respect, knowing that the reason they didn't sell wasn't because they aren't good but it just wasn't their time and place.

Different people will of course discover different methods for pulling themselves out of the post-show rut - I think the important thing is to just have a plan that involves being kind to yourself and creating an environment conducive to creative refueling - whatever that means for you. The roller coaster is an inevitable part of creative processes, but the time in the pits of despair can be shortened and lessened intensity with a little preemptive planning.