Rejection is part of the game. However, I don't take these kinds of things personally. I don't know the vision of the curator. I don't know what the other pieces looked like or even how many were entered or accepted. I don't know how the judge was instructed. There are so many things that I just don't know.
I do know that I don't regret making the piece. It brought back a lot of great memories.I also know that a lot of people have no idea about the game of Jacks. I do know that I'll be a little sad but not for too long. I have too many ideas rattling around my head ready to get out! As Albert Camus advised, "Live to the point of tears."
Here is my artist statement:
The goal for the summer of 1965 was to become the world
champion of Jacks. The competition
lived next door. We had decided on the games of Jacks because she was not any good at baseball and I did not want
to play with dolls. And it was not just about the game but all the adventures
to find the perfect place to play. Was the surface of the town’s gazebo better
than the library’s sidewalk? Was my driveway better than hers? Was a rainy day
in June better than the heat of an August day? I loved charting it all as the
official bookkeeper. Onesies, Twosies, Eggs in the Basket, Double Bounce, Pigs
in the Pen…when we mastered one, we moved on to the next. When I discovered that
the song “This Old Man” was inspired by an early Irish version of Jacks, we sang it as our anthem with our
right hand over our heart before every match (although not all ten verses every
time). At the end of the summer, we decided to share the title and have a
rematch the following summer. It was not to be. Diane moved and the summer of
fun in the sun with Jacks became a
bittersweet memory.
