The rain came down in torrential waves that morning before
sunrise. I misidentified my blue Camry as some type of water vehicle that
morning as I hydroplaned my way to the beautiful city of Atlanta. Suitcase, coffee, and my portfolio were my
passengers on that wet Friday morning.
My GPS, Lola, offered words of traffic warnings and delays. I am a
punctual person who frets at the fear of tardy arrivals. At that moment, I may have actually feared
more for my life as visibility remained obstructed by the lack of highway
streetlights and pouring rain. My morning felt more like Homer’s Odyssey. Would
I ever make it to my destination or would the seduction of the siren’s song of
Starbucks be my demise? True, her mermaid split-tail image sang a song of
warmth, comfort, and her free wifi tempted me more than once. Not even Poseidon
himself and all the rain he could muster would hinder my journey. Determination and will drove me that Friday
morning and I safely made it to the shores of my Ithika…3 hours early. Hey, look. The Marriott has a Starbucks!
With warm beverage in hand, I took a deep breath and began
the path towards registration. Sure, there were signs identifying the way to the
room I needed, but the pattering of my heart was so distracting that the
involuntary action of breathing seemed to require its own manual with step by
step instructions. My nerves began to
get the best of me. This was it. Illustrator day was here. Unlike some conferences, an illustrator does
not just show up to this event. We have
planned, we have drawn, we have painted, and we have sketched. Cards and
business cards were prepared, ordered, and a silent prayer given daily in hopes
that they would arrive before that anticipated conference day.
Kathleen’s smile greeted my nerves with warmth and
familiarity. She presented me with a nametag and my registration materials. I was
welcomed to the weekend’s event with enthusiasm and shared passion. This would
be my first “Springmingle”, and my first illustrator day. Not only would I be attending talks by those
who were decision makers in the industry, I would display my work amongst a
gallery of varying artists from all experience levels and have signed up for a
public quick fire critique from the art directors. I have bravely walked the
dark stone path into the lighted arena of the coliseum and the lions were
hungry. Was that a bit over the top? Well, yes.
Don’t judge me. I am an insecure artist who has convinced herself that a
thick skin and a deeper understanding of how the industry works is what I need
to grow as an illustrator. Unfortunately, the unexpected brought fear and anxiety
to my heart. What if they hate my artwork?
I displayed my vulnerability out on those fabric-covered
tables that weaved about the landing of the Illustrator’s room. Portfolios laid side by side with books and
credits to their careers. At the instruction of Kathleen, I looked for a nameplate
to guide me to my place for the gallery display. I opened my small, black
portfolio to my first illustration. I felt amateur as I compared myself to
others in the room. My own insecurities and over consumption of coffee fed my
anxiety and fear of the day’s anticipated unknown. There was only one way to overcome this
demise of confidence. Find a place to sit and utilize social media to provide
an appropriate distraction. After smiling over pictures of my sweet family,
facebooking a new status, and tweeting my location, I remembered why I was
here. I was here to learn and better myself as an illustrator. Let go of the ego.
Lose myself in the moment. Let the day begin.
Hours flew by and my pen wrote at a speedy pace. Information
flew left to right in scribbled words of valued information. The tools provided
where inspiring to the aspiring. They validated my path and passion in texts
and powerpoints. Inspiration flowed and empowered me…and then it happened. The quickfire
process began and my anxiety rose to new heights of stress. My cheeks flushed
and my back straightened in my chair. My jaw tensed as I listened to the names
announced as Mr. Hill brought forth each individual portfolio to the art
directors’ table. They gathered around the table, all four of them, and thumbed
through each portfolio twice. Each art director received a different colored
Post-It tab to mark the page the panel members thought was the best from those
two long minutes.
One by one, the panel of women analyzed portfolios at a
rapid pace. Then that dreaded moment came. Mr. Hill walked down the carpeted
inclined floor of the dimly lit room announcing a name; my name, “Cassaundra
Dunbridge”. Fight or flight; stay or
flea. This was it. I wanted to cry. They did not know me and I only knew them
from the podium they presented from early that day. They flipped through those
pages so quickly. The words that came alongside that page flipping chaos were not
the words I had hoped to hear. At the
end of the two minutes, I heard one sentence clearly. Someone said a flower on
my last page was interesting. That was
it. A flower on the last page of my portfolio was the only positive I could
hear at the time. I received 3 Post-its on that flower and one Post-it on
another corresponding page. I felt
confused. I didn’t understand. Did I
fail? Am I awful? Was I wrong to pursue this? Ultimately, I felt my failure
like the sting of a bee. It hurt a lot. The stinging of a bruised ego swelled
and the venom of self-doubt radiated outwards enabling me to become a weak and
fragile shell of myself. In that moment when the panel collectively closed my
portfolio, I felt as if all the answers I craved were unattainable and my dream
was a nonsensical illusion driving me to a dead end of failed sorrow.
I took a step back and changed the perspective. First, I bid
farewell to those insecure tears. What I
should understand is that the answers where there. They were right in front of
me and these women gave me a gift to ignite my passion. I was able to view a mock session with art directors. This is how the art department evaluates incoming work. I was
a part of that process. My flower stood out. Sure, it was a small part of a
large picture, but it was different. It was unusual. My flower was memorable.
I looked around and saw the same worried faces of other
illustrators. They were like me. I was like them. At that moment and at that time, all of us
were there looking for the same answers and validation. We weren’t defined by
our art education, gender, or career history. We were our work. Our voices sang
through the colors, paints, sketches, and artistic distinctions that make us who
we are now. This was not a competition. It was collaboration. Together, as an
illustrative collective, we grow from opportunities like these. What I gained from the quickfire was a
perspective. My skin is thicker, I wore my brave suit well that weekend, and I
gained a community of fellow artists and writers. What I lost was something I
was happy to lose. I put down the ego
and removed the insecure emotional ties to my art. This wasn’t a personal
judgment of character; it was an objective look into a process that is more
than just illustrating. This was the process of how to sell your artwork and
become a published illustrator. What I embraced was a tool to further my
aspirations. I used to be an aspiring children’s book illustrator who was a
little lost and alone on her journey. Today, I am a children’s book illustrator
and author for the picture book genre with a community of kindred spirits
walking a path together. There is
strength in community.
I now know what I
must do to achieve my illustrating dreams. The road is
clear. The rain has stopped. Coffee is in my hand. Thank you to everyone for a
wonderful Illustrator day and conference.
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