We caught up with the brilliant and insightful Phoebe Rotter a few weeks ago and have shared our conversation below.

Hi Phoebe, thanks for joining us today. Can you tell us a story about a time you failed?

In 2019, I applied to 6 MFA programs. In 2020, I was rejected from all of them. I found out about the last rejection on March 12th, 2020, immediately after I’d quit my desk job to care for my grandparents, and immediately before Covid shutdowns began in the US. The world felt tiny, but also staggeringly huge; grief was everywhere and I had no time or desire to process the sadness of my rejections– they were puny in comparison to the waves of death and illness all around me. I felt completely lost. Through a stroke of pure luck, one of the programs I’d applied to placed me on the waitlist for their one-year Master’s of Arts program, and I was accepted. With very little sureness or stability in my world, I took out a loan, moved out of Vermont, and began school at SUNY Albany. I felt deeply unsure of both myself and my work– hadn’t it been rejected?– and so I began school thinking that I needed to become an oil painter. I’d been largely a self-taught artist at that point, and I’d worked for 4 years hand-painting signs for a grocery store. I was convinced that I needed to abandon all of my experience-earned skills and master a completely new (and very specific, important) technique to deserve a spot in art school. Fortunately, my mentor JoAnne Carson reminded me that I could use what I knew and make interesting work. It seems simple now, but I was so mired in my failure, so bogged down by those rejections, that I was allowing them to devour my actual artistic drive. What I know now is that rejections from big, life-changing opportunities are not allowed to dictate whether or not I keep trying. They hurt! They also don’t disqualify me from my work, from trying new things, or from continuing to create work with skills both new and old.

Phoebe, before we move on to more of these sorts of questions, can you take some time to bring our readers up to speed on you and what you do?

I am a visual and performing artist and, like many artists I know, I’ve been creating art (and distracting my classmates) since I developed fine motor skills. I was unbelievably lucky to have good grownups raising me, specifically my parents and grandparents. They really encouraged and honored my artistic inclinations. My mother is an art historian; when she’d look at my drawings, she’d ask me interesting questions about the images and I’d explain my choices. My dad loved that I did theater and dance, and when I arrived home from a show we’d sit around in the kitchen doing a “party recap” and I’d go through all of the parts of the performance that were fun or difficult for me. My parents took me seriously as an artist before I took myself as such, so I had this total conviction that art would always be a part of my life. That felt, and feels, incredibly precious. Because of my general comfort and assurance in creating, when I began to pursue an actual artistic life, I felt a little anxious. This part of me that felt as incorporated and natural as breathing also had to be open to critique, savvy to the art industry, and lucrative; I was intimidated. I still am! It’s a tricky thing to navigate; many, many artists before me have wrestled with this. Eventually, the point where I found comfort and ease as a grownup making art was at the intersection of my performance training and my drawings. Part of this realization was theoretical– here’s how I begin my process, here’s what the drawings will look like, etc.– but another part of it was practical– I love teaching, especially teaching drawing, and teaching contains a lot of performance. I also began working at the Bread & Puppet Theater in Vermont and got to explore art-making and practical performance there in a new way. Bread & Puppet attracts so many brilliant artists, and getting to collaborate and learn with the people I’ve met there has marked a major evolution in my art and my life.

Do you think there is something that non-creatives might struggle to understand about your journey as a creative? Maybe you can shed some light?

I think everyone is creative. I think everyone is artistic, and we’re missing out on so much because art is often not taken seriously as a valid career pursuit, and especially because so many people do not have a financial safety net to rely on in case they cannot quickly turn their art into a career. It feels wrong. So many artists are sticking their necks out without stability or reassurance to finance studio practices and materials. I rely on a lot of gigs. I make murals, have shows, and sell prints and drawings; I also babysit, work as a figure model, and teach. One of my favorite artists is Lynda Barry, who teaches, writes, and makes delightful comics and books. Her highly illustrated book “Syllabus” inspired me to apply to graduate school, and I recommend it enthusiastically to everyone I know. Sometimes when I tell people that I’m an artist, their response is something along the lines of “Oh, I can’t draw! I only draw stick figures,” and in those moments I wish I could just place a copy of “Syllabus” in their hands. As children, so many of us drew with ease and joy, and then so many people were told their drawings were bad, or were discouraged from art in some way. That happens frequently, and it stops so many people from pursuing art, as a career or not. Art does not need to be a career or make money for it to be a big part of someone’s life. Humans are naturally inclined to create, to sing and draw and dance. Being “good” is irrelevant. We do these things because they move us, and bring us joy. I want people to remember this, to embrace it. If it brings you joy, please try to create; you do not have to be “good” at it.

What’s a lesson you had to unlearn and what’s the backstory?

I learned that there is no moment in which I’ll feel that I’ve “made” it. Really major things can happen and go right, but prior successes don’t always mean ongoing successes. There are fallow periods– low income, low creativity, rejections for shows and residencies. Some days, I crave the stability of a more reliable career. But right now, trying to carve out my niche and my routine involves so much creativity and flexibility, so I feel kind of in my element. My art morphs a lot, so I have to morph too.

Contact Info:

• Website: phoeberotter.com
• Instagram: @phoebe_makes

Image Credits
Sean Corcoran; Jacek Zuzanski; Ellie Brown; Tony Iadicicco