Funding Rejections!

Hey!

How you do? I hope you’re happy and well.

I woke up today and felt like writing a blog. So, as always, let’s see where it takes me.

First off, let me give thanks for being alive. I have supportive friends and family who love me. And I have so much gratitude. The ancestors and the Orisha are looking after me, too. 

Shout out to all of them.

Saying that, I haven’t been doing okay. I recently got my first ever rejection from Arts Council England. I know what you’re thinking. Only the first? Only the first from the Arts Council, yes. I will say, I have received many rejections over the years. But the Arts Council always came through for some reason. I’ve applied for other opportunities for this project, and all have been rejected.

The ACE rejection is the fifth rejection for this project alone. Yikes! Ah-you-oh!

Somebody put Obeah pon me! Eh eh! Watcha! Kidding, haha.

Or maybe they gave me an evil eye? That shit is real.

My mother did ask me, “Did you tell people you were applying?”

And I responded with, “Yes.” She then asked, “Why?!”

And she’s right for questioning. I’m sure there’s much more to it, though.

The project I’m trying to make happen is called Baba Osain. It explores grief, ancestral veneration, Orisha practice and spiritual herbalism. I also want it to take place in nature. It’s in response to the research I did in Brazil on Candomblé and Umbanda, as well as all of the grief I’ve been dealing with. I think the grief part is what makes the rejections hurt that extra bit more.

A part of me feels like I’m failing because I haven’t made the work happen. And I know I shouldn’t put that on myself - but that’s just how I feel. Especially because I want to do this piece for those I’ve lost. However, it seems like a lot of artists and organisations in the UK are struggling to make things happen.

I know I can resubmit to the Arts Council, but I’m feeling quite defeated.

Rejection is redirection. Blah blah blah. Where am I being redirected? I hope I find out soon. I jump whenever I get an email notification, hoping it’s some good news. Ooh, girl! This is pathetic. What the fucked happened? I feel like I’m in the twilight zone. Or maybe my ego’s just bruised? I’ll be okay.

I was told that the success rate of one round for Arts Council in the North was 12%.

Huh? Lord have mercy pon me soul. It is such a scary time to be an artist. I was also told someone was successful on their 14th try resubmitting to ACE. I’m happy they got it - shout out to them for their resilience - but that is insane! The last time I got any funding that I applied for was in 2022. It is 2025.

And yes, I’ve done things, and I have been supported. But for me, there’s nothing like getting a good amount of money to make something happen over a period of time. That’s just me, though. Who knows? I’m complaining now, and something bigger and better may be around the corner. Is it time that I try to do something else? I mean, I am 31 now. Jesus! Where did time go?

It’s just so difficult trying to be optimistic during this time. I don’t know where I’m going, future-wise. I’ve even been looking for paypigs. If you know, you know.

And if you are a paypig, let me know and I’ll send you my details. Hahaha!

I’m being serious. I’ll take your money if that’s your kink.

I think since graduating from the Channel 4 New Writers Scheme, my mental health has been declining. I was on a high for a good nine months and now - nothing. The comedown is real. CRASHING! I’m waking up crying. Eurgh. I would happily be someone’s bitch in the TV industry. That way I wouldn’t need to deal with the responsibilities of being a lead artist.

Maybe I need a break from the arts? I don’t know how many more funding applications I have left in me. It’s too much. It’s depressing. And it’s not sustainable either.

I was speaking to a friend, and all my CV is just arts-related stuff. Even if I wanted to escape the arts, I probably couldn’t. Can someone kidnap me, please? I feel like being kidnapped would be way better than the life I’m living as an artist. Don’t kidnap me! It’s not that serious.

I feel like whenever I spiral, things work out eventually. But currently, this one is hitting that extra bit hard. Is this karma? I’m being dramatic as fuck now. Nonetheless, I am questioning what is the point?

Why did I have to be an artist? Why couldn’t I have been an engineer or an accountant? Ooh, what about a lawyer? I look good in a suit. I could rock that solicitor’s gown. Don’t know if I can rock those white wigs, though. Ha! My locs won’t allow it!

I’m not starving. I’ve been going to the gym, doing MMA, meditation, ritual work - and it’s all been helping to ground me. Even writing helps when it feels like there is no hope.

I’ve also started reading The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. It helps artists when they’re feeling stuck. I learnt about it through rapper Doechii - she said it helped her a lot.

Shout out to her! A Black queer woman killing it at the moment. Such an inspiration.

I was also inspired by a play called Tambo & Bones by Dave Harris. I saw it at Leeds Playhouse - this revival production is directed by Matthew Xia. Exceptional! Please check it out, even if it’s just reading the playtext. Seeing that play reminded me to keep on going.

So, I will. I feel like low-key I don’t really have much of a choice.

I’m sharing all of this because I share my wins - so I should also share my losses.

Being an artist is not for the weak. And I know I’m not alone in how I’m feeling.

I’m sending love and light out to those who may be struggling as much as I am - if not more.

I got this!

You got this!

We got this!

ASE!

J xxx