Who am I to judge?

I was recently received a rather unexpected invitation from my old Art Club.  I was asked if I'd like to come along and be judge for their Annual Art Exhibition.  Oh, and by the way, if I could see my way to providing a short workshop on pastel work at a later date, then that would be lovely, too.  I agreed straight away; flattered and surprised, as I always am when someone unexpectedly acknowledges my existence in a positive way...   Of course, once I had sufficient time to really process the request to  judge the artworks, I began to panic:  Questions like "I'm not a professional artist... how am I qualified to judge?"  I was a member here just a year or two back... how am I any better now?" and "I don't know anything about art" all clamoured for the top reason why I should renege on my agreement.

I have a long and illustrious history of agreeing first, considering the repercussions after, and then panicking at an exponential rate at the event draws closer.  It is, I have learnt, an excellent way to experience new, sometimes challenging situations that I would not otherwise attempt.  Sometimes I agree to things that don't benefit me in any way, and have, in the past, agreed to things that have been damaging to me.  It's a bit high-stress, I'll grant you, but if I start thinking about something, then you can forget it.  I should pause, about now, to apologise to my long-suffering husband who has borne the brunt of many such situations and who has always stalwartly seen me through the frantic run-up to such events.

(I should also let you in on the chuckle I'm currently having at my own expense - I just spent 20 minutes looking for a suitable alternative to 'run-up' in several online and hard copy thesauruses, and am now late leaving work.  See what I mean about the thinking?)

I knew I couldn't back out, and I really did want to visit my old club...  I had first joined at the suggestion of psychologists running the post-diagnosis group I attended, with a view to engaging in 'structured socialising', which is much easier than the usual method (which I usually refer to as 'cold calling').  Everyone at the club was pleasant and welcoming, and they made it much easier than I had any right to expect.  I had wanted an opportunity to thank them for this, and here it was...

I wrote a short speech explaining what the club had meant to me, and wrote suitable appropriate generic paragraphs filled with glowing praise for all the various elements of what I considered the fundamentals of quality art (thank goodness for that single year of A level History of Art I completed, and Mr Berger for 'Permanent Red'!), and left gaps for additional information I would fill in when I had seen the exhibition.  I found out the categories for which I was expected to find winners and runners-up.  My intention was to leave as little to do as possible on the night. (Spontaneity is a minefield for me with my slow processing for social interaction... You will not get an honest impression, as you might expect from an NT being spontaneous... you'll just get a carefully rehearsed show - I need notice to be spontaneous!)

On the night, I found the decision-making easy, as expected:  I am nothing if not practical, and my objectivity, and lack of bias goes without question.  I asked my husband to review my choices, simply to make sure I had not inadvertently chosen pictures too similar in style or by the same artist.  I gave my speech, adding comments relevant to the individual works, gave out the prizes, shook hands, finished my wine, and that was it. Done.  And everyone got out alive.

I am patently aware that many of these situations actually pass without incident, and I am equally aware that most of the people around me can see the potential for this clearly.  It pains me to confess that I simply cannot see things from this perspective until after the event.  Then, everyone's' confidence becomes perfectly clear, and I feel terribly foolish.  You'd think I'd learn, wouldn't you? The problem is: I don't.  Because I'm not NT.  No matter how many positive outcomes I have, this never gets any easier. I never become more assured of success, but I do notice one change:  I allow myself to be talked into things that might be good for me that little bit more often.  A small, incremental step, but nevertheless, in the right direction...

Interestingly, the thought of carrying out an hour's workshop in front of 20 people watching my every move and interrogating me on my technique doesn't bother me at all...