What would the Dalai Lama do?

A couple of months ago my gallery invited me to be part of an exhibit called "The Unexpected Dog." I'm not quite sure why they invited me -- though I suppose it could be because my dog is really very cute; maybe they had even seen the youtube video I made of him drinking coffee.

At any rate, I said yes, because I'm always up for a challenge, and so for the last few months it's been lurking in the back of my mind (the exhibit will be held in June, so they've given me plenty of notice). But I'm running into all kinds of roadblocks, and I realized last week in talking with a friend that I really can't seem to get psyched for this one, and, in fact, that when I talked about it I was starting to sound a little snippy about the gallery.

My personal rule about such things is that if I have a beef it's always better to talk to the person I have the beef with than to run around sniping behind their backs. So I've made an appointment to talk with David, the gallery's curator (whom I adore).

My initial intent was just to back out of the exhibit, but my husband is encouraging me to stick with it and push my limits, play with it a bit. Two friends have said the only image they can imagine working with that title is a shoe, slightly tilted, with dog poop on it. And my friend Mary, the art teacher, said I sounded just like all her students who whine about their assignments, and I should just do what I'm passionate about and somehow include a dog in it.

What is particularly LENTEN about this challenge is that it bumps right up against my "stuff." So here's the deal: I have all these conflicting voices clamoring in me, and I can't figure out what path would be the most respectful to take. Here's all the thoughts that are bumping around in my head.

1. The truth is, I am NOT a student; I am a grownup, a professional, and for several years now I have been shooting in response to what feels like a call. And, quite frankly, the unexpected dog just doesn't call to me. So there's a part of me that thinks this is a waste of time and I would rather spend my time working on what calls to me.

2. But another part of me says that God is in everything, even dogs (sometimes especially dogs) and I should honor that by following this path wherever it leads me.

3. Another part of me says I am behaving like a spoiled brat: "what are you, too good, too important, for this simple task? Put your big girl pants on and deal with it."

4. Another part of me resents -- and feels a little hurt by -- the fact that the gallery doesn't "get" me, doesn't offer me a chance to be in shows that are more in keeping with my body of work.

5. Another related part of me wants to speak for all the artists who feel this way about their system; to use this as a teaching moment and ask if they might give us a list of upcoming shows and either allow us to choose between 3 topics or let us pick 3 possible topics and they could choose which of the three to put us in.

6. As a photographer I know the likelihood of anyone buying a photograph of someone else's dog is fairly slim.

7. I suspect that no matter what I do it's unlikely to sell, and even if it did I would make no profit from it, so I'm not sure it's worth the time it will take to figure out something worthy of hanging on the gallery walls, or the money it costs to print and frame it.

8. I have a sense of failure around the fact that I can't seem to come up with anything reasonable. I mean, yes, I can do dog shots. But are they unexpected? And if they are unexpected, are they art? And what is the point?

I can't seem to decide between door number 1 (am I taking myself too seriously?) and door number 3 (just do it). And I can't figure out what is self-respect and what is just my ego whining - because I do have issues around people (my husband in particular) taking my work seriously. And yes, I get that this is all pretty small potatoes in the general scheme of things. But it does make me want to ask: what would the Dalai Lama do?