Front and Center, Part 1, The Stage
Critiques are crazy. You can come out feeling on top of the world, indifferent, or you can sit down feeling like a chump who doesn't know how to do anything right. Everyone still claps for you.
The format for class critiques goes like this: Come up to the front, present your painting, make any informative comments on content/technique/etc., the floor is then open (gasp), our instructor asks "are there any other comments?", and then she puts in her two cents. The time is prefaced with a short reminder to be positive and to make constructive criticism, don't just say that someone's work is horrible.
It's really interesting how people approach critiques. Some folks come to the front and totally appologize about their work: I didn't finish it, I don't really like it, I don't think it's very good, I don't like it so I'm thinking of changing this and this..." Head down, usually no eye contact and sometimes an indifferent posture. I think this technique works really well. The moment the presenting artist says they don't like it, the mob (class) comes back with soothing affirmations of artistic genius. Stuff like: No, I think it's great! You really captured a sense of this or that! (what you don't like) may be true, but I really think this and that works. The artist can't lose in this situation.
The complex genius approach is where one's painting is an epic introspective look at an issue up close and from afar. Usually the artist comes up to the front, explains too much about the piece (diving into politics, personal fears, techniques, and references to other artists) and then ends with: but i guess it's all up to interpretation. The mob doesn't really like this artist. The mob is quietly intimidated by this artist's expressed intelligence and it wants to humble the artist. In this case, there's a short conversation which usually spins around politics or the technique of the painting, but it is usually a very short conversation. The artist usually wins in this situation and the mob is at its edge.
There is generally only one other approach: the average Picasso. The artist comes up to front, presents a couple short ideas and techniques (or challenges) and then allows for the critique to run its course. This artist stands in between the postures of the apologizer and the genius: not too tall, but definitely not ashamed. The mob loves this artist. This is because the mob can do what it likes at this moment. Average Picasso jams the hands deep into the pockets and waits for whatever cometh. The mob may choose to rip into something that they can't seem to shake off. Often, the critique shifts from the work presented (and what it represents) to some aspect of art or politics that the mob detests. The shift away from the task at hand leaves the artist empty and unappreciated. The mob can go the other way. It can create a Monet in a millisecond. I love this aspect of this or that they crow, and the artist beams inside. The mob can't lose in this situation.
Only the instructor keeps the same role throughout the critique. She never presents her work, being immune to any praise or criticism. The artists change roles throughout the process. They are mostly with the mob, yet time calls when they must (as they say) face the music. Thus, artists experience the highs and the lows of criticism. Some catch a massive wave of success, riding all the way into the sea of clapping hands. Others are smacked over by the wave from the get go and wind up tumbling back to the shore of the mob, hearing the same sea of claps. It is important for artists to remember that there are always new waves and each new wave has no memory of past attempts to ride.
The format for class critiques goes like this: Come up to the front, present your painting, make any informative comments on content/technique/etc., the floor is then open (gasp), our instructor asks "are there any other comments?", and then she puts in her two cents. The time is prefaced with a short reminder to be positive and to make constructive criticism, don't just say that someone's work is horrible.
It's really interesting how people approach critiques. Some folks come to the front and totally appologize about their work: I didn't finish it, I don't really like it, I don't think it's very good, I don't like it so I'm thinking of changing this and this..." Head down, usually no eye contact and sometimes an indifferent posture. I think this technique works really well. The moment the presenting artist says they don't like it, the mob (class) comes back with soothing affirmations of artistic genius. Stuff like: No, I think it's great! You really captured a sense of this or that! (what you don't like) may be true, but I really think this and that works. The artist can't lose in this situation.
The complex genius approach is where one's painting is an epic introspective look at an issue up close and from afar. Usually the artist comes up to the front, explains too much about the piece (diving into politics, personal fears, techniques, and references to other artists) and then ends with: but i guess it's all up to interpretation. The mob doesn't really like this artist. The mob is quietly intimidated by this artist's expressed intelligence and it wants to humble the artist. In this case, there's a short conversation which usually spins around politics or the technique of the painting, but it is usually a very short conversation. The artist usually wins in this situation and the mob is at its edge.
There is generally only one other approach: the average Picasso. The artist comes up to front, presents a couple short ideas and techniques (or challenges) and then allows for the critique to run its course. This artist stands in between the postures of the apologizer and the genius: not too tall, but definitely not ashamed. The mob loves this artist. This is because the mob can do what it likes at this moment. Average Picasso jams the hands deep into the pockets and waits for whatever cometh. The mob may choose to rip into something that they can't seem to shake off. Often, the critique shifts from the work presented (and what it represents) to some aspect of art or politics that the mob detests. The shift away from the task at hand leaves the artist empty and unappreciated. The mob can go the other way. It can create a Monet in a millisecond. I love this aspect of this or that they crow, and the artist beams inside. The mob can't lose in this situation.
Only the instructor keeps the same role throughout the critique. She never presents her work, being immune to any praise or criticism. The artists change roles throughout the process. They are mostly with the mob, yet time calls when they must (as they say) face the music. Thus, artists experience the highs and the lows of criticism. Some catch a massive wave of success, riding all the way into the sea of clapping hands. Others are smacked over by the wave from the get go and wind up tumbling back to the shore of the mob, hearing the same sea of claps. It is important for artists to remember that there are always new waves and each new wave has no memory of past attempts to ride.
posted by chia at 8:10 PM
2 Comments:
Hey Ben,
Good to see you're writing again. :-)
Keep doing what you do....who cares about the mob...haha
-the Lo
hey mike thanks for the comments. i often wonder if anybody reads this thing anymore. wheew. i hoep you're well man, miss ya.
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