Renaissance Molly

When I was in High School I was blessed with the opportunity to take advantage of a detailed, in depth, and expansive art program. My high school had anything from 2D drawing to welding life sized sculptures to any type of media in between. There was a great collection of wonderful teachers who worked in the art department of The John Cooper School. Mrs. Davis taught me the basics of color theory, color pencil drawing and shading, as well as charcoals. Miss Bowie was my fun loving and excited traditional photography and art history teacher who taught me the value of emulating and studying artists who came before us to gain a better appreciation and knowledge of art that we do ourselves. And Mr. Mosier was my big picture, big idea-thinking digital and mixed media teacher with the quick and lasting quotes.

Don't Marry Your Art

It was Mosier who gave me the title of this blog "don't get married to your work." Alright so that may be paraphrased, I can't remember his EXACT words, give me a break it's been 10 years. But the main idea stuck. Let me elaborate:

Mosier was the kind of teacher who gave you the tools, the assignment, and the basic skills, then let you go. Sure he'd be around for help, but he'd sorta sit back and watch, let you make your own mistakes, struggle over something because it was a valuable learning experience. There were times you'd struggle and work hard on a portion of the piece and then he'd come up to you and tell you to redo that portion. "But it's perfect the way it is! It's the best part of the piece!! You want me to paint over it?!"

"Yes. You need to do xyz."

"But-" the upset, confused teenager would protest. But Mosier would give you that look and you'd begrudgingly do as he said.

The hard part, in the end, was not painting over the part that you worked so hard on, nor was it the part where you had to start all over again. The hardest part was stepping back from your piece, all the Mosier advice you had in your head still ringing loud as a bell, and realizing that redoing it was the best decision for the piece as a whole.

"Don't marry your art" he'd say. He meant: don't get so dedicated to a premeditated idea of what your piece will be about that you stunt the work's potential; don't fall in love with a portion or even the whole of the piece when it could be better; don't get so stuck in a rut that you loose touch with the art as a whole, the meaning as a whole, or striving to work towards growth. Limiting yourself in any of these ways hurts your art, even if you think what you have is a piece to rival Michaelangelo himself.

Learning to take criticism of my art

Art classes in Highschool were the first time I really had to breech that uncertain sensation of criticism. I could deal with a math teacher telling me I didn't use a formula correctly or a physics teacher telling me my answer to a problem was wrong. I could acknowledge the importance of my english teachers correcting my grammar or suggesting clearer ways to write my essays or construct my sentences. Necesite muchas ayuda en espanol porque I was really bad at Spanish, always. But art feels different. There is seldom a "right" or "wrong" in art. There is a vulnerability of the soul which, perhaps for the first time, was displayed for all to see. Sometimes criticizing someone's art makes the artist feel that you're criticizing their spirit. That to be said, lessons of taking and giving constructive criticism learned in art are (I would propose) more important than a great deal of calculus that I learned.

Don't get me wrong, Mrs. Lawrence's math classes were always engaging and wonderful. But I seldom think "Wow! Knowing how to take the intergrel of this graph here is really helping me develop my interpersonal character." I think that's an unfair comparison to make, and ultimately what I want to state is that I found all my classes helpful in life, but today, we will concentrate on art.

However much I'd like to think otherwise, I'm not the best at taking criticism. I've learned that it may be contrary to my nature: there are those who would say that introverts are more likely to take mass reprimands personally. For instance, as a kid, when the teacher stood in front of a class and said "there are some of you who haven't been puting your names on your assignments. If you continue to do so, I will deduct 10 points automatically from your assignment." In a circumstance like this I would be convinced that the teacher was talking directly about me when I knew full well that I had always put my name on my assignments (and had the assignments in front of me as proof). I think I've outgrown that stage in my life, but there are times when I still have to correct myself and say "No Molly, that memo was not directed at you personally."

That all to be said, taking criticism - direct, obvious, blatant criticism - is still hard. I think I take it gracefully, look at growth and potential to be had in it. Sometimes I still hide behind the phrase "I understand what they're saying, but they could have stated it differently." Ultimately, what does that mean? Sometimes that's true (we all struggle not only with receiving criticism but also giving criticism). But sometimes the truth (no matter how it is delivered) is too hard to swallow and I rest on that phrase in the hopes that it will soften the blow.

Ultimately I have to come to the conclusion that I want my art or work to thrive and that the criticism is there to help me in that endeavor.

My Responses to Criticism

There are three possible responses to criticism: passive, defensive, or active. I would propose that the worst of these three is passive. If you do nothing then the criticism has not contributed to your growth at all: you neither learn to defend your point nor see another person's perspective. You simply walk around following a blank banner like those in the first ring of hell in Daunt's Inferno.

I think people are naturally inclined to get defensive when approached with criticism. If you've worked at something under the understanding that what you're doing is correct and then are told otherwise, you naturally want to defend your perspective. I think this is valuable, but to a limit. There is a line between sticking to your guns because it's the best thing to do and sticking to your guns because you are proud. This is not something that, in my lifetime as of yet, I have found a nice easy equasion for. Ultimately each time I receive criticism about something I need to step back, examine the validity of the claim, the person giving me the criticism and evidence they have. Sometimes (as with art so often) critcism is subjective and therefore the examination process is that much more difficult. But opening your mind and heart to the possible validity of the critic's claims will bring you to a point of open-eyed action.

Taking action with the criticisms received is probably the most mature thing someone can do: mostly because it can be the most difficult. But so often working with a comment, opinion, perspective, or critique from someone regarding work I've done is where I find myself growing more then ever. Left to my own devices, I think I would keep pushing out work that all looks the same.

Example time. This may be hard to explain but when I'm improvising on the piano, my left hand typically does the same thing: Find the key I'm in, and keep pounding away at an arpaggio constructed of the first, the fifth, and the octave. It's simple enough for me to do that I can concentrate on whatever my right hand is doing. But it gets boring and so I continually seek sheet music where my left hand can learn new techniques. If I were not to seek outside help, my left hand would be doomed to perpetually be going "D-A-D" in the background of my improvisations for the rest of my life.

Critics can be such a great source of inspiration, if we let them.

Action as a response to Criticism

I think at this point it must be said that there are some pieces of advice or criticism that may not be the best for your project or vision. That's fine, you need not take all pieces of advise. But there are people out there (and I'm sure you know who they are in your life) who give you advice that you may not want to take, but you know in your heart of hearts that they are right because you trust their advice, their character, their expertise, their instinct, their perspective, and/or their intent. You know they only want the best for you and therefore their advice is more valuable to you.

In this case, I think of Mr. Mosier's advice: "Don't marry your work!"

So I'll give you an example. Justin's reading through my book and editing it now. A lot of his critiques touch on things that I know in my soul are weak. Hearing it said aloud, though, is hard sometimes, but ultimately prompts me to make them better. I think there is a side of me that hopes "well maybe I can pass this scene off as acceptable because the scene after it is strong" when in reality Justin will say "yea that scene was really weak, especially before that really great scene, it seemed out of place, forced, contrived."

Well darn. He picked out the blemish in my book. Ok OK he picked out the blemishes..... Ok ok ok ok he picked out the blemishes and the boils and that very large mole shaped like Texas.

After the initial time needed to digest the criticism, I'm grateful he's picking these things out because I realize that he's not the only one in the world who would do so and if I want my work to be great, I need to work at it.

So this is about the time Justin proposes various ideas of what could be done, or thoughts of what he things he would do, if he were the character (or author) in the situation. I love this input - I find it helpful and interesting and although I don't take all his ideas, it certainly is interesting.

So the other day, we were talking about a specific character of mine, Leo. Leo has a pretty large position in the book (hierarchically) but he's not a memorable character. He needs a lot of work and development to be compelling and believable character. I think I started noticing this around chapter 10 and started giving him more dialog but ultimately, he is still flat. AND YET I decided to make him the main character of the sequel I'm conceptualizing. So Justin, having read up through chapter 12, immediately picks up on this point (that Leo is flat and uninteresting) and says "You know you should make him the bad guy."

"HUH?! BUT HE'S MY PROTAGONIST OF MY NEXT BOOK!!! Can I do that? Do I want to do that?? Well but then what happens with the next book?"

Here you may que Mr. Mosier "DON'T MARRY YOUR ART!!"

I was married to an idea: it wasn't even written yet, it was just an idea but I had married it.

I've still got a lot of work to do, and maybe the result will just the same as my initial concept, but at this point, I have to paint over the idea I was married to, and start over, for the good of the whole.