Posts Tagged ‘critique’

Honesty, Trust, and Art

Friday, April 23rd, 2010

There is a lot of confusion over the difference between a healthy ego and a big ego. A healthy ego is one that is sure and confident of its ability and efficacy. It knows itself and its limitations. It is based in and on reality and facts. It knows its worth implicitly. A large ego is often very boisterous. It needs to be heard and to be seen. It must prove its worth to the outside world because it does not have its own sense of worth internally and must be constantly validated by the external world either through actions or through outright demands for visible signs of validation, “love”, and support.

The arts are filled with big egos. We find countless examples of people whose self worth is based wholly on their ability to create works and receive credit for it. When praise and attention is lavished upon them they are filled with smiles, appear gracious, and look confident. When praise and adoration is not forthcoming they wilt, or lash out in anger, or throw tantrums. Sadly, we have all seen this.

While it is unfortunate, it is a regular part of the artistic landscape. There are large egos that are merely big inflated things and there are large egos that are robust and healthy. Too often, because of the former, it can be quite difficult to get honest feedback from friends and collaborators. Too often we have seen a friend or collaborator visibly wilt at the slightest hint of negative criticism. Certainly there is a time and a place for decorum. You don’t mention the late entrance at the opening night reception. But there must be room for honest critique or we fail to grow as artists. If we don’t grow the work suffers.

Different artistic communities treat critique in different ways. I have been involved in collaborations where we would call one another out as soon as something felt false. These were very honest and direct collaborations. Sometimes we would get into serious arguments. Rather then being an inflated unhealthy ego lashing out, this was the impassioned discourse of artists striving for the best work we could make. In the end, the work was vibrant and strong.

I have also worked in situations, quite a few recently, where the criticism and concern was so timid and understated that I did not often recognize it as such. It would be as if my collaborators were so scared of puncturing that inflated ego they would dance around a concern or just let it slide entirely. This baffles me, “Well if you didn’t like the light cue, why didn’t you say something?”

If a director or fellow designer has a concern about the viability of the work it is deeply important to raise that concern as early as it arrives and in as direct a manner as possible. One member of the collaboration holding back their critique weakens the collaborative bond between the artists.

Collaborative art requires trust. We must trust that every one of our collaborators has, as their intent and focus, the best interest of the piece at heart. If we lose that trust we can never make a work of true and lasting beauty. As Picasso said, “Art is not truth.  Art is a lie that makes us realize truth.” But to construct that lie so that it may point us to the truth, to make art, we must be honest. We must be honest with one another. Honesty, after all, is the foundation of trust.

When one of our collaborators is not forthright in their concerns, reservations, or praise, our trust lessens. If we do something that we know does not look good and hear from them “that’s great” then our trust in their taste is diminished. We know it did not look good. We can only assume that any praise they might have is qualified by a desire to not ruffle any feathers or threaten any inflated egos.

Unjustified praise can be more damaging than unjustified criticism. Praise without justification can stunt growth or push it in less than useful directions. We are always limited by time and must fix all the broken parts before time runs out. If we are told something is fixed when it is not then we stop looking at it in order to focus on the many other pressing concerns. We work to fix the other parts. Those parts then do not truly come together because of the loose end we left with the first unfinished part.

To create truly powerful work we must be unflinching in our honesty. We must give, and be able to receive, honest feedback about the work. To do this our egos may or may not be large, but they must be healthy. When we can honestly accept and receive feedback we can truly trust one another as collaborative artists. When we trust each other, then art can begin.

Better than The Best

Monday, March 29th, 2010

Walking down the street the other day I was thinking about what I want as an artist in light. For a long time, until I boarded this recent train of thought, I wanted to be the best lighting designer in the world. I think a lot of people want that. They don’t necessarily want to be the best lighting designer, but they want to be the best at whatever it is they love to do.

So I wanted to be the best. No. I wanted to be The Best. I wanted, so badly, to be the best there was, that I stopped trying to be better.

Now don’t get me wrong, I have certainly improved. And I continue to do so. But my improvements have largely come, from my perspective, behind the scenes while I strove for being The Best.

This was not always the case. For a long time, until fairly recently, I simply wanted to be better. Sure, I wanted to be The Best, but that was a goal pointing me in a direction. It was a vector, not a destination. A verb, not a noun. What I was doing day to day was simply improving my craft in my medium. I kept working, tirelessly, on my craft. Improving my use of color and angle. Getting better at worksheets and drafting. In short I was doing everything that a student of an art form should do. I was analyzing mistakes and working to improve them.

Somewhere along the way I stopped learning in the way that I had been doing. I think I know when it was too. A few years ago I got hired by a regional theater to light a play. What play it was and where it performed is irrelevant. I was flown out from New York, lit the show, and knocked the design out of the park. We’re talking bases loaded, solid contact, clean hit way out into right field and over the bleachers. In short, the show looked damn good.

For many people this would simply be one step towards a new and better achievement. But I have a problem with success. I have had this trouble all my life. Or at least as far as I can remember. I can be great at something until the point at which I become aware of how good I am. Then I falter.

That is not entirely accurate.

The trouble is not just becoming aware of talent. It is when the voice of success becomes louder than the voice of critique. It was that voice of critique that I lost in the success.

This is not to say that I have not done some great work since. I have. Recently too. But the work I have done for the last few years has been largely at the same level. It is often good, but it is not getting better. Further, in striving to be The Best, without working continuously to be better, I have made some awesome miscalculations. Overconfidence is the risk faced when the inner critic is not given full voice.

But more generally than that, when we stop learning, when we cease asking questions, we stop growing. As I have been mulling these thoughts around in my head for the last several days I realized that the greatest artists, certainly the ones I have been attracted to, tend to live as permanent students of their art form.

I am reminded of the line from Shunryu Suzuki’s Zen Mind, Begrinner’s Mind, “In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, in the expert’s mind there are few.”

I have come to realize that in order to truly excel as an artist in light I need to first and foremost be a student of light. I may one day become a teacher, but in order to teach, I must be able to learn. Yet right now, in order to become better, in order to even get back on the path towards being the best, I have to learn. I must be a student. I must approach light with the Beginner’s Mind.

Being a student means asking questions. It means constant improvement. It means having fun with what you are doing. It means every day choosing to learn because of the joy of knowledge and improvement. Learning, it seems, is better than being the best.


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