On criticism and celebrating your thin skin.
Why we need to be permeable to create and impermeable to survive.
Criticism is a part of any artistic process. No sooner do you expose your work than you subject it to scrutiny. Something I mentioned in my last edition is the prevalence of those outside the art-making practice who deem themselves qualified to comment on what you make and how you make it - in the immortal words of Duchamp, ‘Not everyone is an artist, but everyone is a fucking critic.’
And so you can expect that, whether called for or not, people will comment on what you do. In fact, as an artist, we ought to welcome this commentary - the promise of connection (of the person who ‘gets it’) is for many of us part of the reason we make anything in the first place. But how can we let in the commentary that helps us do better work while also defending ourselves as sensitive souls? How do we balance being permeable with being impermeable, as required?
On the importance of being permeable
To be thin-skinned is to feel keenly, to perceive things that might go unseen, unnoticed, that others might prefer not to notice.
Jenn Shapland, Thin Skin
Bertolt Brecht described the essence of art as “simplicity, grandeur, and sensitivity.” I agree, and generally contend that a lack of sensitivity to the world around us may well hinder the artistic process. As reflected in the Jenn Shapland quote above, being thin-skinned can be a benefit in the process of taking life and its varied experiences and turning those into something that may speak to our fellow human being. We want to cultivate that keen attention in which the ordinary can become extraordinary.
Here’s D H Lawrence on the value of sensitivity:
Brute force crushes many plants. Yet the plants rise again. The Pyramids will not last a moment compared with the daisy. And before Buddha or Jesus spoke, the nightingale sang, and long after the words of Jesus and Buddha are gone into oblivion the nightingale still will sing. Because it is neither preaching nor teaching nor commanding nor urging. It is just singing. And in the beginning was not a Word, but a chirrup.
From Sketches of Etruscan Places and Other Italian Essays by D H Lawrence
From this view of the world, I take sensitivity to be a kind of gentle permeability that can greatly aid us in the journey of creation. After all, for all the brutish and dramatic entertainment that exists in our modern world, few things have stood the test of time like the truthful, reflective honesty present in the world of great artists. Our skin must be thin enough to take it all in, creating the opportunity to transform ourselves and our work in the process, rather than adhering rigidly to a foregone conclusion. But if we are so permeable, how can we ever survive the inevitable lack of agreement about the work we create?
Inevitable is the word: for every fan, we will have a detractor. We will have people who get it, and people who don’t. How do we balance the need to absorb all that is said and done about our creations, without turning to mush and quitting the game because it’s all too painful?
On the necessity of cultivating toughness (or, alternatively, ‘taste’)
I have found that with more time spent trying my luck in this industry, the more I have managed to cultivate what I deem good and bad - aesthetically, technically, and otherwise. This is the ‘taste’ that I’ve mentioned in previous editions. By knowing my own taste better, and refining it, I have found that I have also acquired something like a resistance to commentary that doesn’t adhere to my aesthetic.
This isn’t to say that I don’t look for or encourage criticism; I run a regular critique group and regularly throw my work out there into the world for precisely this reason. But I am learning to trust my own instinct and taste first. After all, people will blunder into criticism. Giving great critique is a skill all of its own, and one that most people do not cultivate. That doesn’t stop them suggesting they would have made that movie differently or written that book another way.
Even amongst other writers, I am keenly aware that we may not be reaching for the same things. I don’t assume they understand my project best - I know it best. I want to know what they thought and felt about it, but their word is not gospel. All of this is subjective, after all. To elaborate on a point made by Immanuel Kant:
Kant’s idea is that in a judgment of taste, we demand or require agreement from other human beings in a way we do not in our judgments about the niceness of Canary-wine, which is just a question of individual preference. In many cases, in matters of taste and beauty, we think that others ought to share our judgment, and we blame them if they don’t. This is because the judgment of taste has this aspiration to universal validity that it seems “as if [beauty] were a property of things”.
From the Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy.
So in other words, we say ‘this is great’ or ‘this is bad’ expecting agreement about art, because we feel that beauty ought to be obvious to all - an essential quality of the thing. That is the nature of aesthetic judgments (in Kant’s view). Where there’s no point demanding agreement on Canary-wine (because pleasure in food or drink is a different category of subjective experience, mattering only to the individual doing the eating or drinking in question), we say these statements about art because we want agreement - we want our view to be agreed upon. We’re all reaching out for commune, and hoping it will not be denied.
The reality is, however, that this never quite comes to pass in the universal way Kant is talking about - we know there is no universal agreement over what is ‘good’ art. In this theoretical space, I can learn to cultivate and trust my taste. In fact, I must, because I too make art with the conviction that what I want to explore is valid, worthy and good. If I can’t believe those things (at least for some of the time), quitting is easy.
Here’s Tracey Emin to take the point home:
Discouragement when people ‘don’t get it’ or don’t respond, or respond negatively, hurts precisely because the work is a part of you. It’s important to you (or should be). But that is part of the reason it is worth defending. As artists, we have to learn to hear the criticism, but not necessarily listen to it.
Who really knows anything, anyway?
Here’s comedian Ronny Chieng on the subject of criticism levelled at comics (caution: spicy language; click through on the image):
While this is obviously for comedic effect, I get it. When people do the ‘I’d write it this way’ approach to criticism, my knee-jerk reaction is to say go on then. This is my book. I get to choose how to write it. That doesn’t mean I’m not listening though when you tell me that you didn’t like it.
In fact, I’ve had projects stall or fall by the wayside precisely because of slightly irresponsible/rude criticism: from ‘I find novels like that boring’ to ‘Well, men won’t read it’, I’ve had comments that, for whatever reason, cut to the core of an insecurity that was just enough to halt me in my tracks. But who’s to say everyone would feel the way that person did? And if you are making it, then you at least must find it interesting and worthy. Be careful then what you allow to permeate. Think twice before redirecting on what you felt was the goal.
The irony of getting critique is that many of us put this off for as long as possible due to the fear of just flat out being told that we’re rubbish. However, being critiqued also requires us to, for possibly the first time, make sense of why we have done what we have done. Defending your own work - or certainly, trying to find ways to understand the criticism you’ve been given - can lead to finally discerning what it is that you are actually trying to achieve.
Critique is the first opportunity to realise that you’re not doing what they think you’re doing, and either:
1. You haven’t quite communicated what you’d hoped, or
2. They’re wrong.
Both then beg the question: Why? How have I fallen short? Or: How are they wrong?
This is where your power lives. As artists, we are called to defend what we do - that is essential. We are not above reproach. But we are also called to remain curious and open: Why has our taste led us here? This is good for us to know, to grow into our own taste and instinct, and to become more responsible artists. With knowledge comes power over our own pursuits, and the continued march towards growth within that process.
Weekly extras to share… 🎨
The incredible work of the artist Dan Hillier.
Normally, I use this section to share a ‘joy’. But this week, it’s not so pure an extra: it is sadness, mixed inexorably with joy and gratitude.
It was upsetting to hear this past week that the artist Dan Hillier passed away from cancer. I wanted to use this space this week to say something about what his work meant to me, a person who did not know him personally but who was very much touched by what he made.
I bought a piece of Dan’s in 2017 to celebrate getting my first ever full-time writing job. At that stage of my life, I had been incredibly broke, depressed, lost, living in a terrible apartment with no hot water and a slanting floor, and had been applying non-stop for jobs for months, until I finally got one. This was a huge turning point in my life. I bought Akasha with one of my first pay checks - as only a responsible 26 year old would - and it has hung in every home I’ve lived in since.
Akasha has been a watchful goddess, a kind protector and an endless source of inspiration. She seemed like an ideal self: Strong, mysterious, magical. Her power came from within, and it wasn’t up for debate. I had the pleasure of exchanging messages with Dan only once, in which I had the chance to tell him how much his work meant to me. I am so grateful I was able to do that.
Thank you Dan, for making such beautiful things. You seemed like a very generous soul, and your work always resonated with me, for reasons that are, as ever, hard to express. I will cherish the piece forever.
If there’s an artist whose work has done this for you, please don’t wait to tell them so.
To quote Dan’s final message online:
“May all beings be free, may all beings know true peace, may all beings live in safety and free from harm, may all beings know true love, and true freedom.”
Until next time,
Be well.
CCx