Last week on Art With a Needle

After I said that I thought one of my "crossroads" tops wasn't good enough and needed to be fixed, Shannon left a comment: "I wonder if you would be willing to share some of your critical thought processes or just general thoughts about what makes something good or not.  I struggle with this pretty often with my pieces.  Sometimes it's very clear that something isn't good, but when it's not so obvious I have a harder time.  I also really struggle with differentiation between pieces that are "good" and pieces that I just like.  I would love to hear your thoughts on this!"

Shannon, thanks for asking -- this question is one of the all-time big ones for artists, right up there with "what is art?"  Every artist, in every discipline, struggles with this every time a new piece is made.  So developing your critical eye is just as important a skill for an artist as actually learning to make things.

Sometimes you can learn and practice this skill by joining a critique group, or taking an art class where critique is part of the routine.  Sometimes you can learn a lot by reading comments from critics or teachers, or from books.  I have been a regular reader of the magazine Art in America for many years, as well as the art section of the New York Times.  I particularly enjoy the show reviews where at least one piece is pictured, along with the critic's comments.

Unfortunately, there is little published critique in the fiber art world, since Fiberarts magazine folded several years ago.  So you may get more out of discussions of paintings, sculptures, mixed media or installations.  The elements of "good art" apply across all mediums, so if you learn to detect good or bad composition or color use in a painting you can also detect it in a quilt. 

Here's the quilt I showed last week and said I needed to go back and improve it:

When I get to it, I plan to make at least one or two posts that describe my thought process, and how I go about making the fix.  Maybe thinking along with me will give you more insight into how I approach the problem of self-evaluation.  It won't be next week or the week after, because I need to let this stew a bit before I have at it.  But it will happen, I promise.

Here's my favorite miniature of the week:

Art and fear this week

I wrote last year about making collages on wood painting panels, or perhaps they would be better described as assemblage because I added a lot of found objects to make them 3-D.  Check them out, with lots of photos, here and here.

For the last couple of weeks I have been working on a new batch, and I took them to my critique group a few days ago.  As I pulled them out of my bag and started to pass them around, I said "Clearly this one isn't finished yet...."  And somebody said "Why do you say 'clearly?' I think it's finished right now."

I was taken aback by the question and stammered around for a bit, trying to figure out why I had said that.  The answer took more soul-searching than I'm usually asked to provide; I'm usually pretty articulate about what I'm doing with my art.

What I came up with was that I am still struggling with the whole concept of making art on a painter's surface, because I feel very insecure about doing anything resembling painting.  And so I have probably been adding the 3-D elements as a protective barrier between me and anything painting-like.

My friends all agreed that two of the pieces were finished.  A couple more coats of matte medium to seal everything and give it a uniform surface, and they can go on the wall.

I'm still not sure I have internalized what they told me and I agreed with.  I do love minimalism, so the blank spaces don't scare me.  I guess it's the two-dimensionality that does.

You will note that I still can't bring myself to call them "paintings."  Having wrestled for a long time with calling myself an artist, and my work art, I guess this is my next wrestling match.  I'll let you know who wins.

Uninvited critique (or criticism)

Interesting discussion going on last week on Nina-Marie Sayre's blog (which I check out every weekend to see what other fiber artists have been up to).  She talked about critique and how it's better to ask for comments from people whose work you respect and whose design esthetic you share.  That makes a lot of sense -- who cares, for instance, whether Jeff Koons likes your work?

Then the subject changed from invited to uninvited comments, and Nina-Marie wrote, "When someone offers an unasked for critique I paint a small smile of interest on my face and immediately stop listening... maybe nod a little -- offer a little humph and ignore it all.... Hurts no feelings -- yours or your well meaning critic's."

Here is where we part ways, because I think you should listen to what people say about your work. Isn't that a large part of our motivation to make art in the first place, to get other people to look at and think about our work?  Why would you preemptively decide to ignore what somebody has to say, without first listening to it?

But what if this is an idiot talking to me, you reply.  Why should I waste time listening, especially if the idiot is going to tell me everything is wrong with my piece?

So how do you know this is an idiot, I reply.  How do you know what the idiot is going to tell you?

Sure, if it's your jerk sister-in-law, perhaps you do know in advance she's an idiot and what she's going to tell you.  But if it's a relative stranger, you have no idea whether her ideas are good or bad, or what she might see in your work.  Perhaps her comments will be valuable, helpful, right on the mark.  Perhaps she will even buy the work or offer you a gallery show.

If it turns out this person is less knowledgeable, sophisticated and art-savvy than you are, she still may have comments worth listening to.  For instance, I once was working on a series of small pieces that I had given what I thought were sublimely witty titles, not only witty but enhancing the political meaning of the work.  When I showed it to some other people, they told me the titles were confusing and led them to think the wrong thing about the work.  My first response, of course, was to tell myself these people were less knowledgeable, sophisticated and art-savvy than I am, and they just weren't sharp enough to perceive my sublime wit.  My second response, which took a while to kick in, was that if the titles were confusing people I ought to change them; I didn't need to shoot myself in the foot.

In public settings -- your booth at an art fair, or the reception where your work is in a show, or show-and-tell at your fiber art group -- I think it's always good practice to engage the viewer/commenter in conversation.  If it's apparent the person doesn't know quilts from shinola, you can explain how you made the work or what meaning you intended to convey.  If you can do this without being patronizing, you will have educated somebody a bit, and perhaps impressed her with your knowledge and vision. Who knows, she might even want to hire you to give a lecture or teach a workshop.

It's a talent, or perhaps I should say a skill, to talk about your work without coming off as conceited, condescending or foolish.  If you're going to regularly take your work out in public, cultivating that skill isn't a bad idea.  For instance:

If the person says something wrong, correct her false assumption gracefully.  Q: Do you have a quilting frame?  My grandmother did that.   Wrong A: No, can't you even tell the difference between hand quilting and machine quilting??  Better A:  Yes, my grandmother had a quilting frame too, but I don't do hand-quilting -- I think it's too time-consuming.  I work with a sewing machine and that way I can do several quilts a year instead of just one.

If the person asks a question about what you consider an unimportant detail, use it as a bridge to talk about what you consider important.  Q:  How long did it take you to make that quilt?  Wrong A:  All my life.   Better A:  Well, several months on and off.  This is kind of a complicated process, because each of these fine lines is sewed in separately, so there's an awful lot of sewing to be done.  But I look upon the tedious work as kind of a metaphor for life -- each day is mostly like all the rest, but eventually they all coalesce into something that has meaning.  I think all my work is about that.

But what if, after you've listened politely, the uninvited comment is really stupid and even insulting?  First kick the tires -- is there a germ of truth to it?

A famous story in my family has to do with my grandmother, who arrived one day for a visit.  After 500 miles on the road, she walked into the living room, paused where we kids were lined up for kisses, looked over our shoulders at a new painting that had just been put up on the wall, and announced, "That's upside down."  We've been laughing about that story for five decades, as an object lesson in making snap judgments with no valid reason.

But when I eventually inherited the painting from my parents, I tried hanging it upside down, and decided I liked it that way.

what do you think?  upside down or right side up?


















The object lesson turns out to be that maybe the snap judgment from the unsophisticated observer isn't so dumb after all.

But if it is, feel free to ignore it.

The whole art critique thing

After I wrote about workshops yesterday, an interesting comment was posted that deserves further discussion. 

K. Crane said, "I don't get the whole art critique thing. I understand asking another artist to help solve a design problem here and there but I don't understand the need to consistently have your work critiqued and certainly not by the same person.  I once went to an SDA meeting and was told to bring something to work on and when I got there the understanding was that everyone's work would be critiqued. I said no. Everyone continued to comment on it anyway."
Ah yes, the whole critique thing.  In theory, critique is a good thing; comments from your peers can reveal strengths and weaknesses in your work, provide useful information on solving problems and help you make decisions.  But in practice, critique often fails to deliver on its potential.  Let me count the ways.

Sometimes the comments are too prescriptive; after all, the result of critique should be that the artist, not the viewer, solves the problem.  Sometimes the comments are snarky and hostile rather than constructive.  Sometimes the critiquers have little ability, so their advice is worthless.  Sometimes the artist gets defensive or hurt if others ask questions or seem not to like the work.  Sometimes the critiquers project their own mindsets and preferences onto everybody else's work.  And unfortunately, sometimes these sins are committed not just by peers but by teachers, who presumably do this for a living and should know better.

Yet I will not condemn critique out of hand.  When it works correctly, it can be helpful on several levels.  It can help you solve small problems -- my dye isn't as brilliant as it should be, what's a good shiny thread for quilting, why are the corners of my quilts so fat and bulky, I'm having trouble piecing curves.  It can help you solve design problems, as K. referenced in her comment.  It can kick the tires on your whole approach, asking questions that you may not have good answers to, or forcing you to reconsider your assumptions.  And it can make you feel good when you have done good work, putting self-doubt to rest.

In the interest of full disclosure, I have been a member of a small critique and support group for at least a dozen years, and have often given those friends credit for much of my development as an artist.  When I was new and struggling, this group helped me navigate the mysteries of entering shows and other tricks of the trade, as well as watched over my shoulder as I made every piece of art in my history. 

But as artists mature it's a challenge to change the way you give and receive critique.  You realize that your objective is not simply to make good art, but to be true to your own vision and your own narrative arc.  As well as your friends and colleagues may know you, they can't get into your head and know where you're going, so perhaps critique becomes less specific, if not altogether irrelevant. 

The kinds of comments I need now are probably questions -- for instance, why I am choosing to finish my partially completed pieces from years past instead of making new work.  No matter how self-contained and accomplished you become, you can always use a bit of kicking the tires.  Presumably you're already doing that yourself, but a bit of help from your friends is always useful.

Critique -- good or bad?

Well, enough about children for a while -- let's write about grownups.  It seems that every day on the Quiltart email list somebody posts a message inviting people to visit her blog, look at her currently stalled work in progress, and give suggestions. Or maybe to look at her new quilt and suggest a name for it. And apparently many people respond to such calls for help.

I have been known to put out calls for help, too, but only to my closest art friends. The thought of posting a work in crisis for the whole world to see strikes me as only slightly less horrifying than walking down the street in my underwear. Which brings me to the subject of critique.

Half of me loves to get comments from people on work in progress (at least from people I respect and trust). The other half feels slightly guilty, as though a Real Artist communes only with His-or-her Own Self and God, and other people’s opinions can only pollute the Holy Mystique of Making Art.

So when Van Gogh and Gauguin were hanging out together in the south of France, did they each in turn put their work out in the evening so the other could point out what looked nice and what part was awkwardly painted? Did they give one another suggestions for what to do tomorrow? If one guy despaired that his picture was crap, did the other one console him, oh, it isn’t really that bad, just fix that part in the left-hand corner and it will be quite nice, don’t be so hard on yourself?  Did they ever say, this is not your best work, put it away and start something else?  Somehow I have a hard time thinking they operated that way.

I have been in a small critique/support group for something like a dozen years and it is the most important relationship in my artistic life. We know each other so well that we don’t have to spend time explaining where each new piece came from; the others know whether it’s another in your continuing series or a dramatic new concept. When we comment, we can make analogies to the piece you did three years ago or the time you switched from stretched work to loose display. We love each other, but are willing to say when we think something doesn’t work -- and willing to listen when the others say that. Kind of like being married for a l-o-n-g time.

This week I took three pieces in fairly advanced stages of construction to our meeting for critique.  I have been sewing frantically for weeks, feeling very nervous about the impending Quilt National entry deadline. It’s not till September, but my summer calendar is already silting over with travel plans. And I want to work BIG. Since our last meeting, I have made about 50 square feet of piecing so it covered a lot of display wall, and it was all new since last month.

There’s a much better display wall at our meetings than in my studio, and I’m always surprised at how different my own work looks when I see it in the new context. Or maybe it's just seeing it in the presence of others.  One piece accounted for two weeks of work, at which point I was convinced it was ruined, took it down from the wall, folded it up and started something new. But this week when I put the pieces back up on the wall, my friends thought it was wonderful.

A second piece was about 96% finished, I thought, and I expected oohs and aahs when it went up on the wall. Instead the reaction was subdued. They were worried about how I was going to quilt it (I wasn’t worried about that at all). Instead I was worried about what additional piecing had to be done (they said don’t do any more; it’s finished). I loved the way the top half looked but was disappointed in the bottom half (they loved the bottom half but weren’t sure about the top).

I decided maybe this wasn’t as great a work as I had thought while I was making it. Still don’t know how this is going to play out, whether my doubts will evaporate or remain.

The third piece had originally been conceived as the second part of a diptych with the first piece but about the time I took the first piece down in disgust I came to the conclusion the two pieces did not play well together (my friends agreed). I liked the third piece a lot more than the first one, but after the critique I felt less positive.  But this one is in its earliest stages; it has a long way to go yet.

So I drove home feeling dubious. It will take a while to digest what everybody said, and my own second thoughts. In the past I have sometimes done what my friends suggested, sometimes ignored their comments entirely. I spent yesterday working on the third piece, fixing a construction problem that I had been ignoring until the critique made me realize it had to be dealt with, and the sooner the better.

You will notice I am not posting photos of the three pieces and inviting suggestions from my blog readers. Even if I wanted a whole lot of additional input, Quilt National won’t accept work that has been seen in public. I think the rules still allow posting on the artist’s own blog, but once it’s on your blog it’s up for grabs in cyberspace, and why would anybody take the chance that an unwitting or malicious websurfer might grab your image, post it elsewhere and tank your dreams of glory?

But I will post a couple of detail shots so you can see the type of piecing I'm doing.

the first piece (I was unhappy; my friends loved it)

the second piece (I liked the parts they didn't, and vice versa)

the third piece (not very far along)