6/24
From the journal: June 2023
Lately, I’ve been thinking about criticism and approval, thinking and thinking, how they affect our work, affect our making, affect our being. I have never been one to create for anyone’s approval, no, never that. But what do you do when someone you love, someone you care about, doesn’t like your work? It is a question wrapped in emotion, a question that hangs in the air. Personally, I have not been too concerned, no, not really, with anyone not liking my work, no matter who it is, but I can understand how it feels, how it can feel disheartening.
When the people who are important, truly important, tell you they don’t understand, they don’t like your creative work, then what? Developing distance from your work, yes, that is a skill. A skill that has come to me easily, an ability to separate the self from the art. I have always cared more about the process, the act of creating rather than the outcome, which feels healthier, feels right. But when someone says, “I don’t understand what you’re trying to communicate,” it resonates, it stings. I don’t understand why you like what you like, why you painted what you painted, or even worse, I don’t like what you painted. That is a hard pill to swallow, a bitter taste in the mouth.
We feel, oh how we feel, that the people close to us know us better, know us more intimately than the strangers in galleries or exhibitions. When that person says they don’t like something that represents your thoughts, your emotions, your experiences, it feels like a gut punch, a blow to the core, because on some level, it seems this person does not get you at all. But this is all assumption, all speculation, because I have never asked anyone, not friends, not family, not acquaintances, if they like my work. Never have I uttered the words, “Do you like my work?” No, I have left it unspoken, a silent understanding.
So what do you do when someone close says they don’t care for your work? You take it with a grain of salt, yes, a grain, because the reality is your family, your friends, your acquaintances, they all have their opinions, and those opinions are but a small portion of the multitude who may see your work. There are all kinds of tastes in art, as there are all kinds of art.
Think of it this way: do you like the same music as your parents, your cousins, your friends? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Do you savor the same foods as they do? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. And while one might insist, “But I didn’t play a song for them, didn’t cook a meal. I made a painting from my heart, my soul!” Ah, it hurts when someone doesn’t understand. It feels like they don’t understand you, and I would say to that, on some level they probably don’t, and that is quite alright.
You’re permitted to converse about it, to express your feelings. They do not have to like your painting, just as they do not need to validate who you are as a person. I learned this lesson, yes, learned it the hard way. I have always been alone in my painting, my writing, my creative endeavors. My family has never been into what I paint, and early on, I developed a thick skin, a shield against the words of others. In the beginning, it did hurt, oh yes, it hurt when those who loved me showed little interest in my work. But it also helped me carve a healthy distance from my creations, perhaps even an unhealthy distance at this point, but can there be such a thing?
What I’m truly trying to say is you cannot let anyone’s opinion dictate your work, no matter who they are. You cannot let their voices drown out your passion, your excitement, your creativity. You must paint, draw, photograph, sing, cook, create for the reasons that ignite you, for the passions that drive you. Not for approval, not for validation. That will never make your art worth it. No, create for the joy, create for the fire, create for the sheer act of creation itself. That is what matters, that is the truth of the artist, the essence of the maker.
