What statement or observation in Part I of Art & Fear resonates with you? Why? Be as detailed as you can.
Please respond by Tuesday, Oct. 29, 4 p.m. Just to be clear, every non- or late response on this blog, results in a F. I have reiterated this many times, but to poor effect. I mention it again -- and I hope for the very last time -- because the need for discipline is emphasized in this book.
16 comments:
"Your job is to learn to work on your work."
That statement resonates with me the most, because I've always thought that labor is the most important part of anything. The end result, main product, whatever should come without much attention to it. The work itself should be the main focus, and the product will come when it will. Without giving attention to the process of things, the artist, writer, or worker gets sloppy, inattentive, and rides through the job in a tunnel-visioned mind set. You don't get anywhere without work, and sometimes the promise of a product can lead people to think that. I believe a lot of other aspects of the book, like refining habits, imperfections, and putting yourself into the work itself are encompassed by not paying so much attention to the end of things as much as the actuality of what is being done. Like the book says:
"Unreal expectations are easy to come by . . ."
I found the section within “Fears About Yourself” titled “pretending” particularly powerful. I always try to shy away from the identity of artist or writer or any other scary word that would define anything I create in that sort of way. The weight of these terms and everything associated with them gets a bit exhausting for me. To be a capital-W Writer or capital-A Artist is far too often made out to be this larger-scale archetypal calling.
It’s overdramatized, for me, in so many ways that it becomes an intimidating thing that creates more anxiety than it soothes. And for someone who turned to writing as a means of grappling with all of the all-too-real human anxieties, that’s pretty awful.
I think that simpler a message does it for me better than any passage about ripping open a vein and releasing it on the page, or claim that your art needs to burst out of your pores. I’d prefer to think of art-making as a quieter, reflective calling. I think it’s closer to the scarring process than simply bleeding it out. With layers of intricate details that color an individual’s experiences. There’s something there that makes me feel more human. It’s a more redemptive practice.
But this particular passage said exactly what I needed to hear, that writing and art-making is bottom-line about creating the work you want to create and wrestling with it, receiving feedback and working some more. It’s about failing to say what needs to be said until you’re able to get it out. It’s about doing your work.
The identity, the destruction, the redemption --- that’s all in my head.
"You make good work by (among other things) making lots of work that isn't very good, and gradually weeding out the parts that aren't good, the parts that aren't yours...It's also called doing your work."
“It’s easy to imagine that artists doubted their calling less when working in the service of God than when working in the service of the self” - Bayles & Orland, 2.
Why is working for yourself - to fulfill your own desires without taking anyone else’s opinions into consideration - so much more difficult than working under a higher figure? I grew up in a high school full of theater students and musicians, with a life goal of pursuing their art in college. As freshman year hit, however, I found that many people abandoned their dreams because they couldn't rationalize it. For many, a goal has to be justified in order for it to make sense. A lot of artists, when declaring their profession, are treated with contempt. If you justify your art through someone else’s name, it take the possibility of potential failure of yourself. When you declare it under your own name, you take full responsibility.
This quote goes hand-in-hand with another line that stuck with me: “The fear that fate is in your own hands, but that your hands are weak” (Bayles & Orland, 3). I think that for me, it is a comforting thought to believe I am in control of my art, able to learn the skills needed to create it and ultimately can pursue it. I don’t understand how this concept can frighten people when it gives you the power to achieve your art. I feel empowered by it, because progress is always a possibility. To think that you can only be born with the skills gives everyone an excuse to not even try.
"The moment of completion is also, inevitably, a moment of loss - the loss of all the other forms the imagined process might have taken."
This statement is something I relate to. I obsess over planning out details in advance when writing. I often fear starting a piece because I haven't fully decided on a particular ending or any plot point. I feel that changing the plan would involve changing the beginning. This isn't always the case, of course and it often prevents me from taking the approach that it will happen one way or another naturally as long as I actually write the piece. This section also contained a nice consolation to the problem. "All you can work on today is directly in front of you. Your job is to develop an imagination of the possible."
One of the parts within Part I that resonates with me is in chapter 2, Art and Fear. The chapter opens with the quote by Stephen DeStaebler, “Artists don't get down to work until the pain of working is exceeded by the pain of not working.” To me, this emphasizes the point we've talked about in class multiple times: If you don't have an overwhelming need to write, the work you do create will not be quality work. I totally agree with this and when my pen does “run dry,” I struggle with deciding whether to stop or force myself to continue for fear of “giving up.” This piece of put into perspective that there is a difference between quitting and stopping; stopping is essential for growth at times. It always you to reevaluate what you are trying to create and brainstorm better ways of getting to that end result.
Quitting, however, is what happens when you completely give up on writing as a whole. There are always outside circumstances that aid in this slowly derailing train that is gradually falling off the writing rail – completing the story of all stories and letting “your current goal become your only goal,” or losing the support system education in that field. I don't see these things within myself, but I do believe that the suggestions in the book, sharing your progress with individuals who are creating similar pieces of work, and having high standards and hopes. Putting these two things together allows you to have confidence in what you're creating, and a sounding board in order to do so, two things I personally would benefit from when writing.
I also resonated with the part of the chapter that highlighted uncertainty, and how uncertainty in your work will always be a constant, whoever you are are and whatever you're writing. Uncertainty is something I often struggle with, but it's something that's just part of the package when writing that needs to be pushed through. The Lincoln example used illustrates that Lincoln himself was uncertain that he was properly conveying what he felt needed to be said at Gettysburg, but he knew he was writing and creating his piece to the best of his ability.
The part of Art of Fear that resonates with me is the idea of individualism. In the book the idea of individualism is talked about in regards to making individual choices. I think this relates to everyone because every person is forced to make individual choices that affect their lives consistently. As college students we are make individual choices all the time. Whether it be doing an assignment for class or going out that night, or something as simple as what to have for lunch those are still choices an individual must make. I think people need to be more aware of their individual choices because the choices they do make affect them a lot.
The part of Art and Fear that I immediately identified with the most was the “Pretending” section of “Fears about Yourself,” chapter three. Though I have become used to referring to myself as a student journalist when introducing myself to sources, calling myself a “writer” or “journalist” has always felt pretentious to me. It doesn’t quite add up- my closest friends are artists who paint and draw, and are regarded as artists by everyone who knows them and has seen their impressive work. To them, referring to themselves as artists is natural because it is what they hear from others. They do art. But to refer to myself as one of these definitive titles is unnatural. I think I tend to discredit myself because I need other people to validate my work and validate me as an artist. I think my struggles with embracing these labels are best exemplified in the quote, “Fear that you are not a real artist causes you to undervalue your work.”
Later on in that section, another quote about energy resonated with me. “Both making art and viewing art require an ongoing investment of energy — lots of energy. In moments of weakness, the myth of the extraordinary provides the excuse for an artist to quit trying to make art, and the excuse for a viewer to quit trying to understand it.” I need to learn that to write, I need to make time or else I don’t do it. By extension of that, I am denying myself a title that I should be allowed to call myself.
"One of the basic and difficult lessons every artist must learn is that even the failed pieces are essential."
I found this idea to be the most relative for myself. It's an idea that they bring up several times in different ways, and one that other writers and authors I've spoke to and read on, have also said. As someone who is passionate about writing in general, but mostly writes fiction, I think its a very important lesson for all writers to learn that shitty first drafts are okay and necessary. They are the "down" drafts as Anne Lamott suggests. The first and even the second and third are all about you just pouring your heart out because somewhere in those ten ridiculous pages is a beautiful line or paragraph (or two or three) that must be salvaged and used to complete the piece.
When I met Joyce Carol Oates she said that "Good authors write the same book over and over. Great authors fail in interesting ways." And I think she's absolutely write. As with every art-maker, you need to take risks and fail in interesting ways because from each of those failures, you come away with valuable feedback and a lesson learned that will help shape the work that the world will recognize and care about.
If thats the case, are those really failures? I don't think so. Or rather, maybe they start as failures, but if you're a true artist with an open mind, you know how to turn them into much more. I think those failures quickly become essential tools you need to create your masterpiece.
I find it very true that "art" is not something that can be taught, and that a writer must accept their own work as it is - a personal piece. Writing is a labor of love, one that filled with suffering and self deprecation. I often judge my work harder than anyone else and am usually never satisfied with the finished work even if others believe it to be well written. As Art and Fear highlights, uncertainty and doubt are the mortal enemies of writing and can lead to surrender if you let it take hold of you. The books talks about leaving pieces of writing unfinished, which is something I struggle with daily. Harnessing an idea and beginning to expand on it until creativity runs dry, leaving fragments of tangental stories on paper.
This quote stood out to me from the reading:
Talent, in common pariance, is "what comes easily”.
So sooner or later, inevitably, you reach a point Where
the Work doesn't come easily, and it’s just as you feared!
This fear is very real for me as a writer and probably is true for a lot of people. I've always thought of myself as a writer and I have always written, yet when it comes time to have to write, sometimes its much harder then i expect. If I am a writer,where is my talent when I need it? Losing the ability to write is probably one of my most real fears.
What first struck me was the realization that art as self-expression is a relatively new concept. Throughout history art was used as a form of communication, or a form of worship. I found it very interesting that self-expression "is not an underlying trait of the medium."
What also interested me were the fears and insecurities that come with the art process. I do not consider my writing my art, I consider it my work, though not my job as we discussed in class.
The reason I want to write is not because I have a passion for writing, but because I have a passion for what I want to write about. Though when I do write I enjoy it and certainly go through the motions of any artist; despair, hate, insecurity, acceptance, peace. My fears resonate in whether my writing can have the impact I want it to have. Can it encourage people to change? Can it do justice to the subjects I want to write about? Is there societal value to it?
A quote that stuck with me was "wanting to be understood is a basic need - an affirmation of the humanity you share with everyone around you." I relate this more to the content I want to write about rather than the way I write. Though I do realize that what I write about will only make an impact on people if it is written in a way that it will resonate with them.
This passage from the reading resonated with me:
"...you steer your work toward what you imagine you can do perfectly. You cling ever more tightly to what you already know you can do– away from risk and exploration, and possibly further from the work of your heart. You find reasons to procrastinate, since to not work is to not make mistakes."
The passage describes me pretty well. Laziness can be tempting enough to neglect creativity and originality in the work that I create. I am also a chronic procrastinator. The last line describes my attitude much of the time- if I make something, it won't be perfect. The passage reminds me how nonsensical this attitude is.
"Art is human; error is human; ergo, art is error."
This sentence, titled "Perfection", resonates with me the most, because I tend to over analyse most of the work I do, or at least the work I want to do well. When it comes to my writing, I spend way too much time on each sentence trying to find the perfect words that will make each sentence flow. Not only does this take forever, but the first draft ends up not flowing at all because my writing process is stagnant. What this section of "Art and Fear" is saying, and what I ultimately know myself, is that no piece of writing is perfect and trying to make it so will actually have the opposite effect. Ansel Adams said, “The perfect is the enemy of the good." There will always be errors because we as humans are erroneous, to try and fix every single mistake would mean a lifetime of work for something that is unattainable.
[I'd mentioned in class that I wouldn't be getting my copy of Art & Fear until this week and you said that it'd be fine if I responded by next week - hope it still applies!]
"Fears arise when you look back, and they arise when you look ahead. If you're prone to disaster fantasies you may even find yourself caught in the middle, staring at your half-finished canvas and fearing both that you lack the ability to finish it, and that no one will understand it if you do."
I'm the mid-point paranoid type. I find inspiration, I run with it, I stop halfway there and think: oh god, what have I done?
A lot of the time, I find that my unique take on something (a pattern among details, a theme in a work, a connection between people) is lost on everyone around me. Again, this book reminded me, that doesn't suggest that I've realized something that everyone hasn't. It simply means that it doesn't matter to anyone but me.....which is depressing, but now I realize, almost freeing. Begone, inexistent pressures.
Although I'm still only about a quarter of the way into the book, it's clear that it revolves around creating art for oneself and oneself alone. If you're the one who draws inspiration, then you're the one who can manifest it into something amazing - amazing to you and having that be enough.
Hopefully, then, the MoMA will walk by and notice it.
"The sane human being is satisfied that the best he/she can do at any given moment is the best he/she can do at any given moment. That belief, if widely embraced, would make this book unnecessary, false, or both. Such sanity is, unfortunately, rare. Making art provides uncomfortably accurate feedback about the gap that inevitably exists between what you intended to do, and what you did."
Dealing with the art you produce or being satisfied with it is something i've struggled with. Often when i set out to do something, i had a a concrete goal, or a direction of what the final product will look and feel like, but not a vivid word by word image of it. So when i complete a piece and it's not what i had imagined, it's difficult to accept that it's actually finished. And maybe it isn't. But i've always felt it it's important to recognize that what i finished was the best i could produce at that specific time (assuming i did do my best). You can only do your best. Best as you continue to work, you should expect to get better. If you put in the work afterward to better your art and learn form mistakes, then you can expect your best effort or best product to be better than it was previously. I think it's important to realize that you can only do your best, but also that it's a process and your best can keep getting better.
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