A college friend of mine majored in art therapy. Her dream was to be a full-time artist, but, as we all know, that would be an extremely difficult path with almost no chance of success, so she chose art therapy as a viable career option that she hoped would still allow her time to work on her own art. Just once I’d like to hear someone say, “You should take some art or photography classes, just in case that whole corporate accounting thing doesn’t work out,” but that’s another story.
While part of studying art therapy was psychology and even some medical training there were also art classes and critiques of her work. She had a painting of fish in a pond that was really amazing, with the water mostly transparent but just enough of a reflection of trees and sky that you could see it. I’d never before appreciated that while it can be difficult for a painter to capture what we can see it’s even tougher to capture what we can’t see. It’s one thing to capture bright colors and bold textures, but conveying a smooth, transparent surface is a whole other level.
A major art critic came to campus to look at students’ works and before he went in he made a short speech.
“Some mornings I want tomato juice for breakfast,” he said. “Some mornings I want orange juice. If you give me tomato juice on a morning when I want orange juice I won’t like it. It doesn’t matter if it’s good tomato juice. It doesn’t matter if it’s the best tomato juice in the world. I still won’t like it because what I want is orange juice.”
This was a very revealing statement to me. Of course art criticism is personal. It doesn’t matter how much you know about art. A critic who admits that their views are subjective, who is aware of their biases, is, in my admittedly biased opinion, the best kind of critic.
He looked at my friend’s painting and said, “Some people here are giving me tomato juice and some people are giving me orange juice. This is pineapple juice. It never matters how good it is. I hate pineapple juice.”
A critic who admits that their views are subjective and doesn’t care is, in my completely objective opinion, the worst kind of critic.
And even though it wasn’t directed at me I felt angry about what he’d said. I took it personally.
Because I liked the painting his comments were an indirect swipe at my judgment.
Several of us got together later to console my friend, but she didn’t need consoling. She was channeling her frustration into a whole new work, a weird sculpture built out of yarn and strips of copper. She called it Superman On LSD In The Middle of Mardi Gras.
If there hadn’t been a personal connection, if I hadn’t known her or how she was feeling when she made it, I might have seen it as tomato juice—and I hate tomato juice. Instead I looked at it fully aware that I couldn’t be objective but that was okay. I liked it. It made me happy, and that was therapeutic.
How ya like them pineapples?