There were no art classes in my high school. Zero. My art education in those days relegated to the notebook margins where I drew towering long-legged cowboys lumbering over the plains of South Dakota as I half listened to Mr. Johnson recounting the Battle of Gettysburg. Later, I was one of nine graduates in the class of 2002 at Tulare High School. Go Pats!
All 9 of us.
After high school, my formal art training began under the guiding hands of the art instructors at Minnesota State University Moorhead and Black Hills State University. I had some wonderfully gifted teachers and they gave me many of the tools that I continue to employ every day at my easel, including my collage technique.
During college, one of my favorite activities was the critique. It usually came at the end of a long project in one of our art classes, when we would all gather around and discuss each of our final creations, one by one. We learned to present our work, but we also learned how to talk about art constructively. We would offer our insights to each other in the hopes that by doing so, we could gain new perspectives on our art and grow in new directions as a result.
A piece from college. Who knows what people said about this.
I loved it. It was when we all opened up and became vulnerable to the group. We learned to give criticism as well as receive it and we all grew immensely from the experience. In collectively navigating the discomfort of being so unguarded from judgement, we grew closer to one another. It felt real. It felt honest. We learned to be comfortable in the vulnerability and we began to learn how to talk about our own work.
Critiquing my own early work, which was hung wrong at a group art show.
Recently, I found myself craving the critique. In doing art festivals, I’m surrounded by hundreds of other creatives making their mark and I talk to many of them on a regular basis and heck even call a handful of them my friends and yet, we rarely take the time to actually talk about the work we’re all creating. The WORK! Let’s talk about it! Why are we even here?!
What I learned next: facilitating an art critique around the busy business of art carnivals is like trying to talk a dog off a meat wagon; it’s just not feasible.
Talking about art all day at a show doesn’t make you want to talk about your art at night with your artist friends.
Buuuuut, Ash and I have been making an effort to get more involved in our local Southwest Michigan art community and perhaps an art critique group would help in that effort. Would people show up? Is this worth my time? The answers would soon prove to be yes and yes.
Two months ago, I organized the very first Art Critique Collective in the conference room at the Saugatuck-Douglas Public Library. We had an hour and a half slated and I figured that, at the very worst, Ashley and I would get to hang out for a couple of hours kid-free and have some peace and quiet in the library conference room (possible makeout session?).
But library kisses were not in the cards this evening. Lo and behold, just before our start time, a few brave souls ambled in with their oil paintings in tow, nervously looking for the least exposed seat, secretly thinking maybe they should have stayed home. But they stayed! And it was on.
I began with a rousing (was it rousing?) speech about why I started the group, what I hoped to get from it, the basic structure and we began. We talked about a Deep Sea Diver piece that I’d made and we discussed and disagreed how it would have been better and why certain parts of it worked.
Directions for feedback.
Amanda, a “recovering lawyer” acquaintance of ours who we had no idea painted, shyly put up a landscape oil with unconventional colors, and we marveled at its nuanced beauty and unexpected depth, encouraging her to press on.
Amanda discussing her piece with the group.
Betsy, a straight-shooting painter, got up with gumption and displayed an energetic dunescape. We all agreed that it was strong but missing that final alteration, which none of us could quite articulate, despite our best efforts.
Ashley’s mom, Shar, was in town and brought a watercolor to critique, repeatedly saying, “I’m not an artist,” as she put up art she had created, making her declaration untrue. I could visually witness her guard come down and her confidence grow with each new compliment and guiding insight she received.
Shar pointing out some of the details in her watercolor.
Overall, the first meeting of the Art Critique Collective was everything I had hoped it would be. It was the same enchantment and disarmament I had experience in college, minus the brash egos and faint whiff of weed smoke. There was a little bit of magic in that conference room and we all felt it.
Kathy giving us the run down on her leather bracelets.
The following month, we had even more participants, including a gallery owner who offered a lot of great technical tips, as well as a young middle schooler who brought her powerful mixed-media journals to share. The conversation flowed easily and it was just plain enjoyable. Ashley even got a new nickname in the process: Queen of the Crop!
The group taking a close look at Liz’s mixed-media piece.
The Art Critique Collective will continue to be a monthly meeting of the minds, and I am just so ding-dang pleased with how it has gone thus far. Look for us on Facebook (Art Critique Collective) for the exact date/time if you’d like to join us.
Art has a way of being the connective tissue that can join strangers, giving us the courage and means to put ourselves out there. The world is better when we can all learn to be more vulnerable and find the appropriate situations to practice this vital skill. The Art Critique Collective has been just that. Paint on, people!