It's in the revision that any work's true merit is found
Quite. Sometimes when you're in the middle of something you want it to work so badly that you try to convince yourself that it does. it's a lot easier to be objective when looking at (in the cases of me and the Fool) or rereading old work, because your immediate emotional investment is smaller; you've transferred it to whatever masterpiece you're working on at the time. Also, if things are going according to plan, you've improved since that old piece, and so your ability to judge your own work is greater. I've got a painting hanging in my front room which is definitely one of my strongest pieces, but it's about eighteen months old now, and although i'm proud of it, its faults scream at me when I look at it.
Does anyone find that it can work both ways? I often find myself dredging old, barely considered, ideas out of sketchbooks which become the germ of something quite substantial. I think it’s a result of the same distancing, the change of perspective on your work. Being objective doesn’t just mean that you realise how shit you actually are, it can also mean discovering unnoticed strengths.
I hope I don’t sound complacent – as Cholister says, I am never satisfied, it’s just that I think that as an artist (used here as a catch-all, I’m not just talking about visual art) you should be your own biggest fan as well as your harshest critic.
What do people think about the question in the abstract, “Does being a [creative type] make you proud of yourself?”? I dunno… obviously there’s a sense of achievement when you’ve worked to the best of your abilities, and every time I get a show, or sell something, or get on a website, whatever, that creates a sense of pride, like “My god, I can do this thing that I find really fulfilling and some other people seem to get pleasure out of it too – how cool is that?”. The knowledge that I’m going to be at my studio tonight makes it a lot easier to get through my day job, it stops me from looking around this dingy little office thinking “Fuck, is this my life?”, because I know it’s not. On the other hand, I kind of feel that I’m just this geezer who’s decided, Quixote – like, to attempt this implausible way of living which may well not any relevance to anyone else. |