How to Critique

Definition:

cri·tique/kriˈtēk/

n.

A critical review or commentary, especially one dealing with works of art or literature.

A critical discussion of a specified topic.The art of criticism.

tr.v. Usage Problem., -tiqued, -tiqu·ing, -tiques.

To review or discuss critically.

[French, from Greek kritikē (tekhnē), (art) of criticism, feminine of kritikos, critical. See critic.]

USAGE NOTE Critique has been used as a verb meaning “to review or discuss critically” since the 18th century, but lately this usage has gained much wider currency, in part because the verb criticize, once neutral between praise and censure, is now mainly used in a negative sense.

On Critiquing

For those who want a critique or want some feedback on their work, like all polite conversations, there are rules.  The first would be obvious, and that would be for the artist to say that they are open for critiquing or need advice on a particular piece.  In other words, the artist needs to invite feedback.  A simple and good example might be from a glass artist who asks for feedback on the lighting and stand she had created.  It is a good question and really asked us as a group of visual artists to think how a glass piece looks under different conditions.   It was to the point and was asking us as the viewer if what she intended was working.  Lastly, the critique should be NEUTRAL.  It’s about an object, not a person.

When asking for a critique it is helpful to have a format and this is what I would like to address now.

On Asking for a Critique

·      Be specific in what you want critiqued.  Is it colour?  Is it composition? Is it the drawing?

·      Give some backround so the critique can be given in context.  For example, if you are working on warm and cool relationships, state that so the audience knows what to be looking for.

·      Stay open.  Critiques make us vulnerable.  But as artists we know that they are valuable.  But some information is more valuable than others.  Don’t feel that every thing offered is valuable or correct.  But do stay open the ideas.

·      Before asking for a group critique, ask yourself if you would rather have feedback from a smaller group or just an individual. 

·      DON’T ask for a critique from a group just to hear nice things.  That is not valuable. 

·      But it is perfectly OK to say, “I would only like to hear something nice.” But understand that that isn’t a critique.

·      On Giving a Critique

·      Remember a critique is neutral.  It is between praise and censure.

·      Address what the artist wants critiqued.

·      Be considered in your response. 

·      Ask questions.  While the artist may ask for a response in a specific area, you may not have enough information yet to offer a good critique.  For example, if the artist is saying that she isn’t sure if the particular colour is working, you might ask what the theme of the work is about?  What led to that colour choice? And then would another colour of the same temperature possibly work? 

·      If you don’t know the answer, say so. 

·      Remember that just because you see something a certain way doesn’t make it the right way.  Like the category above, stay open.

·      Remember to say what is working. 

Finally, I would like to add what Robert Glenn wrote on11/18/2011

“How to Critique Yourself”

Yesterday, Michelle Lonsdale wrote, "I'm currently in my second year studying Fine Arts at a university. I'm working on a research assignment investigating artists' self-critiquing methods. What thoughts, beliefs or rituals do you use while critiquing your work?"

Thanks, Michelle. Your question is such a valuable one. With all the current running off to get things juried and critiqued by others, self-critiquing might seem an unpopular sport. It isn't. The acquired ability to critique oneself is the fuse of great art and the silver bullet of the pros. While all artists work differently, here are a few thoughts:

Quality develops when the artist and the critic are honed into a functioning co-op within the same skull. The "ritual" is to pry the artist away from the critic. The artist can be flamboyant, egocentric and prejudiced. The critic needs to be patient, humble and strict. A split personality may be the price you have to pay to see your work through fresh, unsullied eyes. The operation doesn't hurt--much.

Divorcing yourself from the preciousness of your efforts and seeing your work as it really is takes time and mileage. This means "alone time" in your working area. I'm sorry, but my observation has been that no quality work or strong direction will arise in environments where consultants are readily available.

On the other hand, a valuable ploy is to constantly upgrade and rethink standards of excellence, most often done through books and other media. This doesn't mean your style will be influenced by the exposure, but rather you may improve by association with those you admire. "You're only as good as the company you keep," goes the time-honoured expression. The mere act of holding onto great works or seeing them in museums magically transfers a sense of timelessness and creative soul. Fact is, you will not generally improve by misguided staring at your own efforts.

Not surprisingly, when you switch from creation mode to critique mode, you tend to lose the magic of inspiration and substitute a more pedestrian, mechanical approach. A checklist is valuable. In serious sobriety you need to write and follow your own list. I use a series of varying questions: Meaningful subject? Strong patterns? Middle tones? Interlocking gradations? General gradations? Echoing shapes? Flowing design? Alluring counterpoint? Lost and found? Focal point? Big and small? Overall simplicity? Complex shapes? Visual depth? Interesting surface? Arial perspective? Sophisticated colour? Natural believability? What could be?

Best regards,

Robert

PS: "Think of and look at your work as though it were done by your enemy. If you look at it to admire it, you are lost." (Samuel Butler)

Legacy

Ecologists tell us that a young tree grows better when it's planted in an area with older trees.  The reason, it seems, is that the roots of the young tree are able to follow the pathways created by former trees and implant  themselves more deeply.  Over time, the roots of many trees may actually graft themselves to one another, creating an intricate, interdependent foundation hidden under the ground.  In this way, stronger trees share resources with weaker ones so that the whole forest becomes healthier.  That's legacy: an interconnection across time, with a need for those who have come before and and a responsibility to those who come after us.

What Is Art?

I'm very prejudiced.  I don't think all "art"  is art.  My friends will (generously) put up with my vociferous  bashing when I see a piece that is supposed to be "art" but is really ripping off the viewer, the person who may have commissioned it, and those of us who actually work at our craft.

So what is art?  And what should it do?  This is a question that has consumed many dinners.  My husband's concise response is that art does three things:

* Art nurtures the soul.
* Art shelters the soul.
* Art interests the soul.

That's it.  And that's a lot.  Does it need to do all three at once?  In other words, as an example, can art only interest the soul without sheltering or nurturing it?  I'm not sure, but I don't think so.  There is something about the arrangement of colour, form, design, texture, that attracts us and actually makes us pause to imbibe.  Hence, it does all three if even for a second or two.  Our soul becomes attached, if even in a small way, to what we view, smell, see or hear.  And that attachment becomes a union.  We have what Martin Buber might describe as an "I-Thou" relationship with the creator and with the environment that we are sharing.

So next time you are out and something catches you, ask if that thing of beauty is nurturing your soul, sheltering your soul and interesting your soul.

To Create is an Act of Love

My husband is a great artist and a great philosopher and a great architect.  This is actually one of his writings from March 2009.  It well describes why we create.

"A philosopher told me once that God understood the world because He made it.  While forming the whole He guided all the parts into their separate identities, their places.  The identity of each part became realized by how each formed a part of the whole.

God understood the world because He gave each part existence with respect to Himself and with respect to the whole.  In order to create, He had to devote a piece, a chard of Himself, in order to bring each piece its meaning as separate from the void.  By surrendering a chard that diminished Him but rendered a creation, He gave love.  With love, all acts of creation deepen the Creator.  His understanding of the world was deepened by the making of it.  By giving up parts of Himself without limitation to the life of the parts, He gained love of the world.

Being created, I must yearn to understand my place and my Father's place.  I must do some measure of the work of my Father, by creating, by building.  To begin to understand the world I must re-make a part of it.  I must disassemble and re-assemble a part of the work/mind of God.  In making, I allow parts of myself to align alongside those chards of God.  To join my creation with those of God I must commit parts of myself, my chards to the creation.  I give an irredeemable chard tin order to bring each piece its meaning and separate it from the void.  By undertaking the challenge to build with love, I have surrendered to the job of opening my soul.  Then, from my soul, lies the chard of the divine where God and I dwell together. "

To Go Fast, Go Slow

Drawing accurately is a difficult task.  Artists talk about the excellent draughtmanship of certain artists with reverence.  Pierre Prud'homme is in this top position for excellence.  His drawings are not only accurate, but beautiful.  DaVinci and Thomas Eakins also reign at the top.  One might think all master artists draw with superb accuracy, but they don't.   Their work might be beautiful, but not perfectly "accurate".  It doesn't mean that those works are somehow "less than".  Their skills are indeed excellent, but as in all things, there are those who just rise above the rest.

So how does one become a good draughtsman, let alone excellent?  My son had a violin teacher who used to say, on a very regular basis, "... to go fast, you need to go slow...''   It seems so paradoxical.  How can slowing down actually speed things up????   Going slow means taking the time to truly measure.  Like the other adage, "measure twice, cut once", the same is true for drawing. Only instead of measuring twice, one may need to measure 3, 4, 10 times, or what ever it takes to get it right.  It means taking the time to relate how one part of the drawing fits with other parts of the drawing.  It also means don't get wedded to your work.  You have to learn to separate yourself from the work itself.  You have to be willing to change, erase, re-do.  But there is more.  It means taking as much time as it takes to get it right, and remembering that it isn't a race.  Because once the drawing is accurate, everything else goes so much faster and easier.

And isn't this true for most things in life?  To go fast, go slow.  It will not only save time, but you might also learn and see something new along the way.

How's It Hangin'?

We all have pet peeves.  I have quite a few....the dishwasher being loaded the "wrong way", an unmade bed, moving decorations (or anything, for that matter) around and not putting them back exactly as they were.  And don't get me started on disorder of any kind......You get the idea, so you might imagine how I feel when paintings are not hung correctly.  Too high (often), too low (not often enough), or uneven.  I'm not sure which bothers me more - too high or uneven.  Both really get to me.  But most of us, and I do include myself because it wasn't until my husband taught me the rules of hanging,  succumb to the pitfalls of how to hang a piece of art.

First in the rules:  Know from what position you will be viewing the work(s).  If you are seated, then the center of the image should be just above eye level.  If you are standing, such as in a hallway, then the center will be higher.

I found this gem of a rule at www.apartmenttherapy.com  http://www.apartmenttherapy.com/ny/how-to/how-to-hang-your-artwork-and-not-screw-it-up-  "always hang your art at 57" on center. "On center" means that the middle of the picture is at 57" (obviously, the hook will be higher). Interestingly, the 57" standard represents the average human eye-height and is regularly used as a standard in many galleries and museums...

What WE have discovered is that if you stick to this standard, you create a harmony among ALL the pictures in your home, as they will always hang in relationship to one another from their centers, not their sides. Additionally, we have also found that this helps solve the problem many people have, which is that they hang their pictures too high.

Step By Step:

1. Measure and lightly mark 57" on the wall
2. Measure top of your picture to the middle (or take height and divide by 2)
3. Measure top of your picture to the tightened wire (a small amount)
4. Subtract this last amount to tell you how far above 57" your hook should go
5. Measure up from 57" with this last amount and lightly mark on the wall

Example:

1. Picture is 20" tall
2. Middle is 10" down from top (this should rest at 57")
3. Wire comes to 2" below the top
4. 10" - 2" = 8"
5. Lightly mark 8" above your first mark OR 65" on the wall

Though this may seem complicated to read, it is quite simple when you do it. The thing to always remember is that the CENTER of all your pictures are hanging at the same 57", and you are just figuring out where the hook goes above it.

This 57" also applies to groups of pictures. Think of a group as ONE picture. After you arrange how you want them all to hang (doing this on the floor makes it easier), start with the center picture/pictures and get them at 57" on center. Then surround them with the rest of the group.

Good luck.  And call me if you need a tape measure.

True Grit

Certain things take courage.  Not as much courage as living in a fallen cave for 2 months, or being a firefighter.  A different kind of courage.  The kind I'm talking about is pulling up plants that are still alive, with tomatoes on them, but really have gone beyond their time in the garden.  In California we have 4 full growing seasons and although I still have some tomato plants left in the ground with their fruit on them, I know over the next weekend, despite the unusual heat, they will need to come out.  It would be easier if I knew what I was going to plant in their places, but the sun is low in the sky so whatever I put in will be a root vegetable of some sort.  And right now, I have no idea what I may plant.  And this is the great challenge of pulling out plants that are green and healthy, but past their prime.  It's like cutting short potential.  I think most gardeners face this gritty problem.  Our inclination is to nurture plants along.  We water and fertilize, compost and pick off snails, and do all the things a gardener does to encourage growth.  The fruition for this results in an abundant harvest.  Or at least that is the faith we start with when we plant.  But as much as it pains me, I will have to pull out the remaining tomato plants, eat the red ones and keep the green ones on the counter to ripen on their own, and know that the process of  gardening does require a season for everything.  I will have to be comfortable in that and then remember that gardens are a fully renewable resource.