Be Your Own Worst Critic

In the course of my career, and life behind a lens, I’ve often been asked to speak to photography groups, or lecture at the opening of an exhibit. Just recently I had such an opportunity with the Virginia Beach Photography Club. Of course it’s always about my work and why I do it. Sometimes about the equipment - especially that “big ol film camera” the RB67.

In this post I’d like to offer you something that I hope will help you in any artistic endeavor - how to be “your own worst critic.”

Being that doesn’t mean you constantly tear your work and yourself down. That’s being your own worst enemy. Rather I’m going to ask you to judge your work, your progress, and the work of others by four specific criteria. And here they are:

1 - What is the artist saying?

2 - Did they say it?

3 - Was it worth saying?

4 - Is the artist growing in what they’re saying?

Now I’d love to say that I came up with this all by myself, but I didn’t. Left is Robert Adams, and right is the book that influenced my thoughts on critiquing art and artists. It’s a collection of eight essays published by Aperture in 1981. The three first criteria in my essay are derived from Adams. The fourth is one I’ve added.

You can download a PDF of the book from Academia here: https://www.academia.edu/33248645/Robert_Adams_Beauty_in_Photography

What Is The Artist Saying?

This, like all of this advice, is pretty simple and straightforward - what is the artist saying? Some of you might remember the days of old when our dads would document every detail of our family vacations on Kodachrome, or Ektachrome, slide film, and then make family and friends endure a three hour presentation where almost every shot had to be explained.

“This is my cousin Bob’s prize cow, Bessie. Now let me see if I can zoom in enough for you to actually see her because I used a 50mm lens from 100 yards away when I took this shot…”

Many artists work in such an abstract manner that no one can tell you exactly what statement they’re making; which then becomes the “it’s up to the viewer to interpret my work” or, when rejected the lament is “people just don’t appreciate or understand true artistic expression.” Now in the 20th century artists like Jackson Pollock forged a movement in art referred to as the Abstract Expressionist Movement. His work, and those like him, had its admirers and detractors.

I would probably be in that latter category as I prefer Adams approach. Think of this maxim “what is the artist saying” as if you have to explain a joke then it’s probably not very funny. So my first piece of advice is first think of what it is you want to say, and then work towards making that statement.

Did They Say It?

Have you ever told a joke and no one “got it”? That’s frustrating for both you and the listener. It’s the same thing with art and especially a photograph. Whether you’re doing something as straightforward as the photojournalism that Arthur Rothstein did during the depression for the Farm Security Administration, the portraits that Edward Sherriff Curtis created of Native Americans in the late 19th century, or Andy Warhol’s work in the 1970s, or the very creative and expressive work of modern photographers like Cindy Sherman, Mariska Karto, or Brooke Shaden, whatever genre you work in - and that includes pictures of your pets, kids and family outings - try to make a statement that someone looking at the work will understand.

If you find yourself explaining the work, like it was a complex math problem, then you missed the mark.

Was It Worth Saying?

Of all the things you consider when looking at your work, this may be the hardest. Was what I said worth saying?

Right now I’m going over almost five years of traveling around Virginia and North Carolina, reviewing my work and editing it down to what’s worth the cost of printing for hopefully selling at an art festival, and putting into a book. The good news is I can see how my work has improved dramatically during this time period. That’s the result of me constantly doing this; just like an athlete builds music and stamina by repeatedly doing exercises. Over, and over, and over, and… I certainly have enough work for a respectable portfolio. And I have so enjoyed just getting out into the country and doing this. I should have a bumper sticker that reads “A Bad Day of Photography Is Still Better Than the Best Day At Work.”

That’s the good news. The bad news is that a lot of what I have shot is garbage. It was fun to do, but it totally lacks the quality of light, composition, detail, and overall character that distinguishes and is, and should be, a trademark my work.

So, using my own criteria, much of what I have shot falls short of the mark of being something “worth saying.” Many of you, who are very kind, will think I’m being too hard on myself. I’m not. My work, my standard has to be higher than a Google Earth van riding around recording as it goes.

Are You Growing as an Artist?

We all have bands, songs, artists that we like, but who were “one hit wonders.” You know like The Champs “Tequila,” or “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” by The Tokens. What I’m referring to are artists like photographer Ansel Adams, painter Paul Cézanne, actress Meryl Streep, singer Ella Fitzgerald and others whose careers spanned decades. Did they grow as artists? Did their work improve and grow stronger?

Personally one of my best examples of that would be Johnny Cash. Towards the end of his life and career, his work became more powerful and poignant. If you’ve never heard his cover of the Nine Inch Nails song “Hurt” I’d strongly recommend it. Trent Reznor, of Nine Inch Nails, talked about how moving Cash’s version was and how, “It really, really made sense and I thought what a powerful piece of art.”

( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8AHCfZTRGiI ) This is a link to that video of Cash’s interpretation of “Hurt.”

In the course of my involvement with photography I’ve been a landscape photographer, a portrait photographer, a wedding photographer, and now am kinda back to landscapes, but of a different nature. And I’d love to do a series of portraits again like I did in 1981 at a punk rock bar.

This applies to my writing as well. At a college class I was asked why was my work so powerful, so poignant? My response was that earlier in my life, while I liked to write, it was bland. It took a lot of personal suffering, tragedy, and struggling for me to become the writer than I am today.

I’d like to think that in each genre I’ve grown and matured, and that I will continue to do so. That my work today is much stronger, more mature than what I was creating in my twenties, or even a few years ago. After all, who wants to be a One Hit Wonder?