Notes About Life: 3 - I Heart Critiques

Not. 

Ever since I was a 3-year-old playing "Hot Cross Buns" on my tiny violin I have strongly disliked teachers, especially music teachers. Not that there was anything wrong with any of my teachers. I liked them just fine as people, just not as teachers (insert criticizers). If a genie had given me one wish with which to change the world, I would have eliminated the position of "teacher." Who ever thought it was a good idea to pay someone to be a critic and point out everything you were doing wrong? 

Not me. It wasn't long before I'd had enough. I quit the violin, quite fed up with being told I wasn't doing things well enough or right. I didn't need that sort of negativity in my life. I was three years old. 

I may or may not have a stubborn streak. 

Eventually my mom insisted that I learn to play both the violin and piano and the lessons started up again but oh, how I hated them. I refused to listen, absolutely would not use a metronome, picked up bad habits my teachers told me to avoid, and generally resisted every word of criticism or advice. Tell me you liked this song better slow? I'd play it fast. It sounded better if I played gently? Too bad. I hammered the keys. Lesson days were the worst. Sometimes they were okay, especially if there were treats, but mostly I would drag my feet into the music room, grudgingly pull out my music, play the assigned song and then listen as it got picked apart and, with every sentence that came out of my teacher's mouth I would dive further into a building wave of resentment, frustration, and hurt pride. Knowing that if I spoke back I'd get a firm reprimand from my mother I stayed silent but oh so angry. 

And the worst part was, my teachers were right. They were always, always right. Things did sound better, work better, feel better their way but that didn't stop me from dreading that feeling of wrong. Being wrong, playing wrong, practicing wrong. Of knowing I'd practiced and tried and still failed. Worse than failing though, I was wrong. As in, opposite of right. Not good. Though, considering that I did spend a significant amount of time trying to do things wrong to annoy my teachers, I guess it makes sense that I wouldn't feel right. Still, even before I was jaded against my teachers, back when I'd actually tried to listen and obey, I still received what seemed to me to be an unholy amount of criticism. 

Academics were easier. In academia there is a definitive right versus wrong. You either add 2+2 correctly or you don’t. There was no subjectivity, no being "open to interpretation," no changing opinions or results based on uncontrollable variables like acoustics, illness, injury, quality of instrument or any of the other hundred things that could affect your musical performance. 

Most frustrating was when my music teachers didn't agree. This didn't happen often, but occasionally I would participate in a district competition or masterclass and receive suggestions from college professors, professional soloists, or teachers from other schools and those suggestions didn't always match. Nothing drastic ever happened, but I remember thinking about what would happen when one teacher told me to play it one way, but the other told me to play the opposite. What would I do then? And, what if judges in competitions docked points for playing it one way because they subjectively preferred the other? 

All those minor issues aside, the biggest issue I had with music teachers is that they never said, "You've got it. That's great! Love it! Nothing to add!" I have never had a teacher say that. Even after I'd officially "passed off" songs it was always with this sometimes spoken, sometimes implied understanding that I hadn't really mastered or completed the song, I'd just worn it out. It was "good enough" and I'd "learned all [I] needed to learn" from it. 

Ooo! One of my least favorite lesson days was the day I'd spent a couple weeks learning the first part of a really pretty song called Autumn and I played it for my teacher and he pointed out a few things I could do differently and then said, "Why don't you pick a new song?" 

I, shocked, asked, "Shouldn't I finish learning this one?"

"No. You've learned all you're going to learn from this one so find a new song. Let's have you do a minuet." 

I still can't play that song, which is tragic because it was gorgeous. I went home after that lesson, picked my assigned (very boring) minuet, and felt so angry, ashamed, and confused. Angry because I wasn't allowed to finish the song I'd come to love, ashamed because I figured if I'd been a better pianist my teacher wouldn't have stopped me (I must not have been learning it fast enough), and confused because if the point of learning the piano wasn't to learn how to play and perform songs, then what was the point?

Now, let's talk about art teachers. I love them. If a genie gave me a wish I might instead wish that all teachers could be like art teachers because the world would be a very colorful, cheery place if they were. The only concerning thing about art teachers is that, in all the fundamental, logistical ways, they are exactly the same as music teachers. They pick things apart, analyze, suggest, tell you to do things differently, don't agree, give conflicting opinions (in this area they're even worse than music teachers because you might ask for their opinion on two different days and get two completely different answers from the same teacher!), and never, never, ever call a piece of art 100% complete, mastered, or finished. 

Each art class followed a very predictable schedule. You would receive the project assignment, have a couple days to sketch an idea, work in class on the project for a few weeks, and then turn the project in on a "critique day" where you would present your work of art in front of the entire class and wait for them to make comments, suggestions, and critiques about your work. My very first critique day was in my drawing class. I had never really drawn before and didn't end up loving drawing enough to continue. My work of art was good considering it was pretty much my first drawing ever, but not great based on college art standards. Still, I'd worked over 50 hours on that project so I was proud of what I'd accomplished. Critique day was rough. So very hard to get through. Not only did I get to see the amazing art everyone else could accomplish, but they got to see what I could not accomplish and give me suggestions about what I could have done differently, or perhaps what I should have changed at the beginning to get a different result. 

I was miserable. 

On the long walk out of the classroom and back to my car I remember thinking, "What was the point of that? It's not like I can change anything I did now. My pencil marks are permanently etched. My composition set. It's too late to do anything about it."

Too late to do anything about it. 

That was the issue. That in music, in art, in life, the comments, the suggestions, and the critiques so often come after the fact. After the project is finished or failed. After the notes have been practiced and memorized. After the mistakes have been made. After you've gone past the point of no return. After it's too late to do anything about it.

I can think of few things worse than reaching the end of an activity, project, class, etc. and hearing your (teacher, friend, family member, classmate) say, "Oh, but you should have done it this way! Can't you see how much better that would be?!"

And the problem is, 80% of the time, they're right. And it's too late. 

So what's the point? Why say anything if there's nothing that can be done? Why have critique days or competitions? Why have teachers?

Well, in just one semester of art classes my art teacher finally told me what no music teacher was able to explain in 15 years. He explained that we have critiques, not because we're trying to find something wrong, to dock points, or to create an unattainable finish line (although that does happen), we have critiques because they increase creativity. There are a hundred different ways to approach a problem in art. There are over a million different "solutions" as my teacher called them. When you finish a project you have found one solution. When someone else adds their ideas and critiques you discover another solution, one you would never have come up with on your own. When you have critiques from 25 classmates, that's 25 possible solutions that you can then use in the future! 

And then, (in a super excited voice) he said, "Imagine a world in which you can see and create and be a part of millions of solutions. Imagine what it would be like to live so creatively that the options were laid out for you to choose like pebbles on a beach! Imagine the possibilities! The colors! The texture and vibrancy of a life filled with new solutions to problems and new ways of seeing the good! The goal of art is not to create the perfect work of art, it's to add one more solution, one more perspective, one more suggestion of beauty, of goodness, of hope and light and love. True art is not a thing it is a way of being."

Art is never finished because you can always look at it and see something new. Something that could be done differently. A suggestion or a solution hidden in the lines and texture. It is never too late to critique art. In fact, if we were smart we would probably still be critiquing the Mona Lisa, not to find fault--to find possibility. 

Whether or not the same is true of music, I have yet to find out. Perhaps the difficulty is that art, once made, is unchanging, while music is performed differently every time depending on the musician's mood, audience, and skill. I suppose that's good though, because while it's never too late to critique art, at some point it is too late to fix it. But music, well, that's something you can always change, adapt, and alter to fit your current needs.

Which means that art shows you where you've been, music tells you where you are, and critiques reveal where you could be. 

Music, art, and life are not about being right or wrong. They're not about being good enough. They're not even about being 100% mastered, finished, or complete. They're about choice. Possibility. Creation. Imagination. The beauty of critiques is that at the end, you get to decide which option you take. To consciously say, "I want my music, my art, and my life to go this way, to result in this thing, to end up there." Where? That's up to you. The person next to you is probably going to choose something different. Does that mean you were wrong? When you get to the end of the piece and look back, having ended up with a completely different work of art than someone else, did you choose the wrong way?

No. You chose. You chose a solution. You chose a direction. You found, uncovered, revealed, and discovered a new way. There's nothing wrong in that.

And someone else, somewhere down the road is going to look at your life, see your solutions, make their own critiques, and find something in them that might change their life.