The Value of Peer Criticism, for the Serious Painter

By Robert Wittig

6:04 a.m. 09/29/2002

I was reading messages and writing an occasional reply, to my favourite fine arts email list, when the subject of giving and receiving peer criticism on each others' work popped up onto my screen.

I am not much opposed to other people giving and receiving such criticism, if that is what they want to do, but for myself, I have never seen it as a very productive enterprise. On the rare occasions when people have offered criticism of my work (I have never actively sought it), I have found their comments useless at best, and at other times, their suggestions would have been downright destructive, if followed. This is not to say that I have never found something that another painter, artist, or person of another completely unrelated field has said to be very valuable ... this has happened many times ... just not when their comments were directed specifically to me, regarding my work specifically. I do not reject the possibility that my resistance to such advice might be a function of my stubborn personality, as much as it is a function of their (heh) well-meaning advice. It is probably a function of both. While I am eminently capable of learning, I resist people who attempt to 'teach' me, in direct proportion to the degree to which they assume the role of 'knowing teacher'.

As far as whether or not peer criticism between painters is a good, bad, or zero sum idea in general, I cannot say. I do not know how the minds of my fellow human beings work, well enough to say whether or not it is beneficial, or what kind of benefits are derived, by having someone else sit down with them, and criticise their work. Therefore, I will not attempt to either encourage, or discourage the practice, but only to offer up some of my own opinions and experiences on and regarding the subject, and then leave the reader to her or his own devices ... exactly the method which works best with me, where learning (as opposed to being 'taught') is concerned. If there is anything of use here, grab it ... and discard the rest.

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A few months ago, I attended the 'Art Chicago' show, one of the large international fine arts shows, in order to write a review of that show. Once the review was published, one of the dealers in the show whose booth I had given a particularly good review to contacted me, and thanked me for the piece. (He earned what he got, so there was really no thanks needed.) A week later, one of his gallery artists, whose work had been on display in the booth, contacted me, to tell me how much he had enjoyed the article. I thanked him, and told him how much I respected his work (this fellow is one of the undisputed best realist gouache still-life painters in the world). He told me that he was going to take a little time and check out my website, and would get back to me. Although by this time, my attitude against peer criticism had already been pretty solidly formed, I was very pleased that a painter of his skill and stature was going to look over my work, and possibly offer some constructive comments, because I believed that possibly, his advice, if any was forthcoming, might be of a higher quality than what I had received previously ... 'better painter, better criticism'.

A week later, I received an email from him, informing me that he was a born-again Christian, and that he found much of my work quite offensive, especially one rather juvenile cartoon, and a large, classically executed nude self-portrait ... totally non-erotic, and in my opinion, one of the best paintings I have ever done.

He went on to explain that there was, however, still hope for me, if I would only 'clean up my act', and do the following three things ...

Stop painting in all media except one. I currently paint in oil, watercolour, acrylic, dry media, and make sculpture in wood, metal and terra cotta ... plus whatever else happens to please me at the moment. He suggested that I pick a single medium, and abandon all others.

Choose a single subject, and abandon all others ... that I should either paint portraits, or landscapes, or still-lifes ... but not all three.

Stop painting in multiple styles. I paint in a very realistic style, but then, sometimes, my style is not so realistic, and then I like cartoons, which are not realistic at all, and sometimes I let surrealism creep in, and sometimes even bits and pieces of abstraction, and things that don't really even have proper names ...

His advice was to pick a single way to paint (realism ... he actually suggested this specifically, because that was what the people with money currently want to buy), and abandon all other ways of painting. Here is a fellow who has the ability to create work that, while I have no interest in painting that way myself, I hold in very high regard, but when it comes to offering 'peer criticism', the man is ... there is no polite way to say this ... a complete babbling moron, spewing forth opinions and advice which are worse than useless. The criticisms this fellow offered me would be, if used by me, completely and utterly destructive to my creative nature, and are also anathema to art. He might as well have suggested that I discard my size 10.5 shoes, and force my feet into a pair of size 6 shoes ... because people just don't like painters with big feet. He might as well have suggested that I put a loaded gun to my temple, and squeeze the trigger ... several times.

This kind of destructive (albeit well-meaning) criticism is easily rejected by me, because I know my own mind quite well, so that when someone tells me something that goes against my grain, I either ignore it, or tell the author politely (and sometimes not so politely) to go to hell. But what about the kind of person who opens himself to 'peer criticism'? I would expect that at least some among their numbers, would at the very least, wind up wasting a lot of time and effort listening to and attempting to follow, bad advice. It has also been my observation, that those individuals who are the most willing to offer peer criticism, are those least competent to give such advice.

Perhaps part of the actual function of peer criticism, is to hopelessly confuse those painters and would-be artists who are foolish enough to take it too seriously, to the point where they eventually abandon their art careers, for professions which require less independence of thought. Painting in the fine arts is an act which cannot be conducted by committee.

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Sometimes art criticism takes a more specific form, in which an individual painting is criticised, technically. Here is an example I am quoting, which was offered to a painter (not myself) by an individual on a fine arts mail list, which I am reproducing here in accordance with the rules of 'fair use'. The author's name is not important, because this out-take is so typical of this type of criticism, that it could have been by any one of thousands of peer critics, in reference to any one of thousands of paintings:

"Very nice handling of the medium—colors are very clean, alive. However, I see a problem in the composition: the strongest line is the oblique dune leading off to the left—but the left of the picture is a dead end. The eye doesn't want to find itself against a blank wall of sand, so instead looks for something open—and that's the water in the distance to the right of your composition. This is where you should lead the viewer's eyes. As constructed, your visual journey is bifurcated rather than a unified whole. This is something to keep in mind when you do a future picture—and shouldn't be too difficult for you. You're doing fine with form and color—the hard-hat roadbuilding is a snap—"

I have a fairly good understanding of the English language. Sometimes it takes me a while to fully comprehend what another individual is saying, but I am a stubborn reader, and I persist in studying text that I do not initially understand, until I either apprehend meaning, or finally reach a point where I realise that my inability to extract meaning, is probably more a fault of the text, than my comprehension.

I have an excellent understanding of painting, and the technical aspects of painting ... colour, line and value theory, perspective, composition, design, choice of subject ... more things than have names. I know much of what has been written on these various subjects, and have formed some well-based opinions, on which theories are useful, and which are, for me at least, worthless.

When I read a comment on a painting like the one above, I form an opinion that the author does not know what they are talking about ... I don't know what they are talking about, that is for sure. Given my good comprehension of English, and my excellent comprehension of painting, if it made any genuine sense, I would see that sense. I don't. What I do see, is a block of words that attempt to explain how the painter should design something called a 'visual journey', which some abstract viewer is allegedly going to take, and that the painter is attempting to 'lead' in the 'right' direction.

In my opinion composition has to do, first and foremost, with the painter arranging the various elements of the painting in an order that will most effectively say, what the painter wants to say ... except that the painter probably does not actually know, in their verbal consciousness, what exactly it is, that the painting they are making is intended to say. This is the way it works for me, anyhow ... I start out a painting, just because ... I'm just painting; I don't have any real, conscious motive most of the time ... I'm just painting the stuff in front of me ... people, places, things. As the painting progresses, the painting takes its own form, and intent, from parts of my mind and emotional make-up, of which I am not fully, consciously aware. Composition handles itself, and if I begin superimposing my own (or even worse, another person's) conscious aims and rules onto the canvas, the painting will fail.

Composition, colour theory, all of these 'rules', are best learned, memorised, and then 'forgotten', before a brush is taken up. Why? ... because painting is like driving a car ... or juggling. If you slow down the process to the point where the rules form a conscious mental template, you will crash the car, drop the balls, and trash the painting, which is trying to present itself on canvas, direct from parts of your brain that communicate with your hands and eyes, at a level that can only be observed by consciousness after the fact ... after the paint is laid down.

Painting is like riding a bicycle ... if you try concentrating on keeping the bike balanced, you will fall over ... if you forget about balance, and just enjoy the ride, you will fall over too, but only a few times, after which the process of 'unconscious balance' is learned. I think that composition, and the other technical skills of painting, are only learned in the act of painting, where they become internalised to the point of unconsciousness, only displaying themselves consciously in the little 'no ... that's not right' moments, when the hands and eyes 'know' that something is 'off'. To anyone who cannot learn to keep a bicycle unconsciously balanced, I would suggest a conveyance with three or four wheels. To anyone who cannot internalise the 'rules' of composition, colour, etc., I would suggest finding a means of self-expression, which does not place heavy demands on such skills. To any 'peer critic' who thinks that they know the artist's intent ... something which is beyond the artist's conscious knowledge, or the viewers' response ... I want to borrow your crystal ball. Most decent composition breaks as many of the laid-down rules as it adheres to, and any composition that follows all the rules ... is probably boring.

Every time I look at anything, I am studying 'seeing'. I will be driving along, and I will 'see' something, and later, what I 'saw', or an aspect of it, will find its way into my work, when and where parts of my brain that are not accessible to my everyday awareness deem appropriate.

Every time I stand in front of my easel, or hunch over my sketch pad, my hands get to practice putting down, the things I 'saw', according to those 'rules' that my everyday awareness is not privy to ... and then I get to do it again, and again, and again, and through the process of repititititition, the 'rules' change; the eye, mind and emotions, and how they 'see', mature, and the maturation is reflected in composition, in use of line, value, colour, perspective, the turn in the corner of a mouth, the slight twist in the corner of an eye, the minutiae that make up a visual, non-verbal communication.

What I have to learn about painting, and art, I can and must, and will learn, but I do not believe that these are things that can be 'taught' to me, through peer, or any other type of criticism.