Friday, October 31, 2008

Switching Hats

The Critical Response hat isn’t the only hat I wear. And sometimes when I’m wearing one of those other hats, I can’t get into the Critical Response hat quite as fast as I’d like to.

Case in point: this past Sunday I was at the photography education center where I’m active, Photoworks Glen Echo. I was leading the workshop that I teach once or twice a year, focused on the craft of combining words and pictures. I guess you could say I was wearing my teaching hat as opposed to my facilitating hat, my aesthetics hat as opposed to my critique hat, my Photoworks hat as opposed to my Dance Exchange hat. Not that any of those terms are mutually exclusive, but -- contrary to popular rumor -- my head is only just so big.

There comes a point in most photography classes when a student will spread prints out on the table, or post them on a board for viewing. People who frequent photo workshops are conditioned to treat this as critique time. And once it’s critique time, if the teacher doesn’t firmly establish a format from the outset, the conversation can pretty much slide anywhere. Which is what happened when one of the workshop participants laid out a series of portraits for a book she is planning.

Now, it wasn’t a disaster by any means. The artist was accomplished, so there was plenty of admiration for both the technical quality and the substance of her work. She had already stated her challenges and options for adding words to the images during the workshop’s opening round of introductions. But as soon as she put down a page of text next to one of the photos to show us how a spread in her book might appear, the fix-its started flying. “Make the text shorter.” “Use this sentence here, this is the essence.” “Put the interviews in the back of the book.” “You could try making some of the text larger, like a call-out in a magazine.” (Full disclosure: some of those fix-its came from me, since by that point jumping into the melee seemed the best way to offer my guidance.)

Lots of stuff starts going on in my own head in a moment like this. As a teacher, I wonder if I’m losing authority or if my opinion counts less because other people in the room have strong directives to offer. I’m trying to check the emotional temperature of the artist whose work is on the table – is she taking this in or is she shutting down? I’m weighing the merits of such fix-its against the value of good questions or less directive statements, multiple options against the one-problem, one-solution model. Lastly, I’m looking at the clock, since we’re already behind on the schedule for the afternoon.

The Critical Response Process, of course, offers help in all of those challenges, except perhaps the time constraint. And time is probably the reason why I didn’t step back, put on the CRP hat and try to redirect the interaction.

I always say that I consider an event a success if I know how I’ll do it better next time. So next time, while not necessarily engaging in a full-blown Critical Response session, I’ll probably do the following:

--Get the artist to talk about her challenges when she shows her work as opposed to much earlier in the workshop.
--Mindfully mention as the prints are placed on the table that this marks a transition where we’re likely to move into critique mode, and set some guidelines
--Encourage people to take a step back from the fixit: Can they frame the principle behind the suggestion they want to make rather than telling the artist what to do differently? Then I'd try to follow that principle myself.

As Liz often says, our impulse to fix another artist’s work can be a highly creative one. Channeling that impulse for the benefit of both people in the dialogue is the challenge. More on that topic soon, I hope.

It’s 5:30 in the evening, so please excuse me while I change into my Halloween hat.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Blog Bounce from Boulder


Artist/filmmaker Laura Tyler was on hand eariler this month in beautiful Boulder, when Liz Lerman -- along with Dance Exchange Production Manager Amelia Cox and me -- made some presentations at the ATLAS Alliance of the University of Colorado. Our little team was there to talk about quality, collaboration, the art/technology connection, and, naturally, Critical Response. Laura filed her incisive impressions on her own blog, so check it out.

I am particularly stimulated by what Laura says about the relationship of self-assessment to the passage of time. Fit fodder for future reflection!

Monday, October 27, 2008

The Screaming-and-Throwing-Chairs School of Choreography

I always enjoy the "Advice for Dancers" column in Dance Magazine. Reading about the problems of artists in the ballet and show biz sectors offers an interesting window on life beyond the Dance Exchange's sometimes contrarian corner of the dance world. In the just-released November edition, a reader asks: "My friend is working for a Tony Award-winning choreographer who screams and throws chairs -- isn't it illegal to treat company members this way?"

This reminded me of a story I recently heard about a now-deceased big-name choreographer. "Treat your dancers like s***," he advised a younger colleague (my informant, actually). "That way you'll always get what you want from them."

Sad.

Putting the two stories together did make me wonder: Is there a school of thought in the dance world that holds that fear, intimidation, and abuse are effective means for getting good performances from dancers? Is it just temperament that accounts for the screaming-and-throwing-chairs approach to dancemaking, or is it a kind of learned (and taught) behavior? And when choreography is imparted as a discipline, how often are the relational, communicative aspects of the dancer-choreographer dynamic included in the curriculum?

Since my education in dance is pretty much limited to Dance Exchange, I can't answer these questions in reference to dance-at-large. But I suspect that choreographic technique rarely encompasses how to relate to your dancers, and choreographers end up emulating whatever behaviors -- good, bad, or indifferent -- were perpetrated on them when they were dancers.

I'd like to believe that whether a choreographer favors a nurturing or a tough-minded approach, respect is always a basic value in how artists are treated. And I can't help but wonder if more could be done to teach good communication and leadership to emerging dancemakers.

Friday, October 24, 2008

Taking My Bias to the Opera


I went to the opera last month to see Bizet's The Pearl Fishers performed by the Washington National Opera. The sets and costumes in this much-travelled production were by Zandra Rhodes, the trendy-but-individualistic British fashion designer.

Looking back, I'm aware that I walked into the theater with two particular biases.

Bias No. 1, regarding the participation of Ms. Rhodes: Fashion designers don't necessarily make good theatrical costume designers. The two disciplines are very different, in fact, and it always seems like a bit of an insult to costume designers who have toiled in the backstage trenches when opera managments see fit to headline a star fashion designer with an assignment like this. (Some fuss was being made over Rhodes' involvement, with an insert in the program alerting us to the fact that her scarves and other accessories were on sale at the Kennedy Center gift shop.)

Bias No. 2: The score of The Pearl Fishers (an early work by the composer of the much more famous Carmen) has some beautiful passages. It also has some stretches of much less inspired music. My very biased adjectives for said music include banal, vapid, polite. I'll admit that this isn't a very original opinion.

It's interesting to walk into an artistic situation conscious of your bias. You could look to the situation to reinforce your opinion, or you could decide that your opinion might be subject to change based on what you encounter. I guess in this situation I did a bit of both.

Regarding my bias against fashion designers on the opera stage, I actually went somewhere. For this work -- set in "ancient Celon" -- I thought Zandra Rhodes' costumes created some gorgeous stage pictures with their wide pallette of deep, jewel-like colors. They struck a note of kitschy over-the-top exoticism that was just right for a work that trades in spectacle and a sort of touristy delight in foreign cultures. They didn't do a whole lot to advance your understanding of characters or relationships, but it's not like The Pearl Fishers is Ibsen. Conclusion: a fashion designer's sensibilty can work on the opera stage when there's a good match between that sensibility, the work in question, and the overall production concept.

As to my bias about the music of The Pearl Fishers , I remained pretty rock-steady in my very conventional opinion. But looking back, I'm aware that I didn't do much to challenge myself. What if I'd walked into the opera house saying, "I'm going to listen harder. I going to pay attention to the structure of the music or the orchestration. I'm going to cock my ears for something I haven't heard before." But I didn't and it's no suprise that my opinion didn't change.

I remember a sign on someone's dorm room door when I was in college:

"If you haven't changed your opinon about something in the last six months, check your pulse. You may be dead."

It's always worthwhile testing an opinon, but it does take willingness and an effort of mind.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

I Have an Opinion About That Opinion...

“You’re another pretty choreographer making pretty dances.”

A student artist we know recently heard those words from a faculty reviewer when her work was under consideration for a prestigeous opportunity. Well, not exactly those words. I’ve fictionalized the scenario a bit in the interest of protecting the innocent... and the guilty.

Imagine hearing that, though. The mind reels. Nothing damns art quite like “pretty,” and few things demean a person -- particularly a female person -- quite like being characterized by appearence alone. And the suggestion that one's work and one's self can be dismissed as part of a large class of similar mediocrities pretty much puts the bitter icing on this nasty slab of critical cake.

I can imagine only two reasonable responses, at least in the shortterm: retreat, as in yank down the shades, climb into bed and pull the sheets over your head for three days, or defensiveness. And -- repeat after me the wise words of Liz Lerman -- When defensiveness starts, learning stops.

That is the real shame of the instructor’s comment. In one condescending blow it ended the possibility of meaningful conversation with the student and the chance for anyone to do any learning. And this happened in an educational institution. Go figure.

Suppose -- and now I’m really fictionalizing because I’m postulating beyond anything I know about the actual situation -- suppose the teacher did have some concerns about limitations in the young artist’s aesthetic; suppose he (let’s assume it’s a he) observed the artist playing out self-image issues in ways that he believed were holding her work back; suppose he just likes edgier work; or suppose he thinks that socially conscious content trumps mere beauty (assuming that the two can’t coexist). Legitimate or not, all of those positions could be worthwhile starters to some kind of dialogue with the student, dialogue that might lead to insight, reflection, a fresh direction.

People often ask when the principles of CRP can be applied separate from the formal, four step process, and here’s a beautiful example of a situation where the neutral question (see CRP step 3) could be so helpful. Let’s try out a few:

--Tell me about your choice of subject matter.
--What is inspiring your work right now?
--Would you say that there’s a part of your personal story in this work? Tell me about that.
--How do you view your work in relation to that of your peers?
--How would you define your artistic concerns?
--How do you think about beauty?

And so on. The point is that they are conversation starters, not conversation stoppers, and that neutral quesions like these could lay the groundwork for trenchant opinion that the student might be ready to hear. Or a challenge for her to think about. Or some new curriculum ideas on the part of the professor (after all, if he's seeing so much "pretty" work from "pretty" students, doesn't he have the responsibility to change things?)

As it happened, the student artist seemed to be going into shut-down mode. She was actually scheduled for a Critical Response session on one of her works, but she bowed out on that opportunity, probably because she felt just too burned by the encounter of the day before. (Who could blame her?) And she was voicing some defensiveness too. I hope that defensiveness doesn't limit scope of her work in the future.

Whenever we say it, people reach for their pencils to write it down. So teachers, mentors, supervisors: cross-stitch this onto your pillowcases and sleep on it: When defensiveness starts, learning stops.

Four Steps Toward Leadership

We're currently in conversation with a leading visual art school about doing a day of Critical Response work with their freshmen. Our contact there asked us to explain how CRP would help the students to build leadership skills. Here's part of my response -- with a bit of bold type for added emphasis:

If we are preparing young people to take positions in the world as artists and to get the most out of a higher education experience in artistic practice, it seems to me that we want to prepare them for a variety of functions: to be articulate in representing their own work; to collaborate effectively with fellow artists, clients, curators and commissioners; to both lead projects and to be an effective team member; and to teach.

Liz Lerman’s Critical Response Process enhances leadership and collaborative capacities by enabling us to recognize and manage bias; by helping us be more articulate about our own work and that of others; by enhancing and constructively channeling our capacity for self-criticism; by sharpening listening skills and assuring that others will listen to us; and by imparting solid, easily grasped techniques for effective communication.

'Nuff said ... for now.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Notable Quotable: Jackson Pollock

A few years ago when Liz Lerman and I assembled our book on the Critical Response Process, I had fun collecting a series of quotes about critique, opinion, dialogue, and the purposes of art. In conjunction with some of my recent CRP teaching gigs, I've been making new additions to this collection.

So (speaking of someone I mentioned in my last post) here's one I particularly like from abstract expressionist painter Jackson Pollock:

"There was a reviewer a while back who wrote that my pictures didn't have any beginning or any end. He didn't mean it as a compliment, but it was."

Ha! At the risk of stating the obvious, Pollock's reflection speaks to how the vision of an artist can sometimes transcend the limits of criticism. It shows that -- just like art -- an opinion can have a separate life and impact from that intended by its originator. And it suggests that when art makes a foray into new realms of expression and technique, terms of critique often lag behind.


Tuesday, October 21, 2008

I'll Be the Judge of That

From time to time, I'll hear an earnest soul praise the Critical Response Process as a "nonjudgmental" way to give feedback.

This always gets my hackles up, for reasons I'll explain in a minute ... but I suppose I should try to pose a neutral question in response to this kind of declaration. Something like: "'Nonjudgmental' is an interesting word. Can you say more about that? Tell me what you mean."

I'm going to guess that what they mean is that the artist getting the feedback does not feel personally judged as an individual, or that some standard remote from the artist's own intentions is not being used to measure a work-in-progress. And those two points are generally true enough: The Critical Response Process offers some great ways to keep the focus on the specific work in question and to engage artists themselves in setting some of the terms for how their work is reviewed.

But "nonjudgmental" as a blanket characterization of the Process is troublesome to me. May I rant for a second?

When did the idea of judging get a bad rap? At what point in our politically-correct, psychobabbling, I'm-okay-you're-okay epoch did it become a bad thing to be making judgments? So in response to the "nonjudgmental" label, I'd like to say: On the contrary. As we use CRP we will be making some judgments. An artist bringing work forward for discussion using the Process should be ready for some judgments about that work -- from others and from themselves. Moreover, judgment is a natural component of the artmaking process. Artists are constantly making choices, weighing options, saying "This isn't working, let's try that." Even what appear to be the most impulsive, intuitive, improvisational, "inspired" artistic gestures involve judgment. (Imagine Ella Fitzgerald scatting on "How High the Moon" or Jackson Pollock in his action-dance across the canvas.) It's simply judgment that is so ingrained, so integrated that it doesn't appear to entail the deliberation that we associate with the idea of judging.

It's all judgment and -- forgive me for my own spasm of earnestness -- it's all good.

What is perhaps distinctive about the Critical Response Process is that it isn't just the artist's work that is subject to judgment. Opinions offered in response to art also come under scrutiny, and those who react strongly are required to subject their opinions to a process of judgment: turning them into neutral questions, weighing their value in relation to the artist's response, and deferring to the artist's say as to whether those opinions may be expressed or not. There's even the possibility that an opinion might change in the course of the Process.

Everyone involved in a session of CRP might be subject to some judgment. Everyone, let's hope, will do some judging of their own thoughts, actions, and products. Everyone gets a chance to learn and change. How exciting!

Monday, October 20, 2008

In the Bathtub with Andrew Sullivan

I was in the tub last night reading an article in The Atlantic by columnist/pundit Andrew Sullivan. His subject was blogging, and the piece was resonant with Sullivan's enthusiasm for this burgeoning mode of communication. For me his thesis was best summed up in the passage where he likens traditional journalism to scored classical music, blogging to improvised jazz. I rose from my bath with my dormant curiosity about the form re-stimulated. I'm ready to give it a try. (I wonder how many other new blogs that article will spawn?)

My subject is critique, and the intended centerpiece for this new-born blog is Liz Lerman's Critical Response Process. In my capacity as Humanities Director for Liz Lerman Dance Exchange, I have been actively involved for almost ten years in training, facilitating, and writing about this four-step process that helps artists get functional feedback on work-in-progress by harnessing the power of dialogue and inquiry. Fresh from a trip to the ATLAS Institute at the University of Colorado in Boulder where Liz and I led training and discussion in the Process, I'm convinced that there's a role for a forum about this widely-embraced mode for critical dialogue.

So here goes.