A friend recently told me a story about going to see a show in London - a show that he had really, really enjoyed (he might have even used the word ‘loved’). Coincidentally, two people were sitting nearby with whom he has vaguely acquainted: both of whom, like my friend, made theatre in one capacity or another. Immediately after the show, these two people accosted my friend for his opinion. They had both, in unison, hated the show, an opinion as strong as my friend’s just in the opposite direction. When my friend’s opinion turned out to be in conflict with theirs, they demanded why he had liked it, what was it about that show that he could possibly have liked.
Now, for my friend, this post-show incident marked, perhaps even tarnished, the entire experience of the show. All my friend, at that early point, could volunteer was that he had enjoyed it, it had moved him. I would venture to say that, to this pair of theatre-makers, my friend’s reluctance or inability to talk about their opinion at that early stage appeared as a sign of wrong-ness, maybe even something worse. Regardless, his failure to stand up to their ruthless line of questioning likely would have confirmed their own opinion - the opposite side being unable to answer the bell.
When I heard this anecdote, it sounded familiar to me - probably, I hate to say, from both sides of the fence. I could recount times when other people’s quickly expressed opinions have felt like an assault: I have learnt to deflect them, although this has its downsides (recently, at the Young Vic, an acquaintance asked me “So, what do you think?” in the interval, to which I responded “I think that it’s half-way through” and was aware of having been rude, when really all I wanted to do was to talk about anything but the show, aware that I was halfway from having all the evidence). I can recall having actually changed my opinion on something, or at the least being aware of the thought that my opinion was the wrong one, after watching Das Experiment as an undergraduate (a film that found a rather gripping and exciting experience, but which my peers unanimously agreed was ridiculous and farcical - I was too embarrassed to volunteer an alternative viewpoint, and kept quiet, feeling a little ashamed).
Yet, I am also sure that I have treated some works of art unfairly in a rush to form an opinion about it - sometimes a work will do something early on that will affect my entire experience of it, meaning that I will be negative about it regardless of what it will turn to do or to be. Sometimes I have felt like, on reflection, that I went into a theatre or an auditorium with a mental checklist of notes that the work has to hit or barriers that ‘good’ work cannot fall beneath (at different stages of my journey with art, this checklist may have been stylistic, political or craft-based). This feels like doing violence to the work, forcing it to accord my own rules rather than accepting and appreciating it on its own terms. Similarly, I have also felt like my experience of work has been a frantic scramble to form an opinion before the final applause or the final credits - to be able to face or, even better, preempt those conversations, those questions, those challenges from friends and peers. I suspect that this might be a common experience for many people, either under the pressure of peers or the desire to be well-equipped for a post-work discussion. I have suspected in the past that some people enjoy the discussion of the work, or perhaps - even more unfairly - the describing of their own response to a work, than the actual work itself. I don’t know whether this is true, or maybe just my insecurities projected, but it feels familiar. In the past I have said - as I said to my friend with whom we begun this journey - that if someone already has an opinion formed by the end of the show, then it is most likely not a very good opinion. It is probably not developed from reflection, or if it is then that reflection has taken the place of appreciation. (I wrote and then deleted the word ‘proper’ twice in different places in that previous sentence, which hints at an unfortunate note of dogmatism in my thinking - you SHOULD do this with art, you SHOULD do that with art - I would love to be called up on it, and be given suggestions for alternative ways of thinking).
I have been thinking about this today, because I have been reflecting on issues of appreciation and aesthetics. I detected an overwhelming, an unhealthy even, element of criticism in my thinking about making art. This is a particularly pertinent issue for me, because I recently - well, in the past 18 months, made a leap from extensive thinking and training specifically as a writer of art criticism and theory, to a PhD level, to a maker and creator of art. This wasn’t as clearcut as the previous sentence makes it look, there was a period of overlap, a period during which one made significantly more sense than the other, but it is creating a rather large obstacle at present. We all have an inner critic - that voice that says ‘ha! That sucks! You’re not working hard enough!’ - but it’s a particular struggle when the artist in you is so small and inexperienced but the critic is able to draw on theory and a lot of time spent engaging with work. The critic is able to convincingly explain why this imagined work is derivative, or why it is intrinsically inferior to the work of Alfred Hitchcock, Wes Anderson, Katie Mitchell or one of another directing role models.
The answer, I think (as with everything), is to relax into the creativity, and trust that the critical experience will inform it. I hold on for dear life to the examples of the Cahiers du Cinema critics-turned-directors: a group of critics who went on to direct some of the most important and beautiful films of film history. I think it’s important that the critical experience informs the creative experience - and, perhaps, vice versa. In fact, maybe what I want to suggest is that there needs not be a held separation between the two, that they are just two expressions of the same experience - a critical opinion can be formed from a creative appreciation and reflection, and creative expression can be informed by critical opinion, critical theory, a critical knowledge of history.
Yet if you worry too much about one or the other, force one or the other too far into self-consciousness, then it can have a distorting effect. This is, I think, perhaps what happens when we fall into ‘opinion-mode’, focused more on forming our post-work opinion rather than the work in front of us. This will probably be encouraged by our thoughts about ourself, our friends or our circumstances: the pressure of university, for example, and the self-suspicion that we may be less intelligent than our friends, can motivate us to focus on the opinion rather than the work. That opinion, by the by, will probably be wrapped in theory, in pre-suppositions, and in unclear thinking (I know, I’ve had these opinions).
By way of conclusion, I would say that there is, most likely, a distinction to be made between the terms that these conversations could take place under: if it is OK to articulate half-formed thoughts about a experience you have just had, describe things that immediately appealed to you, under the understanding that there may be contradictions in these sensations, without feeling pressurised to relate it all to Baudrillard or put it in its full historical context - under the understanding that these things may well become important or necessary later in your reflections - then the thinking would become clearer, the discussion more shared and more enlightening. Yet there is a contract here, a responsibility here, to keep the work in your thoughts, to keep reflecting, to not dismiss out of hand, to accept that things may appear to you later rather than immediately.
The second conclusion here is probably a more selfish one - the acknowledgement that this writing is mostly a working out of anxieties relating to what I hope to be a forthcoming period of creativity. I start looking into a new project this week - making a few nudges in an unexpected direction, a direction that my critic is screaming that I know nothing about and have no place within - and, like many other directors of my age and experience at the moment, am also thinking about and proposing a project for The JMK Award (an exercise that I find difficult, making huge leaps in a direction without making all the little steps necessary for foundation). It’s an exciting period - if I can only just stop worrying that I am doing it properly. The answer, like so much in life, work and love, is to relax.
