It's Not the Critic Who Counts

Unless the critic has taken up residence inside your head

I’m in the kitchen waiting for the morning coffee to brew, eyes lingering over the soft amber hues of light filtering between the blinds. Pulling the panels back a bit to watch the neighborhood ducks under the lilac bush, I notice the word “poop” written in pink chalk on the deck, a remnant from my grandchildren’s play when they visited on Easter day.

Chuckling at the memory of the 5-year old’s delight in having written it, the progression of skills between each of their age levels is on full artistic display. From the 2-year old’s simple scribble designs, to the 3-year old who is learning to draw shapes, to the kindergartener mastering her lettering and written words, each of my grandchildren have left their mark behind. Alone in the house now, I can still hear their laughter, see the sparkle in their eyes, feel the joy they expressed through this evidence of uninhibited play.

Pure. Without restraint. Unselfconsciously made.

No greater lesson can be found on the art of mark-making and the infusion of energy instilled by the artists hand than this masterpiece of childhood. A flat image of marks in various pastel hues, full of life and energy from a moment in time.

And no better example of what it means to work intuitively, I might add. Creating from that place of simply responding to whatever their little hands and curious minds led them to explore or make. No critic voice telling them not to write that word or perhaps their triangle could use a little work.

No pressure to color within the lines.

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“It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly.”
~ Theodore Roosevelt

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Researcher, Storyteller, Dr. Brené Brown, shared this quote in her 2012 TED talk ending it with the words daring greatly, which later became the title of one of her most popular books. But a quick online search reveals that the last sentence of the original quote doesn’t end with those words. It goes on to say “if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

Neither victory, nor defeat, such an apt description of that feeling of being blocked in the studio, don’t you think?

Of course when Brené shared that quote, she was referring to actual criticism coming from some person casting judgment over her work or words. Those who she knew professionally, that she feared would deem her less credible for talking about such things as Shame and Vulnerability.

The critic voice I talk about when it comes to our creative endeavors, are those internalized messages we carry in our heads, perhaps spoken directly to us at some point in our lives, or likely formed over time through societal norms and childhood conditioning.

In the studio I’ve become pretty adept at identifying the messages of my inner critic trying to deter my creative efforts. Not always in the moment, but at some point I start recognizing when I’m creating work (or not creating anything at all) in response to that voice, not working in the creative freedom of my Intuitive knowing. That knowing that is our Intuition has nothing to do with how skilled we are. Like those marks left on my back patio over Easter, our skills as artists develop with practice.

In my writing, especially here on the blog, I’ve only just begun to recognize when I’ve done it— written in response to the critic voice inside my head.

Sometimes I attribute these internalized messages to specific people based on past experiences, and I’ll catch myself writing in answer to their imagined accusation, sharing more than I originally intended and losing track of the point I wanted to make. Other times I withhold anecdotes about my life for fear of judgment. More often than not, my inner critic is a conglomeration, an elusive committee known as “they”, from the whole package of internalized messages I refer to as “what will people think of me”.

What will people think of me is one of the most common critic messages we internalize as creatives and humans. Some will easily recognize its influence over their lives, while others will deny they care about the opinions of others at all. Yet this one is so built into the fabric of our society that it is nearly impossible to avoid. We are bombarded with messages telling us we are simultaneously not enough and too much based on our body type and abilities, looks, gender, sexual orientation, the type of work we do, the faith we practice, or the fact that we don’t.

Once something is out there; you hit publish on the blog, or trip over your own two feet making your grand entrance, got the rejection letter, or wake up to the reality that you never pursued your dream, it is easy to believe another favorite of the critic—that it’s too late. You blew it. Missed the boat, passed the point of no return. You are washed up. Made your choice. Had your chance. No sense in crying about it now mister, you blew it.

The thing is, it is never too late to rewrite your own story, edit the blog, change your mind, do an about face. Your mistakes in life do not define you. Brené Brown and ol’ Teddy Roosevelt were right, it’s not the critic who counts.

Unless you’ve given the reins of creative control to the one living inside your head.

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Today’s post includes the first excerpt for paid subscribers from my book, The Art of Expressive Collage: Techniques for Creating with Paper & Glue. Though the format determined by the publisher was largely tutorial driven, I was afforded the opportunity to write a great deal about the intuitive process within its pages.

And with its official release in 2015, the seeds of desire to devote my next publishing efforts exclusively to writing about the Intuitive Voice were planted.

I hope you enjoy today’s offering.

Introduction