"You're good, but you could be better"
I was reading an article on the fine photographer, Anni Leibovitz, whose partner, Susan Sontag, told her in 1988 that Anni was "good, but could be better". While those terms may be subjective, and one person is rarely in the position to judge that of another, it raises a question for all of us, especially those of us who see themselves as artists: "can I do better, can I be better?"
It's a lot to ask of oneself, and the answer is, of course, "yes". The tricky part is defining what we mean by "better" and then just how we intend to do it.
For me, the most consistently exciting time artistically speaking was the years when I first began to work at my craft, back in college, from 1969-73. Although I was working "below the radar" without much assitance from any of the teachers, I was improving and experimenting on an almost daily basis. Each picture I did was better than the last one. This was not only my opinion, but that of my peer group, the ones whose feedback I valued most, even if that feedback was no more than a stoned, "far out". I always knew when I had broken new ground, or at least, refined something I had been working on the month before.
The next sustained period of excitement and improvement came from 1983-87, when I worked as a newspapeer illustrator. The demands on me were great, and I responded well. I was prolific, my conceptual/literary interpretive skills increased vastly, and I worked in a variety of styles. Even though the people at the top of the paper did not treat me particularly well, it was a time of great artistic fruition for me.
Cut forward another twenty years: it's 2006 (how futuristic sounding), and I've got some terrific commissions, including one that will be 5' in width, which is practically the Sistine ceiling by my miniaturistic standards. I keep hoping I can do something new on each piece, somethng that will have me saying to myself that "this is the best thing I've ever done". I'm challenging myself, and somehow feel that physically and energetically, I'm falling short. Now that I'm 54, there are some new challenges, and I'm not sure how to take them on and beat them, at least for the next 30 years or so. Should I increase my daily coffee intake?
It's a lot to ask of oneself, and the answer is, of course, "yes". The tricky part is defining what we mean by "better" and then just how we intend to do it.
For me, the most consistently exciting time artistically speaking was the years when I first began to work at my craft, back in college, from 1969-73. Although I was working "below the radar" without much assitance from any of the teachers, I was improving and experimenting on an almost daily basis. Each picture I did was better than the last one. This was not only my opinion, but that of my peer group, the ones whose feedback I valued most, even if that feedback was no more than a stoned, "far out". I always knew when I had broken new ground, or at least, refined something I had been working on the month before.
The next sustained period of excitement and improvement came from 1983-87, when I worked as a newspapeer illustrator. The demands on me were great, and I responded well. I was prolific, my conceptual/literary interpretive skills increased vastly, and I worked in a variety of styles. Even though the people at the top of the paper did not treat me particularly well, it was a time of great artistic fruition for me.
Cut forward another twenty years: it's 2006 (how futuristic sounding), and I've got some terrific commissions, including one that will be 5' in width, which is practically the Sistine ceiling by my miniaturistic standards. I keep hoping I can do something new on each piece, somethng that will have me saying to myself that "this is the best thing I've ever done". I'm challenging myself, and somehow feel that physically and energetically, I'm falling short. Now that I'm 54, there are some new challenges, and I'm not sure how to take them on and beat them, at least for the next 30 years or so. Should I increase my daily coffee intake?
posted by Rich Sigberman at
6:38 AM
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