the ugly truth about critique

actual students after an actual sculpture critique

Just like you, I’m a sucker for reposting an Instagram post that seems to support some idea I agree with.  We both know that there’s also data to prove the opposing view, but we smile, share the post to our story and hope our viewers see the exterior validation for ideas they know we hold dear.

Recently, the algorithm has been showing me some of those social media teachers who are supposed to be excellent teachers and social media savvy at the same time.  Many are art teachers and many share funny stories, good ideas and their hot takes on how to teach art.  Only a few are university level studio art teachers, but I still consider their posts and their thoughts on all things art teachery.  In the past week, I’ve noticed a few posts about studio art critiques and what those should and shouldn’t be.  Specifically, these teachers have called out negative critique experiences and proposed that critiques should be positive experiences for students.  I politely disagree.

Forgive me for my sarcasm, but students don’t always know best when it comes to their education and often times, true education can come from uncomfortable experiences.

Flashback to the fall of 1990.  I had my very first critique ever at the university level in the basement of Roddey Apartments.  The art building was closed for major renovations during my freshman year and our Foundations classes met in a dark basement with exposed plumbing just a few inches from your head when you were standing.  During our class times, every time a resident on the first floor flushed a toilet, we heard it loud and clear and you could even trace the flow of water from the source to the edge of the building.  

My professor for 2D Design was Paul Martyka, who to me at that time, was a total stranger.  I actually thought a nontraditional student named Billy was my professor on the first day of class.  Turns out he was just as lost as I was when the small framed, scraggly man walked in an announced that this was his class.  Mr. Martyka quickly became an enigmatic and legendary figure in my personal art school journey and you can find a whole post about him somewhere on this blog if you’re interested.  

At the first project critique, Mr. Martyka told us to pin our compositions up on the wall in a straight line.  He vigorously mocked us for not creating the straight line he asked for and then called on individual students to go back up and properly align their projects with the others.  I was sweating already.  The critique was brutal.  That’s the word I’d use to describe the experience.  Mr. Martyka would ask us to talk about each one in order from left to right and he’d ask very specific and thought provoking questions to each student.  He put each one of us on the spot.  When he shined his spotlight of attention on you, there was nowhere to run. You were going to answer his questions and bear the brunt of his laser-sharp attention until he decided it was time to move on.  Make no mistake, he knew you were uncomfortable.  He knew that discomfort was good for you.

Back then, we didn’t have anxiety and Mr. Martyka wouldn’t have cared if we did.  If you couldn’t bear the weight of attention on your artwork or you couldn’t sufficiently answer questions about your artwork, you needed to find another place to be.  It was a three hour hell.  A three hour hell that was punctuated by his infamous final act of critique:  the moment when he walked up to the wall and silently arranged all the projects in order from best to worst.  This took several minutes and you just had to sit there and endure it.  

I thought of Mr. Martyka’s critiques when I read a teacher post about how critiques should be a positive experience and that if students leave a critique feeling down, the teacher has failed.  Yeah, I beg to differ.  

The reason that logical conclusion isn’t so logical begins with Mr. Martyka.  I fully understand that Mr. Martyka’s critiques and teaching led some students to feel unsuccessful, to question their career goals and to (in some cases) change their majors.  I see this as him doing the students a favor.  You may disagree, but please hear me out.  Art is hard.  Careers in art are competitive, stressful and….brutal.  Mr. Martyka would not be doing you a favor if he didn’t prepare you for that in his classes.  I also know that many students, like me, accepted the challenges issued by Mr. Martyka and worked ever harder to rise to meet his ridiculously high expectations.  I made a C on the first project he graded of mine.  By Thanksgiving break, I had worked my way up to a B average.  The blood, sweat and tears I puddled up between Thanksgiving break and final exams earned me an A-.  

A bit of a side track here, but in 1990, we didn’t have the ease of email to communicate with our professors.  If you wanted to ask a question outside of class, you had to leave your dorm and walk across campus to the professor’s office.  If the sun was still up, you didn’t find Mr. Martyka.  You could leave a note on his door or you could just come back later.  In this calmer, less technologically intrusive world, Mr. Martyka offered us a cool option if we wanted to know our final grade for his class after our final critique.  We could leave him a self-addressed, stamped postcard or envelope and he’d write our grade and drop it in the mail.  As a creative art student, I opted to make my own postcard collage to leave with him and when I got mine in the mail, there was nothing written by him in the designated postcard area.  After a bit of an investigation, I noticed he had cut into my postal creation and then sealed the incision up with tape.  I carefully cut it open and found simply “A-“ written in pencil inside.  He was always three steps ahead of me.  

Of course, feeling the burn of the Instagram teacher claiming that all critiques should feel good, I had to think about my own critiques.  I’m no Mr. Martyka but I like to think that my critiques are serious, thoughtful opportunities to learn even more from a just completed project.  I agree that critiques are not excuses to negatively slam students and simply criticize their work.  I understand that many have that impression, but I believe they have that impression because they had bad professors and teachers.  I believe a critique should offer the opportunity for peers, teachers and the artists to all have a time of accurate analyzation and contemplation about a work of art.  Doing so effectively, requires this one thing that also gets labeled as negative.  Honesty.

Yeah, a real dirty word it seems.  

You can’t have an effective critique without honesty.  I teach this to my students on the first day of critique.  If the teacher/professor cultivates and manages to maintain an atmosphere of honesty during critique, your resulting feelings may have much more to do with how you feel about honesty.  Everyone thinks they want honesty until they get it.  That’s when you realize that honesty isn’t just people saying nice things to you.  Sometimes the truth hurts.

An effective critique involves careful consideration of all aspects of a work of art from the most basic to the most complex.  It should be evidence-based and it is definitely not about opinions or feelings.  Critique language is professional and thoughtful.  This is like a medical procedure.  We go in, do what we need to do and we get out.  Emotions are not needed nor are they welcome.  

An effective critique does not criticize the artist.  You may have to question some of the artist’s choices, motives and actions, but you’re always addressing the visual and physical evidence in the work, you’re not critiquing the artist.  I tell students to separate themselves from the work of art.  They are not their work.  But I also have to tell them to cry outside the studio.  

Tears and emotions are a natural part of the college critique.  Just as they are a natural part of every tough exam or project at this level.  I’d wager that 90% of the tears shed as a result of one of my critiques were shed because of the build-up of stress and anxiety rather than because of something that was said during the actual critique.  Sure, words can bring us face to face with our emotions and it may only take one less-than-positive observation to send a sensitive student over the cliff of tears, but they’re still not crying because they were verbally attacked.  

Students may feel emotions over knowing they did not do their best.  They may be embarrassed that their lack of time management.  They may feel outed when the shortcuts they took on a process are on display for everyone to see.  Many students have only ever had to try to meet expectations in their previous educational experiences and now that more is being expected, they may struggle to rise to the new challenge.  That realization can hurt.  

With emotions like those running at high levels at the completion of a difficult project, honesty can be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.  

I keep the reigns of critique held tightly in my hands as we look at each project and make observations and judgments.  I demonstrate how to state something honestly without being insulting.  I stop students when they seem to be on a verbal assault.  I force them to prove everything they say by noting the visual evidence before them.  This usually puts a stop to mean spirited comments and turns the spotlight back onto the person attempting to be mean.  I also make sure that students know when they’ve done something well.  Honesty goes both ways and I’m just as eager to point out the good as the bad.  In fact, contrary to what students may think, I’m more eager to point out the good.  After all that manual labor and all my urging in the studio, it’s really important to let students know what they did well.

The information provided in critique is just that…information.  Students who want to succeed will take the information provided about their artwork and consider how to apply that information in the future.  They’ll use critique as an extension of the project and remember what they need to do better in the future, while keeping and nurturing strengths that were pointed out.  Critique is more than just a public viewing of strengths and weaknesses.  Done correctly, it’s a powerful teaching tool.

porch sittin'

my front porch view

During one of my summer adventures, I had the joy of spending several days at South Porch Artist Residency in Summerville, SC.  This was my second time staying briefly with Brad and Brian in their beautiful historic home.  The white picket fence, the towering live oak trees and the perfect front porch all scream “southern charm” just as much as the hot, humid summer air.  This place is perfection and so are Brad and Brian.  When I’m there, I feel as if I’ve been adopted into the family.  

My week was packed with creative activities on a very tight schedule, but in all of my frantic coming and going, I noticed that I would see Brad and or Brian each night on the front porch.  At first I thought this odd because, who sits out on the porch bathing in mosquitos and shirt-soaking humidity in July in the South?  With a second glance, I noticed the giant oscillating fan inches from their perch.  A perfect solution to keeping mosquitos away and keeping cool in the soupy night air.  

On my last day there, I had a few minutes to talk with Brad and Brian on the porch and I used that as an opportunity to look around and see their front porch setup.  It was clear they used the porch as an extension of the house.  It was an office annex where they could get work done but also listen to the cicadas, watch the birds and feel the breeze blow from the trees.  I was inspired.  

During my second year of undergrad, my roommate, Chad, and I got bored one fall evening and decided to go for a walk around the beautiful, Southern campus.  Winthrop University had (and has) so many courtyards, colonnades and front porches rich with white wooden rocking chairs.  We noticed the lines of empty rockers and decided that we would simply take over a few of those chairs and sit.  To us non-partying art kids, this provided a bit of a fresh perspective on our small world.  We would get bored in our dorm, head out to find a suitable pair of rocking chairs and we’d sit and be goofy for a while, laughing and cackling  until we decided to head back to our dorm.  Brad and Brian had reawakened that memory for me.  

Driving home from South Porch in July, I thought about that inspiration.  I was inspired by the use of the porch and I also just happened to have a front porch of my own.  I knew that I was romanticizing my own porch sitting possibilities and that I would have some personal obstacles to overcome.  I understood that it would be very difficult for me to sit still on the porch.  That stillness is what I coveted when I saw Brad and Brian sitting on their porch.  My buzzing week of activity stood in contrast to my (probably incorrect) outside perception of their nightly peaceful porch sits.  I wanted to sit on my porch, but I also wanted to be able to be still long enough to enjoy sitting on my porch.  My summer of art adventures was not going to slow down for another few weeks, but even a night or two of sitting over a week or two might still do me some good.

I also had a whole lot of daily responsibilities lined up for each summer day and beyond.  Aside from the summer art adventures, I would need to set aside time in the evenings to go to cross country practice, eat dinner when we returned, clean up the kitchen after dinner, shower, handle emails, prepare art for delivery, plan upcoming trips and still make time for nightly TV time with Blue and Violet.  I knew it would be weird in that rush of nightly activity to hit pause and tell everyone to hang on a few minutes while I sit quietly outside on the porch.

At dinner one night, I explained Brad and Brian’s nightly ritual and how cool I thought it was.  This was me preparing the way.  Then I got up from dinner, cleaned the kitchen and announced I would be outside for a while.  I turned my fan on high, stole a rocking chair from inside and sat on my porch.  The sound of the cicadas and katydids was overwhelmingly loud.  I’m sure there were crickets in there too.  My personal army of hummingbirds quickly got used to my presence and began to ignore me while fighting and chirping over the feeders.  The sun was setting behind the house and the clouds on the horizon in front of me reflected the warm colors of the sunset.  My view was green, blue, orange and beautiful.  I went inside a while later with several mosquito bites on my head.  

I realized I needed to make some adjustments for my next porch sit.  I would need sleeves to keep the mosquitos off the backs of my arms.  I would probably need a hood over my bald, mosquito landing pad of a head.  I tried not to scratch the itchy lumps on my head and headed back out the next night undeterred.  The thin camo long sleeve hoodie was perfect.  My arms and head how had a layer of protection and on the cooler nights, it wasn’t too warm with the fan on high.  I added another chair for a side table to sit drinks, sketchbooks and computers on.  It was a bit redneck, but my porch sits were getting more convenient, more cozy.

Sitting still was and is the most fierce enemy of my porch sits.  As soon as I sit and my brain registers that I’m still, it kicks into high gear.  “Don’t forget you have to do that.  Maybe you should go do it now.  You haven’t checked your emails in a while.  Did you get into that show?  Maybe you should check.  Remember the email you forgot?  Now would be a good time to answer it.  Dude, the grass needs cutting.  When are you going to take care of those vines and limbs?  You could just run grab the pruners and cut those right now and it would be done.”  The commentary is nonstop.  Don’t worry, I’m still undiagnosed, so it’s ok.  

The stillness was what made it worthwhile at the same time.  It’s not really a physical rest for me so much as it is a mental rest.  Maybe rest isn’t even the most accurate word.  There’s definitely something that happens out there, whether it’s a 5 minute sit or a 30 minute sit.  Even if I give in and check my phone or text someone, there’s something that happens that is, perhaps, spiritual.  Sitting outside and getting tuned into the sights and sounds of nature is a bit of a reset.  It’s hard to be annoyed when an iridescent green hummingbird is hovering a foot from your face to see if you pose a threat.  It’s tough to remember the bad parts of your day when you’re surrounded by the saturated colors of summer.  It’s difficult to hear the negative voices when you have a chorus of cicadas in your ears.  

I have a lot of improvements to make in order to perfect my porch sits, but I’m out here, right now working on it.  There’s a cricket to my right sounding off periodically.  The hummingbirds have called it a day and I know soon they’ll head back to Central and South America.  The tree tops are gently swaying in a light breeze and at 7:23 pm, they’re almost just dark silhouettes against a sky that was blue just a moment ago.  There’s an orb weaver spider working on his sticky architecture beside the porch column and there are bats flitting through their nightly acrobatic routines in front of me.  It’s kind of magical out here.  

the trouble with truth

My last post on Sep 22 was about me freaking out over a piece of truth.  Going about a normal day, I got an email that forced my mind to realize that I didn’t have any art out on exhibit at that moment.  That realization sent me down an emotional rabbit hole, had my brain flooded with thoughts and worries for a few days and eventually led to me sitting down and writing out my thoughts to share.  

I was checking my phone this week and I got an email reminding me about an upcoming reception/awards announcement.  I paused.  Wait.  What?  Was I in that show?  Oh no.  I do remember planning to deliver two sculptures to that exhibit.  Did I forget?  That would be ridiculously unprofessional.  Or did I deliver them and forget the exhibit?  Is that worse?  Didn’t I just write a blog post about not being in a show?  Was I wrong?

A while later I sat down at my computer and searched my emails.  There it was, back in July.  Apparently I did deliver them, though, I honestly have no recollection of that.  As a visual person with a busy mind, this happens sometimes.  If I have a lot of things going on, I’m lucky to remember all the things I have to do in a day and if a day is busy and nothing freakish or visually interesting stands out that day, it’s possible I will stop on my way to cross country practice in the middle of summer, drop off a couple of small sculptures in a rush and then continue on to practice, run 3-5 miles, drive home, work on preparing for upcoming classes, spend time on a drawing, plan two trips to Chapel Hill, take down a solo exhibit in Summerville and totally forget about dropping off the two small sculptures.  For the record, Violet had hip surgery somewhere in there too.  (Yes, the little blue sculpture in the poster and fliers for the exhibit is mine, making it even more terrible that I forgot.)

But I didn’t sit down to write about forgetting things today.  I’m here because I was thinking about truth.  

When I was a sophomore in college, I knew the truth.  I used to walk by this building with a big cornerstone with the inscription “You shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free”.  I knew this was from John 8:32 in the Bible because I was a good little church boy who grew up being told what the truth was.  Specifically, I was told that my religion had the real truth and that no other religion did.  This implied that truth existed, it could be found by humans and that I had found it.  Just think about that.  Me, a country guy from South Carolina.  I found the Universal Truth before I even turned 18.

This made being sure of everything easy.  Every argument or discussion could be boiled down to black or white, good or evil, right or wrong.  And since I knew the truth, I always knew where I stood.  However, as time went on and life gave me more and more experiences, I found it more and more difficult to break everything down into black and white, good or evil, right or wrong.  (Writer’s note:  I use “black or white” as it was used in religious jargon.  I was taught that everything was black or white in terms of morality or Biblical truth.  There were no “gray areas”.  Gray areas suggested that truth may not really exist.  Just making sure this is not interpreted as any sort of racial terminology.  Some of those people were quite racist too, but they used different jargon for that.)  My religious upbringing had prepared me for this.  I was taught, mostly indirectly, that education was tied to “liberal” thoughts and that I would need to be on guard in college and grad school or I could be infected with a “thinking too much disease”.  I might start questioning things that shouldn’t be questioned.  I might have my faith shaken off its foundation.  

I’ll save you all the stories but here’s the spoiler:  I did start questioning everything and while my faith in God was never shaken off its foundation, my faith in the “people of God” was.  Fast forward to this week when political faces on screens open a meeting by invoking the name of God in prayer and then talk about the importance of killing, the need to remove all empathy and how only a select few are fit to do all that killing and unempathetic thinking.  Churches I’ve attended refuse to use their own holy book to condemn the court recorded activities of certain people in power because they think they can use those people to get the Ten Commandments posted in schools or abortions made illegal.  

Dang, we got in the deep water fast, didn’t we?  Oops. 

We’ve lived in a social climate for a decade or two now where truth depends on opinion.  Leaders and respected adults have told us what was “true” without presenting any evidence to support their claims.  Worse, we’ve allowed them to do so without question or any investigation.  We’ve just nodded and voted and moved on.  With the proliferation of Facebook, “fake news” and now AI, who even knows what truth is anymore?  Doesn’t truth now depend on your belief system, your politics or your own personal to-do list?  Forget the facts, if something feels true these days, it’s truth.  

So I’m on my computer, looking at old emails and I remember that what I wrote here on Sep 22 was not actually true.  I sent myself into a black hole of self-doubt and mental torment because I wasn’t in any exhibits and it wasn’t even true.  What I thought was true in my head, was not, in fact, supported by evidence.  I’m over here whining about not having art out in the world and my two sweet little sculptures are sitting under bright lights, making people smile and wondering how I could forget about them.

Y’all know I try to keep a record of the exhibits and opportunities I get accepted into and rejected from.  I started that because it always felt like I was getting rejected.  It was easy to remember the pain of not getting into that exhibit, but so easy to forget getting into that other one.  I remember the exact wording of the rejection letter from that great juror but I forgot the award I won.  I felt like a failure because I couldn’t remember succeeding.  I did not “know” the truth and I wasn’t free.  

I’m not just rambling.  This smaller scale story of not being able to find the truth is directly related to that larger scale story of the human race not being able to discern truth.  When we lose the ability to know what truth is in the minutia of our daily lives, it’s easier for us to lose a grip on what truth is on a larger scale.  

I believe you find truth through questions.  Any religion, group or individual who tells you to not ask questions is a religion, group or individual wanting to have complete control over you.  They know you find truth through questions and they don’t want you to find truth.  

And when your religious knee jerks and you want to disagree with me, I’ll ask that you pause and think about the questions asked in your holy text.  Just one example from my own religious upbringing, one of Jesus’ favorite things to do was to answer a question with a question.  Remember that bracelet you wore 10 years ago?  What would Jesus do?  He would ask a question.  Thinking isn’t a sin.  It’s how you find truth.  

I’m lucky I get to teach critical thinking skills on a daily basis at my job.  In order to critique a work of art, you have to be able to isolate feelings and emotions from the conversation.  You have to look carefully at the visual evidence present and be able to fully analyze that evidence.  Then you put all that information together and make judgments based on the evidence.  You’re asking questions and finding answers based on evidence.  This brings you to the truth.  

Many of us are at the point where we just want to let Google do our thinking for us so we can get back to watching our Tiktoks.  Maybe we just want to react to our emotions and make choices based on how we feel rather than based on evidence.  But, feelings aren’t truth.  

Everyone gets discouraged from time to time but we have to remember that our feelings aren’t truth.  When our feelings don’t match up with reality, we lose truth in all the small ways and in all the big ways.  

why do i suck?

There I was, minding my own business in front of my computer.  Just a regular day at school, nothing special.  I had just gotten the hang of my fall semester classes again after about 3 weeks and was feeling like everything was getting more under control.  I was checking emails and carefully reading through them from the top down.  I’m sorta weird about my inbox.  I need the email to remain “unread” until I’m ready to answer it or do whatever it’s asking me to do.  If I don’t keep it “unread”, it will quickly disappear into the abyss of old mail and I’ll wake up in a cold sweat three months from now when I remember that I didn’t answer it.  So I respond to one email and then read the next one.  It’s just an email advertising a call for art for an upcoming exhibit, but it sends a sharp chill up my spine.  Instantly it hits me.  I don’t have any art out on exhibit right now.  Does that mean I suck?

If you follow my nonsense here or on Instagram, you know it was a busy summer.  I had work in several national level juried exhibits all across the country and I did three exhibits in Summerville at once.  For most of the summer, I was very busy making lots of new art, shipping art to exhibits and installing a big immersive solo exhibit.  In the academic world of art professors, that’s a good year’s worth of accomplishments and it happened in the course of a few weeks.  But there, in front of a new call for art, it hit me.  You’re doing nothing now.  You must suck.  

Have I ever told you about my friend David Lancaster?  We became best friends in 4th grade after “hating” each other in 3rd grade.  It’s a long story and we’re already chasing a distracting story reference, so just go with it.  David became a great friend and we spent all of our available time together in school.  Beginning in the summer of 10th grade, we also began taking family vacations to the beach together.  One summer in the 1980s, we stayed with his grandparents at the ocean front Holiday Inn in south Myrtle Beach.  It was next door to a water slide and the smaller pavilion and there was pop radio music blaring from speakers all day and all night.  During this particular trip, “What Have You Done For Me Lately” by Janet Jackson was popular and it’s the only song I can remember playing during that entire trip.  It’s one of those annoying ear-worm things and I never really liked the song.  Because of the weirdness of my brain wiring, when I have a moment like the one in front of that email, that song plays in my head.  I can hear the canned music and her staccato lyric “what have you done for me lately?”  It’s not a pleasant experience and it only adds to the anxiety I felt that brought the lyric to mind in the first place.

I think about that lyric often when I think about social media and the idea of being a productive artist in the digital age.  

My brain speaks:  Maybe you did a year’s worth of stuff in a few weeks, but why aren’t you in a show right now?  What shows do you have coming up?  You don’t have any shows coming up.  Does that mean I suck?  Am I even still an artist?  Why is it so easy to feel like a failure?  Why is it so easy to forget all the positive experiences and just focus on the fact that all my work is sitting in my studio?  And did you see that so-and-so has a show somewhere now?  Why isn’t that you?  Have you applied for anything recently?  Am I even doing enough?  You got rejected so many times.  Why do I suck so bad?  (Yes, I realize I switched back and forth between I and you…it’s my brain talking and it’s also a part of me…go with it.)

I’m a pretty rational person and after a few minutes I will calm down and realize that professionally speaking, I’ve already had a great year and it’s only September.  But do other people know that?  I mean, if we’re all just relying on social media to know what’s going on, do people even remember that I did something a week ago?  I mean, I can generally get to a rational place in my own head and be honest about my accomplishments but what if other people don’t see that?  Or what if they don’t remember?

We’re all living in that Janet Jackson lyric now.  The news cycle is now down to being about a day long, and that’s if only one big thing happens in a day.  And for artists, a day isn’t very long.  It’s really great that you got that big opportunity or award.  You’ll get a few likes and comments about it and then, a day later, you’re old news.  What have you done for me lately?

I see this in my artist friends as well.  One good friend had an exceptional run of exhibits and awards and a couple of weeks later told me how bummed they were about their artwork and lack of upcoming exhibits.  Here’s the funny part:  I fussed at them for being ridiculous.  I listed all the big accomplishments I could remember off the top of my head and the list was pretty long.  Then I told them they had selective memory and that they needed to be kinder to themselves.  I encouraged them to keep a list of their accomplishments along with a list of kind things people said about their work and to review those lists frequently to keep things in proper perspective.  It’s good advice, right?  

I guess I need to take my own advice.  

And I need to get that stupid song out of my head.

TSITP but for dads

Let me preface this by admitting I have not read the book The Summer I Turned Pretty.  As a 53 year old man, I understand that I am not the preferred demographic and I only watched the streaming series because a couple of students twisted my arm and my 16 year old daughter said we should watch it together while she recovered from surgery.

So, there I was, sitting in my spot on the couch with a small dog sleeping beside me, my daughter sitting in the recliner and The Summer I Turned Pretty streaming on the TV.  We were pretty deep in the first season, maybe even starting the second season when my daughter looked over at me and said, “It’s no fun watching this with you because you’re such a dad.”  We both erupted in laughter.

She was right and I had realized that just before she said it.  She made me rewind a couple of parts she thought were emotional and she watched me sit through each part again completely stone-faced and unmoved.  There she was, on the verge of tears and there I was looking at a male lead character and calling him a loser.  

Violet read the book a few summers ago and think I recall some excitement from her when the show started airing on a streaming service.  I didn’t pay much attention and certainly had no desire to watch a young adult romance series.  In the summers since, she and I have watched a myriad of things, some sarcastic, some serious, some goofy and some romantic.  I’ve kept an open mind to most of her suggestions, even watching a buddy comedy movie starring SZA recently.  (It actually wasn’t bad.)

When I told her that a couple of students had suggested I watch it, she pounced.  This was going to be our new show.  She cued up the first episode and I agreed to give it a chance.  A couple of weeks later, we were all caught up and waiting on the next episode to drop.  It was clear, however, that we were not watching the same show. 

At 16 and female, this story was written for her.  I can suspend my old male-ness enough to understand why this story appeals to teenage girls.  The two lead male characters with abs are easy on the eyes and have just enough personality to pass as romantic interests.  The girl is young in every way and seems pleasant enough in the first episode.  It’s immediately obvious where this is headed.  

I’ll assume you’ve seen it or read it, but I’ll try not to spoil anything.  

Conrad is one of the guys, the oldest of the two brothers.  He’s brooding and troubled and while I see that the girl is into him, I can’t help but see Conrad through the eyes of the father of a teenage girl.  Brooding, red flag.  Troubled, red flag.  Smoking pot and underage drinking, red flag, red flag.  I see this guy showing up at my door to date my daughter and I would send him packing.  At the very least, I’d put the fear of God in him.  

The other brother is no better at the beginning and the more we learn about him, the more red flags he collects.  I would actively try to talk my daughter out of being interested in either of these goons.  “I majored in beer-ology!”  Really, dude?  Grow up and stay away from my daughter.  

We often speak up during these shows, laughing and making jokes with one another.  I do not hold back, hoping to use these as teaching moments.  I point out the character flaws, the red flags and warning signs in the hopes that Violet will notice them in real life when she sees them.  She is quite aware but she’s also obviously “team Conrad”.  There’s no arguing this with her.  I point to the flags and shut up.  And admittedly, the writers tried to make him more respectable in the third season.

But wait, who’s this other guy?  An actual nice guy enters the story.  One with no immediate red flags.  He’s kind, genuine and honest, and of course, within a few episodes he’s dumped.  He’s Cam Cameron, every dad’s dream guy, but no match for the forces of teen drama character tropes.  I call attention to Cam Cameron and Violet just smiles and says, “Well, yeah”, totally not interested in this guy she knows is just a side salad.  I declare my love for him and she tells me I’m not going to be happy with what happens to his character.  But she doesn’t need to tell me.  I already know.

Cam Cameron suffers the fate of every “nice guy” by losing out to the local brooding “bad boy”.  I mean, on one level, I can understand why some young ladies want to run after the troubled hot guy so they can save him and turn him into a decent guy.  But on another level, why buy a fixer-upper when there’s a move-in-ready dude who’s already actively courting you?  Cam Cameron will make you a better person by being an equal partner.  He will make sure the rent is paid, he’ll pick up the kids from school and he won’t forget your birthday (or your corsage).  The fixer-upper will always have his own drama and the lady will always be a side character in his life.  By the way, I don’t have unresolved bitterness from young love, you do!  Can you tell that an ex once dumped me because I was “too nice”?  Too nice?  Like, you wanted me to be mean to you?  So, yeah, maybe I’m a bit triggered when Cam Cameron just disappears from the story after never doing anything except helping everyone around him and making everyone’s lives better.

I guess nice is so unromantic, right?  It’s better to have abs than a decent personality.  I know, I know, that’s not what Jenny Han was trying to communicate to a generation of teens, but dang, it’s pretty well implied.

I love a good happy ending and I fully expect the unlikeable lead female to end up with the lesser of the two evil brothers.  That’s the ending this story suggests we need to feel good at the end.  But where’s my sequel where Cam Cameron finds a woman who realizes that he’s actually the best guy in town?  Where he finds his pure love totally reciprocated and where he gets his story told?  You know, about how it actually pays to be nice and treat women with respect?  How good guys win in the end.  And how “love” and “romance” is more than drama and tears.  Maybe we even see the reality of Belly’s “happiliy ever after” and we see her in her 50s, still babysitting the emotional child she married while Cam Cameron and his wife walk barefoot down the beach holding hands.  

This is why dads shouldn’t watch teen romance.  Team Cam Cameron for life.

7 years of streaking

Yeah, so this one is about running.  I understand if you’re not interested but I’ll also make you a promise.  If you do a particular thing, on purpose, every single day for 7 years and then you write about it, I promise I’ll read it.  Even if it’s not my thing.

When I moved to the Middle of Nowhere, running was a normal, regular thing for me.  At the old house, it was easy to walk out the door and start running down the little neighborhood streets.  When we moved to 10 acres of grass and trees, I wasn’t sure where I would feel safe running.  I worried I might have to drive somewhere to run and that would be a lot of extra time.  The first day after we settled in, I looked around the “yard” and decided I could just try running around the perimeter of the property and see how far that was.  I found my way to enough laps to make a 5K run and then got up the next day and did it again.  

It's funny how big things sometimes start without any fanfare.  Those two consecutive runs were the first days of my 7 year, 2 month running streak.  My plan was to keep running as long as possible.  While I endured and persisted through all sorts of crazy weather and personal events, in July 2018, I had a surgery that forced me to take off my running shoes for 4 weeks.  On August 17, 2018, I had my follow up visit and the surgeon told me I could go home and run, but to take it easy.  All I heard was that I could run.

That was one of the best runs of my life.  I remember running in the heat of the afternoon and feeling the warm air flow around my bald head.  I felt so free, so happy.  Then I ran the next day.  Then the next.  

Soon, I was training for a half marathon, then a full marathon, and then another half marathon.  My training plans called for “rest days” which for me just meant a simple, easy 3.1 mile run.  Relatives worried that my knees would fail.  Running friends worried that I should actually be resting on rest days.  Immediate family thought I was crazy.  Those, however, were the easiest days to run.  

The hardest run I can (somewhat) remember was during the time I was suffering through Ocular Shingles in 2019.  Basically, I ran with one eye open, excruciating pain in the other eye and open sores on one side of my head, then collapsed on the bed and slept.  I barely remember running for a few of those days but I do remember it was my only activity other than sleeping in a dark room.  

Since then, I’ve run in all the conditions and I've even run with my students or my kids during extra mileage runs.  I get to do Cross Country summer conditioning with my kids’ school team and this is all in addition to my morning 5K run.  That run is sacred.  I run alone in the morning 99.9% of the time.  If you’ve run with me on a morning run, you’re part of a super rare group.  And while I’m sure I loved running with you, I need to run all those other runs on my own.  

There’s science to prove all of this is true, but here’s the anecdotal information:  Running is a time of meditation for me.  I pray for people, I plan my day, I solve major global problems and I have all sorts of discussions and conversations with people who are not even around.  I know that sounds like I talk to myself and essentially, that’s what’s happening, but it’s really just thinking out loud because no one is around to hear.  All this allows me to begin my day having accomplished a task that most humans are not even capable of doing.  It allows me to start my day with a clear head and a plan.  It allows me to solve problems and feel much less anxious.  It also keeps my heart rate up for about 30 minutes which keeps my circulatory system healthy.  My lungs stay conditioned to get oxygen where it needs to be under physical stress.  My muscles and limbs stay healthy and flexible.  At 53, I’m feeling pretty good and not many people can keep up with me literally or figuratively.  

There’s no one thing that running every day has taught me.  In fact, I could easily argue that running every day has taught me everything I know about life.  When people find out that I run every day they sometimes use words like discipline, commitment, mental strength and insanity.  The word that keeps coming up in my life, though, is consistency.

I am probably faster than you, but I’m not a super-fast runner.  I’m lucky if I place in my age group at a race and if I win, it’s because the faster person just didn’t show up that day.  I don’t know a lot about running.  I put on my shoes and I start running.  That’s the extent of my knowledge.  But in every single area of my life, I know that consistency is what’s most important.  Not being fast and not knowing a ton, just showing up every single day.

If you find consistency in your life, you will be successful in whatever you do.  You may not be the best or know the most, but if you’re willing to just show up every single day and do the thing, you’ll find more success than most.  The thing is, most people won’t try it because it’s hard.  

Is it hard to run in the heat of August or the cold of January?  Only a little.  I love cold weather running.  Is it hard to run in a hurricane or at 3am before an early appointment?  Sorta, but it’s also kind of awesome.  My hardest runs are when it’s pouring rain and I can hear it from inside.  I hate rain and I don’t like having wet shoes.  The first few steps in the rain suck really bad.  I usually make audible noises of disdain.  But then, I’m wet and I just have to run 3 miles and I can get out of the rain and have coffee, so I start splashing in the puddles and flinging mud all over my legs.  It also feels a little badass to be running in the rain, not gonna lie about that.  And all of it is easier when you do it every single day.  

Today, I got up and ran on my 7 year runniversary.  2,555 days in a row.  My running app says that since 2011, I’ve run 17,405 miles.  In two months, if things keep working well, I’ll match my longest streak ever.  I know that running isn’t for everyone but how could I love something so much and not encourage others to try to discover that same love?  I think you should give running a try.  I think you should run every day.  I think it would solve most of your problems.  Will it be hard?  Will you feel like you’re actually dying?  Yes, absolutely, but you probably won’t die and if you stick with it, you’ll look and feel better than you ever have.  But if you won’t run, I encourage you to find some physical exercise that you can do consistently.  Do it when you’re tired, do it when you’re busy and do it especially when you don’t want to.  I want you to be physically and mentally healthy and I want you to feel the power of consistency.  

(If you're interested in starting running for real, you can find a post on this blog by searching "running tips" and it will help you get started and not quit.)

the summer i turned busy

 I look forward to summer break with the innocence of a child.  I daydream of sleeping later, waking without an alarm, having long, luxuirous days of sunshine on a beach and having zero responsibilities.

I'm old enough to know better, but as the spring semester started to wind down and classes ended, I had these fantastic visions of a carefree summer.  Yeah, so here's what happened instead...

As is the case with many public art projects, approvals and schedules do not always work well with the school calendar.  MG and I had been working on a project that didn't get started before classes ended, so we just kept working in the studio after the semester ended.

I got the pleasure of helping Katherine deliver her solo exhibit to the Spartanburg County Public Library Headquarters in April.  It was such a great exhibit featuring all of her recent, amazing steel sculptures.  There was even a very cool 2D component she didn't quite have time to set up.  Looking forward to seeing that in the future.  So proud of her.

MG and I had to take a field trip to Highlands, NC to pick up our sculptures from the Emergence exhibit at The Bascom.  Always up for a fun adventure, we took a thrift tip from Zach and ended up trying on fur coats.

My on-campus Starbucks friends kept kidding with me about not having a summer break because I kept coming back after the semester ended.  Each time I vowed to not see them again until August.  They laughed each time and said "We'll see you tomorrow!".  Eventually I was right and now I miss them.  

But I wasn't right yet.  I walked into the Sculpture studio to grab something and was stopped in my tracks by the emptiness.  That's where Dae Dae and MG lived for a few years.  Absence is always stunning.  I missed them already.

But even though MG's stuff was gone, I still had MG for another day, working on the public sculpture project.

But then she cut out for a summer job in Georgia and left Blue and me to install these by ourselves.  This is the site of the old textile mill in Nintey Six, SC.  This is the old turnstile used by workers to enter the mill each day.  MG and I created two period costumed textile workers for the memorial site.  Once this was finished in late May, my trips to Greenwood were over for the summer.  

While I don't get the romantic version of summer break I dream of during the spring, summer does come with it's inevitable perks.  Waking without an alarm on most days, and spending quality time with my army of hummingbirds are two of my favorites.

I also prefer to run in daylight so I can see the wildlife around me and not trip over roots in the dark.  I really love my running time every day and summer usually allows me to run with things other than school on my mind.  It's nice.  Sure, it's hotter and sweatier, but I would still choose to run in daylight.

And when I thought I was done driving to school for summer, I did make one last trip to give a public art tour to the SC Arts Commission.  This was a fun morning of sharing my students' art and our vision for public art.  Lots of fun and well worth getting up early and running in the dark.  This was my last trip to Greenwood.  Ish.  (I did drive back for the BBQ Festival, but how could I not?)

Another thing I look forward to with romantic zeal is having more time to make art.  My dreams of making a whole new body of drawings and sculptures started out pretty strong because I had so many exhibits on the horizon for summer.  I felt the pressure to make a lot of new work and I did create a ton of new drawings.  So after sleeping until 7 or 8 am, I would run, have coffee and then sit at my drawing table for a few hours listening to music or podcasts.  Some days I did this until dinner time.  

I got into several exhibits for summer.  Some of these I had a few months to prepare for and some happened a bit more quickly.  One of these meant taking a day trip to Charleston to deliver a drawing.  Summer often means me taking some solo art trips.  This is more time listening to music or podcasts and sometimes some exploring.  I get to Charleston pretty often so it's not so much exploring as it is trying to decide which of my favorite places I have time to visit.

One of the biggest summer events is our family beach vacation.  This is probably my biggest personal reset of the year.  I get a week of waking up when I want, which for some reason, is usually around sunrise at the beach.  That's too early normally, but I don't complain about the running views.

In fact, I don't complain about much of anything on vacation.  If we get sunlight, I'm happy.  We spend our days on the sand and our afternoons and evenings looking for food and adventures.  

We got to kayak in the open ocean a couple of times, I got my warm, buttery lobster rolls and my balcony coffee.  We could have complained about our dogs getting really sick at home and G having to go back home in the middle of the week to take them to the vet and get medicines but we didn't.  We were just glad the dogs were ok and that the dogsitter didn't quit on us.  

Violet and I left vacation but didn't go home.  Instead, we drove really early to the Isle of Palms for a sand sculpture contest.  We met Cathryn and Elena and their parents there and spent a few hours working in the hot sun.  We won an award, got our prizes, ate some lunch, and then parted ways.  

The next day we realized we were all still hanging out in Charleston separately.  Cathryn and Elena got caught in the rain.

And Violet and I ducked into the Visitors Center and had a guy draw our portraits while we waited for the rain to clear.  Then we walked to our favorite Cafecito for Cuban coffee and empanadas.  When we realized C and E were still around, we invited them to the art reception we were staying for that afternoon.  

Elena and her mom had just left to go home but Cathryn and her parents were staying another night so they all met us there.  We got to make fun photos with the art.  

Then Violet and I got to return home and we had what was probably the "intermission" of my summer.  The first act was over and we had about three weeks to prepare for the next really busy time of being gone and doing things.  So while I worked to finish drawings and begin planning for exhibits, we also got to meet Donovan and his family for coffee.  Donovan is now a PUBLISHED poet with his book coming out soon.  His family is adorable.  They're based in Nashville, so it's a treat to get to coffee with him.

The dogs always provide a smile in my day.  Walter is a happy menace and Timmy loves to hate him.  This was a rare moment of both dogs coexisting on top of some freshly dried running socks.  They love laundry.

Being at home around sunset is also a nice summer thing.  We often have dinner after cross country practice and then we're mostly done for the evening.  The sky gets a little weird some nights while we eat and we all head outside to see if the sky is pretty.  Much of June and July, it was pretty and worth the trip outside.

One of those intermission days, I got to help Katherine uninstall her solo exhibit and transport her work back home.  It was nice to catch up on what had already been a busy summer for us both.  

I also got two drawings into the "Everything But The Kitchen Sink" exhibit in Los Angeles.  This is one of my favorite exhibits in such a cool gallery.  This year, Molly, who lives down the street from the gallery, was able to go to the reception and she sent me some photos.  

This was the sunset she saw on her walk back home.  

I also got to spend some time with my blooms this summer.  I love flowers and really love the ones that grow without a lot of help or input from me.  I just get to enjoy them.  

The summer drawing schedule doesn't require me to work late into the night.  This freed me up to watch some TV.  Most nights after dinner, you can find the kids and me watching at least one show together.  G will stay if it's not something completely silly.  Some nights Violet and I play music together.  Then, after everyone disperses to their own areas for the night, Timmy and I will find something to watch.  Nevaeh had me watching some horror movies this summer but between those, I got to watch The Righteous Gemstones and Vice Principals.  That's when I caught the briefest glimpse of one of my outdoor sculptures in a scene with Walter Goggins at Riverfront Park.

The craziest of crazy things happened.  My friend Creighton is in a band and when I saw they were coming to the Peace Center in Greenville, about 30 minutes from my house, I marked the calendar.  When Violet and I went to the will-call both, the lady handed us tickets and two stickers that gave us backstage access after the show.  We were stunned.  We enjoyed the concert (where I saw a couple of Lander colleagues nearby and at least three former students) and we sat beside a lady who befriended Violet and started showing her photos of her boyfriend who was also the lead singer.  After the show, we got to hang out with the band backstage where it was painfully obvious that we were not cool enough to be having this experience.  Creighton is an amazing person and friend.  Such a cool night.

I also got into another exciting exhibit in Atlanta at Kai Lin Gallery.  I was really happy about this one too.  

In addition to running, I also do weekly PiYo, a combination of Pilates and Yoga.  This really helps my back flexibility and strength and I also think it makes me faster as a runner.  I know it's a weird zen diagram to be a fitness person who is also a creative, but when your creative process involves a lot of strength and movement, I think it's crucial to good health and longevity.  And since this summer was so busy, that leads us out of intermission and into the second act.

As I've detailed here recently, I left in the middle of July for a week long stay in Summerville, SC to install three exhibits at Public Works Art Center.  This included a string of very long days going up and down a ladder, carrying art around, crawling around on the concrete floors and engaging my brain almost every hour I was awake and some of the hours I was supposed to be sleeping.  

You can find details about that trip over there in the margin or by scrolling down to earlier entries.  But the end result was wonderful.  I'm very happy with all three exhibits and I hope you get to experience them in person.  Shows end September 6.  

As soon as I got home from Summerville, it was time to put all my energy into the Summer Studio Sale.  

That week was a blur, but apparently I got it all done with some help and the sale went great.  I got up the nerve to do my first temporary tattoos with the cool pens.

This was a huge step for me.  I've had these pens for years (literally) without getting up the courage to open them and draw on anyone.  Thinking about my current body of drawings and interests, I joke with myself that eventually I'll just be drawing on humans instead of wood, I'm just not sure if that's a joke anymore.  

Anyway, so that was crazy and busy and fun, but then in just a few more days, I had to load up for my next trip.  Once the car was loaded, I went to see Ryan Adams in Greenville.  It was great.  Loved it.  

Then I got up early the next morning to run and then drive to Chapel Hill, NC to install "Phoebe" for the UPROAR! Festival of Public Art.  

I had to be around for a few days and you can read all about that in an earlier post as well, but I got to see some art.

I got to be in a puppet parade that I didn't design.

And I got to see Kathe and Tom, two of my living heroes.  

Our end of summer family vacation turned into G just going to Charleston alone and allowing me to drive down after my stay in Chapel Hill.  In my head it was just a little drive down I-95.  On my map it was more like a 5 hour drive down I-95, mostly in the rain.  

But who doesn't love Charleston?  Even in the rain.  The weather kept it cooler than it's ever been in Charleston in August and I won't complain about not being immediately drenched in sweat 5 seconds after walking outside.  I will complain about my shoes and socks getting wet, but that was just one day so it was fine.  We had a nice trip and ate so much good food.  I had to run a lot extra to make up for that eating, but all worth it.  

On my Summerville trip, I was inspired by two friends who spent every evening outside on their front porch.  To a Southerner, that sounds romantic until you factor in humidity, heat, sweat and mosquitos.  These friends seemed to have found the cheat code and that was a big fan.  I decided to give it a try and I ended up finding my new favorite summer thing.  Porch sitting.  Some of my summer days and nights were so busy that this happened at 11:30pm with a hot tea.  Other times it was just after dinner with a refreshing drink.  Some nights I chose the porch over TV.  I did get some mosquito bites, but with the weird weather lately, I also spent some of those nights in front of the fan wearing a hoodie.  And when I could keep the phone out of my hand during this sacred time, it was all the more relaxing.

These are the Superfriends according to the group chat name in my phone and based on my experiences with them over the last 15 years.  We've trauma bonded together as first year Lander-ites, traveled the world together as pals, and been through all sorts of adulting decisions, twists and turns.  Our latest obsession is watching Sean turn his historic home into a Disney-level experience and talking for hours in his kitchen and dining room.  I love them so much.  We got to all hang out at the end of summer and it was such a great way to end act two.  

Let me be clear, it is NOT cool to talk to a teacher about "being ready for school to start back" while it is still summer.  As a rule, we are not ready, nor do we want to talk or think about school until the day we are forced to by a contract or teaching schedule.  I say that as a teacher who LOVES to teach and absolutely ADORES his students.  Still, I NEED my summer.  At the end (or honestly, the middle) of the spring semester, my batteries were depleted.  I finished the semester on fumes and desperately needed some time to recharge and become a human again.  

One side of my brain says it would have been nice to rest more and not have such a full schedule all summer.  The other side says, "Dude, don't be stupid, you had so many wonderful opportunities and experiences this summer."  And yeah, that side is correct.  I'm so grateful for all of the opportunities to show art, make art and travel this summer.  Sometimes I have a moment of realizing that I'm experiencing a thing that some artists go their whole lives/careers without experiencing.  Not only that, but I get to do that in an interesting calendar balance while also getting to teach art to the coolest students.  So here I am on August 12, knowing that my contract officially starts on August 15 and I'm kinda, sorta, missing my students and my classes and feeling like it's about time to get back to the fall semester.  I'm not "ready to go back" but I'm getting there fast.