Book Analysis : Art & Fear

This blog posts details my personal thoughts and analysis on three excerpts from the novel Art & Fear: Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking by David Bayles and Ted Orland.

My kindergarten talent show encompassed both of the terms “art” and “fear”. I had planned to sing the title song from The Phantom of the Opera and my confidence was at an all time high after I saw the lace white dress that matched Christine’s iconic outfit that my mother had bought me. For days leading up to the performance, I would sing the song in front of my mirror, in front of my mother’s camcorder, and in front of all the stuffed animals in my room. However, nothing could prepare me for the vicious crowd of disinterested five year olds sitting cross-legged on the floor of my classroom. I stood up, knees trembling, took one look around the room, and promptly collapsed onto the hard linoleum floor. I believe I’ve made incredible progress from that day. I can now speak in front of people that are not my own mother. However, I used to think that I had outgrown the terror of speaking in front of people as I had been performing in front of crowds of hundreds all throughout high school. I was able to communicate with people and make them laugh and cry. Acting was no longer terrifying. It was simply something that I loved to do. However, throughout the seven weeks I’ve spent at this program, that safety net has slowly been disintegrating. That paralyzing fear that I felt when I was a child still courses through my body when I stand up to perform now and it’s left me with the knowledge that I still have to embrace my stage fright, rather just repressed it under the cover of a memorized, well-blocked out piece. 

“Control, apparently, is not the answer. People who need certainty in their lives are less likely to make art that is risky, subversive, complicated, iffy, suggestive or spontaneous. What’s really needed is nothing more than a broad sense of what you are looking for, some strategy for how to find it, and an overriding willingness to embrace mistakes and surprises along the way. Simply put, making art is chancy - it doesn’t mix well with predictability. Uncertainty is the essential, inevitable and all-pervasive companion to your desire to make art. And tolerance for uncertainty is the prerequisite to succeeding” (19).

I thought back to this passage after we had our first activity with status. Improv is one of the scariest activities for me. I always have this fear that I’m going to walk up there and be so awkward that every joke flops, every line is a dead end, and nobody is going to think I have any talent whatsoever. I’ve never really learned to embrace failure. All my life, I’ve been taught that mistakes are not to be made, both by parents and teachers alike. Living in the Silicon Valley has moulded me to be a highly competitive perfectionist. It was drilled into us that making a mistake in an environment like that ensures that we won’t succeed. I’ve slowly been trying to unlearn this habit and welcome the possibility of botching a scene or finding that not every activity will impact me in some way. I’m trying, albeit hesitantly, to let go of this control I’m forcing on my work and let myself fall flat on my face for once so I can adapt to the multitude of performance opportunities in front of me. 

“For every artist who has developed a mature vision with grace and speed, countless others have laboriously nurtured their art through fertile periods and dry spells, through false starts and breakaway bursts, through successive and significant changes of direction, medium, and subject matter. Talent may get someone off the starting blocks much faster, but without a sense of direction or a goal to strive for, it won’t count for much. The world is filled with people who were given great natural gift, sometimes conspicuously flashy gifts, yet never produce anything. And when that happens, the world ceases to care whether they are talented” (27).

My teammate from my Speech and Debate team said something very similar to me and a couple other teammates after we had lost a major tournament. After being on a consistent winning streak for the entirety of the year, we were furious at having lost against teams that we had beaten for months. On the bus ride back, we were vehemently complaining that the fault lay with the judges who were purposefully voting against us because of our status in the activity and the talent we had. My teammate told us that regardless of how talented we all were, nothing was going to happen for us if we didn’t pull our heads out of our egos and work at our pieces. He said that work ethic contributes so much more to your success in this activity than talent will ever do. That statement was proven when he was the only one out of all of us that year who finaled at Nationals in an event that we all thought we were skilled in. This passage reminds me to push away the overconfidence that tends to bubble up after long periods of success. Once I start believing that I don’t need to put anymore effort into my work because my talent has put me on a more competitive level then my opponents, I’ve lost. 

“We live in a society that encourages competition at demonstrably vicious levels, and sets a hard and accountable yardstick for judging who wins. It’s easier to rate artists in terms of the recognition they’ve received than in terms of the pieces they’ve made. And when that happens, competition centers not on making work, but on collecting the symbols of acceptance and approval of that work… Taken to extremes, such competition slides into needless (and often self-destructive) comparison with the fortunes of others” (71).

This passage encapsulates my biggest struggle in terms of performing, interacting with people, and confidence in myself. My whole life, both academic and social, has been a competition. Every question parents and peers would ask me would be about how high my GPA was or how many AP classes I was taking, and how many extracurriculars I could fit into my schedule. I was expected to excel in everything and if I didn’t, I’d be compared to my classmates who could and even my parents own accomplishments that took place decades before me. When I joined Speech and Debate, that competition seeped into my work and my mentality and I immediately began viewing anyone who I thought was remotely talented, as a threat. I became enamored by my success and the recognition that came from it. It began to build to a point where I would fall apart whenever if I were to not qualify for a tournament or when I wouldn’t win first place. I took several performance beat-downs for me to understand how I was destroying myself and my self-confidence by prioritizing fame over my genuine love for the activity. There are times even in this program, where I feel that same intimidation and desire to prove that I’m the best when I see people perform. I’m working on letting that urge coexist with the joy I see when people I love create beautiful art. 

I’ve learned that the terms “art” and “fear” are synonymous. Great artists are those who utilize the fear of society and of art itself to challenge the norm and bring new waves of creativity to the world. I’m committed to challenge own my norm by harnessing my confidence in my talents and my passion instead of letting the competition and the unknown hold me back.